They blew kisses and thanked D.C., but the crowd wasn't done with Q and Not U for the night, even if they were moments away from permanently dissolving as a group. Coaxing them towards a first encore was simple, with the applause not faltering or even tripping on itself for one second. But another taste of dance rock bliss was needed badly. This would not be a fitting epitaph for a group that tragically never moved from the same cusp of contemporary fame allotted to The Killers and Bloc Party.
One last song capped the celebration of a D.C. music trio so warmly embraced by their local supporters for so long. More than anything else, though, the members of Q and Not U were extremely forward thinking. The buzzword of the night wasn't "breakup," it was "hope."
The lack of weepiness toward the 8-year-old D.C. band fit the image and sensibility of Q and Not U almost perfectly. Their music, composed in a witches' brew of Gang of Four style post-punk and throaty Sunny Day Real Estate emo, has always lent itself generously to vigorous clapping and infectious dancing. The guitar work and synths of Harris Klahr bring a level of laser-accurate funk, while his vocals have a reckless and often violent demeanor in the spirit of Discord Records brethren Fugazi. Conversely, singer/bassist Christopher Richards reaches toward the highest registers he can manage, jumping and sliding across stage while engaging the audience. Fans clapped eagerly to "A Line in the Sand," matching drummer John Davis' continuous tapping on the hi-hat. Sometimes it wasn't apparent where thrashing stopped and dancing began, but good faith is in large supply with the Q and Not U faithful.
"We know this is a big night for us, but what are you all doing tomorrow?" said Richards, in reference to the impending antiwar protests and Operation Ceasefire concert. Left wing politics have always been at the forefront for Q and Not, whether it was the humanitarian causes that set up shop during their shows or the band's own action in playing a counter-inaugural concert last January.
"Let George Bush know he's still a motherfucker," asserted Richards to the crowd. "'Cause I don't think he listens to our records."
After the last song, the truly last song, the members of Q and Not U embraced each other on stage, proud of that night and the many moments leading up to it. Their big moment, the one speculated to take place upon the band's arrival to mainstream tastes, never occurred. Few would contend that it mattered. Instead of staging the defining moment of their careers years down the line in the MCI Center, opening for a huge national act, they had come home with their good friends and opening act for the last two dates, Supersystem. It's hard to say goodbye when you're smiling that broadly, and even harder to cry after you've played that well and made a packed house that happy.
The efforts of three albums and touring on four continents may have connected the band to the lives of many, as Richards claimed on stage. But the importance of family and the sense of home that every local venue and young fan poured out in D.C. bore the sweetest fruits for the boys in the band with unshaken consistency. Thus, as family, no tears were shed, nor were there goodbyes. Good luck, Q and Not U, and Godspeed.
