Sun, Nov 8
Soft Cell
Everybody thinks they know the one song. Two minutes of it plays at a wedding and the room fills in the rest of it wrong - remembered as a party record when it was always a sad one, sung by a man who sounded like he had just been told something he already suspected.
The people who turn up for these shows know the other side of it: the twelve-minute extended mixes, the album that followed and deliberately scared off half the chart audience. They know which songs get the long synth intro that lets a room settle before the first line lands. El Cajon is an odd setting for this - a restored downtown theater with actual seats, which means for once you hear every word of it.
The Magnolia, 210 East Main Street, El Cajon. Seven o'clock, all ages. The same crowd turns out for every synth act that comes through town.
Everybody thinks they know the one song. Two minutes of it plays at a wedding and the room fills in the rest of it wrong - remembered as a party record when it was always a sad one, sung by a man who sounded like he had just been told something he already suspected.
The people who turn up for these shows know the other side of it: the twelve-minute extended mixes, the album that followed and deliberately scared off half the chart audience. They know which songs get the long synth intro that lets a room settle before the first line lands. El Cajon is an odd setting for this - a restored downtown theater with actual seats, which means for once you hear every word of it.
The Magnolia, 210 East Main Street, El Cajon. Seven o'clock, all ages. The same crowd turns out for every synth act that comes through town.
The people who turn up for these shows know the other side of it: the twelve-minute extended mixes, the album that followed and deliberately scared off half the chart audience. They know which songs get the long synth intro that lets a room settle before the first line lands. El Cajon is an odd setting for this - a restored downtown theater with actual seats, which means for once you hear every word of it.
The Magnolia, 210 East Main Street, El Cajon. Seven o'clock, all ages. The same crowd turns out for every synth act that comes through town.
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Everybody thinks they know the one song. Two minutes of it plays at a wedding and the room fills in the rest of it wrong - remembered as a party record when it was always a sad one, sung by a man who sounded like he had just been told something he already suspected.
The people who turn up for these shows know the other side of it: the twelve-minute extended mixes, the album that followed and deliberately scared off half the chart audience. They know which songs get the long synth intro that lets a room settle before the first line lands. El Cajon is an odd setting for this - a restored downtown theater with actual seats, which means for once you hear every word of it.
The Magnolia, 210 East Main Street, El Cajon. Seven o'clock, all ages. The same crowd turns out for every synth act that comes through town.
The people who turn up for these shows know the other side of it: the twelve-minute extended mixes, the album that followed and deliberately scared off half the chart audience. They know which songs get the long synth intro that lets a room settle before the first line lands. El Cajon is an odd setting for this - a restored downtown theater with actual seats, which means for once you hear every word of it.
The Magnolia, 210 East Main Street, El Cajon. Seven o'clock, all ages. The same crowd turns out for every synth act that comes through town.
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