Wunderhorse at Union Pool
I recently did one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done. But was it worth it? Probably not. What’s important is that I did it, and if I don’t write about it, it might as well have never happened.
As the title of this piece suggests, I attended a Wunderhorse show — their second in the US since they released their sophomore album, Midas, and likely their last US show of 2024. I don’t mean to imply exclusivity — the band will be back in the US next year for a full North American tour — but I already know that I’ll be missing them when they return, so for me, it was now (then?) or never.
Now back to my stupidity — simply being at the show was not stupid. In fact, it almost makes sense that someone who likes a band would be at one of that band’s shows. The stupid part was that the show was at a venue in New York City on a Wednesday night, and at the time, I was staying in Washington DC (far away).
Everyone knows that you’re an idiot if you intentionally drive a car anywhere near New York City, but I was desperate. Last Wednesday, I was the idiot. It takes a big man to admit when he’s an idiot, however, so I guess that cancelled out the idiocy. And being such a big man just leaves no time for careful planning.
Por ejemplo, I would have much preferred the train, but why on Earth would I pay $300 for a train ticket when I can get there slower by car, put myself in more danger, and spend almost as much money in gas, tolls and parking? What kind of sensible square would I be? Don’t answer that.
Let’s skip ahead to an hour and a half into my drive, at which point I had already considered turning back about 63 times. I had a virtual interview scheduled with drummer, Jamie Staples, that I obviously couldn’t conduct while driving, so I pulled over at a truck stop in Elkton, Maryland to set everything up. You know those truck stops that are half a Flying J and half a Golden Corral? Me neither.
I regret that none of the photos used in this article are mine. Sorry. Couldn't get my film developed in time. This one comes courtesy of Google Maps.
Despite a hasty setup in the passenger seat of my rented Volkswagen Taos (probably the worst compact SUV on the market (and no, I did not rent an entire car just for this trip)), the interview went very well. Jamie was a great chat, and 15 minutes just flew by, unlike the rest of my seven-hour round trip. Clearly, I decided to finish the drive — the talk with Jamie and subsequent listen back over the opening bars of “Midas” melted my doubts like the Wicked Witch of the West. And suddenly, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Kansas of course, in this case, being Elkton, Maryland.
If you’re planning a trip to New York City, DO NOT DRIVE A CAR THERE, as the old adage goes. As someone who has been to New York three times and is therefore now the leading expert on all things New York, I know most New Yorkers will agree that owning a car and living in the city is like oil in the Gulf of Mexico — they don’t mix.
I’d now like to thank our sponsor for this article, BP Oil. Need an analogy? Try BP!
Yet, somehow, the streets and side streets and avenues and boulevards and overpasses and underpasses and every square inch of asphalt not being used for driving are packed to the tired gills with, you guessed it, privately owned vehicles — motor carriages. Cars. Cars. Cars.
All of this to say, New Yorkers are liars, and truly, without a doubt, the angriest and worst drivers I’ve ever encountered. I circled the block of the venue exactly once before giving up and parking in a garage that was laid out how I would imagine hotels in the Cars cinematic universe to be. It was just a narrow, tall building with cars stacked on top of each other, presumably hoisted up there on a sort of car elevator. I don’t know. To many of you readers, I am sure this type of flying car factory is a familiar concept. To me in Brooklyn last week, it was a scene I’d only dreamt of.
Picture this, but 100 years into the future. Thanks, Reddit.
After eagerly handing over the keys to the attendant and hoping to never drive again in my life, I walked a couple of blocks and crossed the street to Union Pool.
Union Pool is a bar in what used to be a pool supply store in Brooklyn, which probably went out of business because it was a pool supply store in Brooklyn. There’s the main room with one bar, and then a similarly sized outdoor area with a second bar, a food truck, elevated picnic table seating, and an ATM. As soon as you walk outside, the doors to the actual “venue” part of the venue are on the right in a separate space.
Doors had been scheduled for 7 p.m., and I arrived at 8 sharp, very pleased with myself to have timed it so well. But I walked outside to see closed doors and a line. They had pushed doors back an hour — my greatest fear had come to life before my eyes.
Okay, so maybe that isn’t my greatest fear, but it’s up there. So I sat. For an hour. Seeing what I could see. It was a crowded place, but so is Brooklyn. I think most people at the venue were actually just there to enjoy their Wednesday night with friends and were completely unaware of or indifferent to the show going on, which was cool. I love a place that serves more than one purpose. Take Elkton’s Flying J / Golden Corral mutation, for instance.
Everyone appeared to be really enjoying themselves, and what more could you ask for? Maybe for the show to start on time, but such is life.
And speaking of, I spotted the band pretty early on through the throngs of people, aged 21 to 201. Look, I get it: you have your doubts. Why would someone who is 201 years old spend their time going to concerts when they could probably be signing autographs somewhere? I don’t know. I’m not them. But they were probably closer to mid-50s in terms of age. What a bummer double digits are. The point is, it was a relatively diverse crowd in terms of age.
Anyway, the band: they looked really relaxed and happy to be there. They were hanging out at their own table but seemed excited to talk to anyone who approached them for a quick chat. Perhaps 15 minutes to 9 p.m. (the new start time), much of the band had begun making their way into the venue. Jacob (Slater — singer and main songwriter), however, hung around until about 8:55 before essentially walking right on stage, picking up his guitar and launching into “Midas,” a song that always seems slower in my head.
It just has such an energy to it that makes it come to life when the band plays it right in front of you. Listeners get a hint of that energy in the studio recording, because this whole album was recorded live, but as with most concerts, there is something special and irreplaceable about music being made right before your eyes and ears.
Bathed in red light, the four-piece absolutely filled the stage, moving around to occupy every inch of space through the performance. Their stage presence called to mind the tower of cars just blocks away — a shocking amount of mass and power confined to an impossibly small space. Cars on cars and Brits on amps.
Wunderhorse seemed to careen through their set with a sort of effortless nonchalance, but having spoken to Jamie just hours before, I knew this performance was one of intention and precision. I’ve always admired bands who project a casual facade, all the while taking such care in their craft behind the scenes. There are other interviews out there (though none quite as good as mine), along with synopses of the album, that dive deep into what it took to make this body of work — accounts that detail months of planning and woodshedding — that might surprise the casual listener.
Photo by @gabexruckus on Instagram
Wunderhorse has it, as I concluded upon seeing them play, and I think I speak for the room when I say that. I certainly speak for the time-advanced gentlemen in front of me, who jumped up and down and banged their heads to every song — even for slower songs like “Aeroplane” and “Superman.” I hope I still get that excited to hear music I love when I reach whatever age they were.
Just 45 minutes after the start of their set, Jacob thanked the packed room for being there, and “Superman” turned out to be the band’s final song of the night. As Jacob finished his vocal duties and the band entered into the instrumental postlude, he turned around and walked off the stage, dropping his guitar on the way out. I’ve seen frontmen do that a couple of times before, and I’ve always thought if I had a band I’d do the same thing. Because it’s so badass.
To cap it all off, there was no encore. Short and sweet. An incredible show. I’m not saying I prefer a show without an encore — I’m saying Wunderhorse didn’t need one.
Photo by @gabexruckus on Instagram
Anxious to start my drive back and go to bed by 2:30 a.m., I chugged some water and left the venue. My man, the garage attendant, dropped everything he was doing to give me my keys, and after about 45 minutes of slogging through MIDTOWN MANHATTAN — WHAT THE HELL, WAZE — I was back on the turnpike, headed home.
And it hit me that I’d never seen the New York City skyline at night before, all lit up like a dystopian film. Chaos can be beautiful. I felt like I was stealing — like a view like that should cost money. But I’m glad it doesn’t — except about $150 in gas, tolls and parking.