Q. and I went to see Frightened Rabbit on the recommendation of D. and J. It was raining; we walked to the venue, which was in a sketchy neighborhood; we waited in line. Once we entered, the venue was (at first) too cold, then (when crowded) too hot. The concrete-floored pit had no chairs, so we stood through the entire experience. The stage designer opted for the unusual choice of lighting the audience directly with strobe lights throughout the performance, while leaving the onstage performers cloaked in darkness. The other audience members provided targets of observational humor (before the concert began) and sources of aggressively misanthropic behavior (during the performances).
The opening band was decent. The headliners did nothing for me (or Q.). We went home and listened to the Bastion soundtrack as a palate cleanser, and felt much better.
Conclusion: We have, without our own knowledge, become old and crotchety. We do not like being up late, being out late, having to stand for a long time on a hard floor, or breathing other people's secondhand fumes/body spray/aerosolized hair gel. We do like one song to contain different chords, comprehensible lyrics, and stage lighting which illuminates the performers and does not induce seizures.
This post's theme word is cockshy, "the game of throwing missiles at a target; such a throw," or "an object of criticism or ridicule." The cockshy hipster audience provided much ammunition for our cockshy mockery.