Passion Pit. *barf*

I was looking forward to completely avoiding Passion Pit. Unfortunately, because of a scheduling switcharoo, I was submitted to wading through hordes of douchy fans (apparently ready to trample women and children so they could get close enough to lap up singer Michael Angelakos’ spittle) to meet up with my crew who were excited to see them.

Who would have thought piss-poor screeching falsetto could inspire grown men to launch elbows at women, step over dozens of people and spill their $7 Coors (“They don’t have ‘Natty at Red Rocks? Drats, Batman!”) all over helpless bystanders. Maybe they just wanted to get close to Angelakos, sing along, and talk about being huge, misunderstood and complicated meat heads.

Angelakos encouraged all to shuffle down to the main stage to see Phoenix as Passion Pit mercifully ended their set. Preoccupied with imploring what good friends Passion Pit and Phoenix were, Angelakos made his best move of the night: sending people away to see Passion Pit’s “besties 4ever,” Phoenix.

To summarize: Passion Pit sucked. The crowd sucked. Then we went to Phoenix. Hoo-rah!