In June, Exclaim! talked with Tokyo Police Club. In that interview, bass player and lead vocalist Dave Monks and keyboardist/backup vocalist Graham Wright discussed the band's history, the upcoming (final) tour, their legacy, and the love they had for their band and their fans. They were proud and humble, excited and funny, and were just getting ready to embark on their last run of shows.
Fast forward five months, and the band have finally arrived at the end, a streak of sold-out concerts at History. Four, to be exact. That's thousands of tickets a night for four straight nights. That's a lot of people, all looking forward to reveling in the danceable spectacle that is Tokyo Police Club.
There's an energy to TPC's music that defies easy categorization. Sure, it's indie and dancey and rocky and punky and keyboard-y, but it's also defined by the idiosyncrasies of the band members themselves. Graham Wright's dialed in keyboard lines; Josh Hook's frazzled riffs; Greg Alsop's sinewy, serpentine drums, and, of course, Dave Monks's voice, that nasally, high pitched, quiet-to-loud-and-back-again juxtaposition of a voice. It resulted in some of the catchiest music this side of the new millennium, and on Thursday night, those elements combined in a fit of alchemy for their second last show ever.
Toronto's Good Kid opened the night with their bright, noodly, Strokesian brand of dual-guitar indie-pop. The songs are filled with references to video games, soft drinks, love and failed relationships, and last night, there were some hooks and good times scattered throughout. The crowd responded in turn, clapping along and waving their arms when prompted. They also brought out Toronto live music stalwart Michael Louis Johnson to play brass on two songs. Very nice touch. The band members have energy in droves and can work a room really well, but 97% of the songs sounded exactly the same and it's all just a bit too "Gee whiz!" for me…except that cowboy one, that was great. Maybe I was too excited to see TPC (I'd been waiting nearly 20 years to do so), but still, much respect to Good Kid for getting to this point: they were nestled between Hollerado and Born Ruffians, and those are not easy shoes to fill.
Between sets, the merch line was longer than the line for the bathroom or the bar, which tells you how badly people wanted a last piece of this band, something tangible to remember them by.
Tokyo Police Club took the stage behind a curtain of ethereal noise cutting through the darkness. They started with "Favourite Food," which opened the show with its plaintive strumming and light electronics, an interesting choice for the bombastic, career-spanning set that followed.
The sound and light show were both tremendous, and while the big brights were riveting, the smaller pot lights scattered across the stage gave the proceedings the feel of an intimate, candle lit party — a righteous one, at that.
The goosebump-inducing "Breakneck Speed" came early in the set (I definitely wasn't the only one moved by its inclusion) and was followed by "Wait Up (Boots of Danger)," which included a rousing, extended outro. With two major singalongs this soon in the set, it was clear TPC wanted to grab us early, and they absolutely did. The appeal and power of those two songs is impossible to deny, and even more impossible not to love.
They didn't speak to us until after the fourth song, and everyone booed when Monks mentioned that this was the farewell tour. He took us through a short, sweet history of the band, including their pre-TPC days. He even played a bass line from their earliest iteration, Suburbia. They then launched into the Elephant Shell portion of the set, which got the crowd bouncing and dancing. During album highlight "In a Cave," the gang vocals were beyond on-point, and this section set a precedent for the rest of the night. Throughout the show, people held each other, swayed and danced, kissed, clapped along and waved their arms, and fed voraciously off the band's infectious energy.
The between-song banter was almost vaudevillian, a performance in its own right: the band were having fun, telling jokes and stories, playing games, being juvenile in the sincerest of ways, banging on keys and interacting with the crowd. They blasted through track after track with aplomb and heart, dancing, sashaying, and bouncing across the stage while the crowd danced, sashayed, and bounced along in return. We also sang along. A lot. They hugged and embraced and Monks even gave Wright a noogie. At this point, they're closer than brothers. It was THE TPC show, and everyone was very much along for the ride.
Wright was particularly energetic, running across the stage playing guitar, keyboards and handling vocals. He gave it his all, and there was still one more night to go! He also told us the story of Monks's garage growing up, where some of their earliest practices took place. There, they learned to "out-rock the suck" and shared a RAZOR scooter. They made their TPC signs in that garage, with Monks painting in his underwear so as to avoid paint-splattered clothes. They tore down shelves and built a stage, their ambitions high from the get-go. "It is currently exactly that much fun" Wright said, "and we learned to do it in Dave's garage." As for the show itself? "I'm still in Dave's garage in my heart." He'll probably stay there forever.
Hooks and Alsop didn't say much, but Hooks shredded and made those magical riffs and runs flow, while Alsop was on point throughout, keeping the whole thing together, smashing and crashing through hits and deep cuts with equal power and cool.
There were moments upon moments of camaraderie and mutual respect. Hooks and Wright ended up on their knees in front of one another, playing torrents of shimmering, reverb-soaked chords that swam through the venue, before kicking into the slithery intro of garage burner "Pigs" off 2018's now-swansong, TPC. Interestingly, the band didn't play either of their final two new singles, "Just a Scratch" or "Catch Me If You Can," and while we shouldn't philosophize or interpret why they were excluded, it was still noticeable.
When Alsop kicked into the unmistakable intro for "Cheer it On," the crowd (including this very excited writer) went ballistic, and many of the songs from A Lesson in Crime — a surprisingly unnerving, intense and jittery debut — had the most unreserved reaction, particularly from some of the older audience members.
When the band released Melon Collie and the Infinite Radness in 2016, they performed the song "PCH" for twelve hours straight (genius marketing ploy). This is when they first met Good Kid, who helped them get through the marathon, swapping in when the TPC guys needed a break. Michael and Nick from Good Kid (on vocals and bass, respectively) joined them for the song, and it ended with a huge, climactic sing along with an even bigger cheer at the end.
Seeing these songs live, the diversity of TPC becomes apparent: sub-two-minute dance-punk blasts, huge ballads, melancholic indie, and just straight up kick ass rock songs. Champ sounds different from Radness which sounds different from Elephant Shell, and the songs on those albums all have their own vibe, their own personalities. And yet, they all sound unmistakably TPC.
For "Gone," they wanted to recreate how the song starts on the album, with an en masse shouted-out "DUNDAS!" It was hard to get it coordinated with the crowd, and it was kind messy but it also kinda worked. The keyboard squibbled while Monks's syncopated bass line played off and around Alsop's cutting backbone beats.
"Bambi" resulted in a full-on dance party: every time the glitchy instrumental sections kicked in, the flashing lights illuminated bouncing bodies, some filming (inevitable) but most bopping and enjoying themselves during every joyous, clap-along moment.
After "Bambi," the lights went down, and Monks stood dangling a single bulb above Hooks while a white glow flashed menacingly in front of them. As the band launched in "Frankenstein," Monks swung the bulb around his head and kept it close to his face, like an overzealous kid gleefully fucking with something he knows he shouldn't be fucking with. In the song, he sings, "Tell me it's good to be back," an ironic line in these last moments.
"Argentina (Parts I, II, III)" elicited a huge response from the crowd, as if people were looking forward to it but weren't sure it would ever show up in the setlist — in full, no less! These moments when TPC dug deep showed that they were always so much more than a singles band: people went apeshit for album cuts from later albums, a testament to their longevity, their appeal, their reach. Let's be honest: a band doesn't sell thousands of tickets over four nights because they have a "few good songs," and throughout the night, TPC proved that with gusto.
And what's there to be said about the songs on A Lesson in Crime? The band almost played the EP in full (no "La Ferrassie," but such is life), and things went off. During "Citizens of Tomorrow," Wright and Hooks slid along the stage on their knees, practically into each other's arms, the lights bathing their fun in a red glow. It was a party.
"Shoulders & Arms" was practically apocalyptic at times, while "Be Good" became the maximalist, strobe lit masterpiece it was always destined to be (and always was). Before the main-set finale, Monks mentioned it was the second last show for the second time, and people couldn't decide whether they wanted to cheer or boo, both sounds coming from the audience in waves and droves. So many emotions — and rightfully so!
The main set ended with "Tessellate," and this writer lost his shit: I danced until out of breath. I screamed along 'til out of even less breath and my voice cracked. I clapped until my hands were red and stinging, and every millisecond of it was amazing, all energy and drive and power.
For the encore, Monks came out alone and addressed the audience honestly and plainly. "It's actually really sad, guys!" he told us, referencing the end. You could feel the emotion in his voice, in his whole body. He paused and strummed some chords while recovering. For Monks, who has spent half his life in this band, TPC, is, as he so simply put it, "me…it's all of us!"
He then played "Ready to Win," the perfect self-love anthem for a second last concert ever by an important, great band. He asked the audience to participate in the song's instructions ("So turn on the house lights, turn to your left / Shake hands with someone that you'll probably forget / And tell them they're great, tell them they're splendid / No matter how all of their fuck-ups have ended / Tell them they're free from whatever happened / From all of the haters who need someone to slap them"), and we complied, laughing and sharing in the moment together.
"Hot Tonight" made its inevitable appearance, with phones immediately shooting up into the air. "Did we already play this song tonight?" Monks asked. They hadn't, and the peoples' boisterous reaction confirmed it.
Before starting their last song, Monks asked us to wave at them as they waved at us. We all waved, saluting each other and the band. Then Alsop sat back down, they counted in, and so began their last song of the night.
"Your English Is Good" exploded from the stage, with the crowd screaming "GIVE US YOUR VOTE!" in reverence and unison. It ended with all four of them playing the last notes on the riser, the sound booming and free, facing one another as a unit, a band. When the song ended and the last sounds dissipated, they put their instruments down and turned to face us.
They then took a well-deserved final bow, and slowly left the stage, turning repeatedly to face the crowd, basking in our applause.
And that was that.
On November 29, 2024, TPC will play their final show. For those of you going, don't expect a wake. It's a celebration, a rare opportunity to share in the band's chosen end. When a band we like breaks up, more often than not, we don't get to witness the farewell. There's a tour (sometimes), but then the announcement comes much later. Or there's an implosion. Or someone dies. Band break ups aren't always pretty, or fun, or festive. But with Tokyo Police Club, it felt different. We were privy to the end-as-party, and regardless of what may have gone down behind the scenes, this show was magical.
From Monks's garage to some of the biggest stages across the planet to this final coronation, Tokyo Police Club made it on their own, through sheer creativity and uniqueness, through perseverance and great fucking songs. "Sometimes the world aligns in a beautiful way," Monks said at the beginning of the night. He was right. For those of us lucky enough to see this last run of shows, the world was one, and so were we.