A chilly gust of wind shocks the rather imposing horde of travellers that have just exited the Lakeshore West train onto platform six, the air filled with a cacophony of their murmuring remarks on the impending arrival of fall. Wedged between two exceptionally large locomotives, dozens of bodies crush together in the race down the stairs to Union Station, the sound of their voices humming in the atmosphere like radio static.
The shuddering crowd is diverse. Fans donning bright blue Toronto Blue Jays baseball caps are blissfully unaware that they are about to lament a crushing loss to the Miami Marlins before the night is through. Men with briefcases struggle to part the sea of people as they travel against the pack, attempting to board a train home after a long day of work. Airport goers drag luggage behind them on their journey to the air train, dodging dirty looks from those around them who suffer the nipping pain of a suitcase wheel running over their toe.
Upon first glance, the shuffling faction of travellers seem pretty average for a Friday night in the big city. Yet peppered amongst them are a collection of unique bodies whose hands and necks have been painted black, their shoulders and knees covered in strips of red and yellow duct tape. Hiding in this crowd of ordinary, everyday people are the few, the proud and the emotional: members of the Clique getting ready to embark on an indescribable journey towards emotional actualization.
Those who were previously camouflaged now congregate together openly outside of the Scotiabank Arena, covering one another in the colours of Clancy and his Banditos. The sound of joyful laughter fills the air, signifying an unspoken comradery amongst a gathering of people who often find themselves stuck in the periphery. Suddenly set ablaze with glowing red light, the crowd rallied in Maple Leaf Gardens begin to cheer at the sight of Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun reflected on the 2,200 square foot LED screen attached to the side of the arena. “TWENTY ONE PILOTS: THE CLANCY TOUR,” the projection reads in massive yellow letters.
If you’re in the wrong place, you should probably leave now.
Just inside the doors of gate six, a woman confiscates duct tape, a mandatory part of the Bandito wardrobe. Both of her forearms are decorated with various red and yellow rolls which fans have reluctantly handed over. Her eyes light up in malicious glee as she catches another perpetrator, snatching the tape from their outstretched hands before announcing her accomplishment to the crowd of people at bag check as if she has solved world hunger.
Yet, the unbounded positive energy being expelled by fans of the band — who now occupy ever corner of the venue — permeates the space with fervor, overtaking any negativity that might have previously existed.
Inside the arena, the crowd is buzzing. People clutch various items of merchandise to their chests as they make the embarrassing shuffle past fellow concert goers’ knees to get to their seats. Cell phone flashlights interact with each another from across the room, dancing in synchronized circles as if to say: “Is anyone else out there?”
Suddenly, as the massive curtain concealing the stage drops to the floor and the show begins, this tiny, beautiful fraction of the world congregating inside the Scotiabank Arena collectively releases a deep sigh of relief.
There is someone out there.
Throughout the night, Tyler and Josh play a variety of tracks, the setlist elegantly intertwining classics with songs from the band’s most recent full-length release Clancy. Expertly balancing the inclusion of the band’s lore with good old Twenty One Pilots humour, the concert keeps its audience on their feet and desperately wanting more.
As the show progresses, time starts to feel as if it is passing in slow motion, minds and souls lost in blurred hues of red and yellow. All around the room, tired bodies glisten with sweat and flushed faces are covered in remnants of old makeup smudged by traitorous tears. When Tyler re-takes the stage to perform “Oldies Station,” he seems to suck in a shuddering breath of emotion as it finally hits him — he did this. In a moment of quiet contemplation, the man who started it all watches as the beautiful community he has managed to cultivate stares back at him with overwhelming reverence flashing in their eyes.
“You don’t quite mind how long red lights are taking / Push on through / Your favourite song was on the oldies station / Push on through / You have it down, that old fight for survival / Push on through” Tyler encourages the crowd, and a chorus of voices sing the same sentiment back to him with fervour. It’s a moving testament to the interminable love that has brought together a room of complete strangers, a never-ending connection that will persist long after the night is through.
As the song ends, the artist and the audience reflect on all the obstacles they have had to overcome to get to this moment in time and a quiet moment of feeling envelopes the congregation as they consider the sheer beauty of what they have just experienced.
The band conclude the concert in the same way they have for as long as anyone can remember, with the song “Trees.” Assuming their positions on two metal platforms nestled amongst the crowd of people in the pit, Tyler and Josh play the show out in a deeply cathartic and culminating moment of intense emotion.
“Trees” stresses the importance of persevering against struggle, connecting in times of isolation, living even when things get hard. The performance is a symbol of everything the band stands for: staying alive and pushing through.
As people begin to disperse onto the streets of Toronto in a daze, the band’s concluding words, “We are Twenty One Pilots, and so are you,” remind the crowd of the wonderful community they are a part of.
Stay strong, live on and power to the local dreamer.
