The Teenagers are a manufactured band, which is nothing strange or new in light of the vastly commercialized/bastardized modern music scene. The Teenagers’ story does have a bit of a twist though, perhaps you’ve heard it: trio of French teens create fake MySpace band page; band collects fans who write messages and make posts on said fake page; band records first hit with lyrics stemming from said messages and posts; band achieves international popularity.
One might question the social impact and implications of such an illustrious genesis for a band that started as a joke. Or, one might pay absolutely no attention to whether these guys have any talent whatsoever (as The Teenagers’ original adoring fans obviously did not) and decide instead to enjoy this pseudo-band for their foreign accents and clever good looks.
Fortunately, The Teenagers have written a slew of poppy, catchy, make-ya-wanna-dance tunes and they’re charming and edgy enough to capture the attention of an audience of even moderately educated music lovers. They are also cocky as all hell and have managed to come up with a bevy of self-aware and often-explicit lyrics on their debut album, Reality Check, inherent lack of experience notwithstanding.
First song out of the gates for The Teenagers at the Bowery Ballroom was “Feeling Better,” a narcissistic tune with lyrics like, “Just buy our t-shirts and talk about us everywhere,” intermingled with chants of “We love The Teenagers!” Singer Quentin Delafon flitted around the stage, throwing peace signs like a 1980’s Debbie Gibson [pictured], still wearing his All Access sticker on his shirt.
“Fuck Nicole,” the aforementioned first song penned by The Teenagers, was up next and it sounded like the entire audience was singing along to every lyric. This sign of allegiance didn’t faze Delafon, who finished the song asking “Who’s French? Who’s American?” only to declare, “We love French, they’re cooler than American!”
The Teenager Delafon inevitably has a penchant for sexy women and twice jumped into the crowd, giving himself up to the wilderness of female fans that were more than happy to oblige. The obvious highlight for these young tigresses though, came during the band’s hit “Homecoming” when Delafon actually pulled a dozen of them onstage to share in his spotlight. These girls writhed and beamed at him as he sang a completely misogynistic anthem of teen romance (or lack thereof). It was all wonderfully shallow.
Fellow Teenagers Michael Szpiner on bass and Dorian Dumont on guitar were markedly more low-key than their front man, but obviously enjoyed his antics. The three young men all seem to have the makings of indie-rockstar potential if they could only find ways to engage in a little variety. Each track that followed, “Trouble,” “No Love,” “Starlett Johansson,” all shared similar song structure. There are always new wave keys, hooky bass lines, catchy choruses and Quentin talking over the music. It’s a lot of fun, but a delicious recipe for another one-album-wonder.
What this brand new and vaguely green band lacked in savior faire they more than make up for in self-esteem. They are not quiet about their French patriotism and easily offer up how loathsome they find Americans to be. Their sentiment may have been off-putting had the crowd not been ridden with drunk, obnoxious, college-aged home-landers flailing about and slamming into one another while screaming at the top of their lungs in bad taste and with bad timing. Even Quentin seemed a little over it by night’s end.
Ironically, these kids are exactly who manufactured The Teenagers and are the only reasons this up-and-coming band even have a stage to perform on. Karma is a bitch.
--Cami Raben [May 13, 2008]
