The Cold Record is like one of those nights where you go over to a friend’s house, sit up all night talking and listening to music, and come away having had some kind of profound experience – all compressed into an hour.
This one-man show is intense, funny, unexpectedly beautiful and very, very cool.
Having submitted the requisite punk song earlier (although, not being a punk aficionado, I was relieved to be told that all songs could be considered punk – it’s about what it means to you) we were collected from The Tivoli and taken to a secret location nearby.
Inside, the intentionally small audience clustered around the performer, Eli Weinberg, on mismatched seats where we were first guided through the creation of our own unique mixed tape, sharing our stories and instantly bonded by the experience.
It’s a good job we were, as the second half of the show – where Eli tells the story of a troubled twelve-year-old boy, who discovers love, life, and himself through punk music – is a visceral ride and you need something to hang on to.
Eli inhabits that twelve-year-old kid with such outsider realness that you forget it’s a performance, his rapid-fire delivery and almost eyeball-to-eyeball connection with each audience member at points searing in its intensity and at other points tender, almost pleading.
When the end comes it gut punches you in the feels with such precision that you’re left reeling, wondering what the hell just happened, with tears streaming down your face.
Maybe that was just me, but I have a feeling it will be you too.
Next week a mixtape of the songs from our specific show will land in my inbox and I get to relive it.
Because that’s what music does… and that’s kind of the point.