Copeland's Final Show in ATL

Last Wednesday, I had the great privilege to see one of the most influential bands on both my art and indie rock music in general play their farewell show in Atlanta.

For the past nine years, Copeland has written and performed their beautifully sewn melodies and rhythms for listeners that were looking for more than the standard bubblegum, mainstream brand of music the majority of the population settles for. Aaron Marsh, the lead vocalist and songwriter of the group, is known for his songs about romance, spirituality, and hope. His smooth falsetto joined with a brilliant delayed guitar, a driving piano, and an intricate drumbeat have been the basis for many songs die-hard fans hold near to their heart. The day Copeland announced that they were breaking up was a said day for music.

On the night of the show, I walked into the Masquerade with an uncontrollable energy as I approached the upper level of the venue. Hundreds of music fans gathered in preparation for the front-runners of Indie Pop to grace the stage with their presence. The overwhelming majority of the crowd was there with unconditional support for the band. When Aaron Marsh walked on stage and picked up his weathered, sunburst Gibson Les Paul and approached the microphone, the crowd could do nothing but scream in hope of what could and should have been Copeland’s best and final show in Atlanta.

The show was not what had been previously expected. The group performed the music as well as one can when they’ve lost the passion they once had for their craft. The set list could have been one of the best Copeland has ever performed, but the songs were void of life. Aaron Marsh appeared as if he had lost all hope. His songs that had once been hauntingly beautiful became nothing more than dead words. No romance. No spirit. No faith. All that remained were memorized melodies and empty lyrics. Instead of springing from his heart, they crawled out of his throat and fell to the crowd’s feet. And we spoke nothing of it.

Every song, we would slip further into denial and applaud louder. We cheered in hopes of waking the frontman up from his slumber. We wanted to see the boy who once wrote, “If you would shine your love down here, I promise I’d reflect it right back at you.” But alas, we could not melt his hardened heart, and Aaron Marsh did not reflect his love back at us. We were nothing more than another show, another crowd. He attempted to personalize the performance by saying Atlanta was like a 2^nd home to him, but even this he said halfheartedly.

I left Atlanta in denial. I tried to convince myself that what I had seen was impressive, but when it comes down to it, I’m not good at lying to myself. I was disappointed that the only time I was going to see one of my heroes perform was leaving such a cynical and hopeless taste in my mouth. I can’t help but think they should have let the crowd have the microphone, for at least the words sung would have been authentic.

I learned from Copeland what the loss of faith and the loss of hope will do to you, and I refuse to let myself ever get that way. Love what you do or find something else to love, but don’t give up on life.