Since springing up in 2002 from the ashes of DeLaughter’s previous band, Tripping Daisy, the Polyphonic Spree has built a cult following with a mix of orchestral-indie rock that, at times, sounds like David Bowie dallying with Andrew Lloyd Webber. Whole musical sub-cultures have been built on similar statutes. Given the Polyphonic Spree’s penchant for staged theatrics and what is (in my opinion) a style-over-substance edict, I often find myself returning to a chicken-or-the-egg type question when I think about them: which came first, the concept or the songs? Their fans - a rabid bunch indeed - would argue that it doesn’t matter. Gone are the flowing robes (until the encore, at least) - they’ve been replaced by dark fatigues resplendent with red crosses that make the band’s members look like My Chemical Romance’s older, much more cultish cousins. Much like Philadelphia’s Theatre of the Living Arts - which recently got an overhaul (new floor, lick of paint, chandeliers) - the Polyphonic Spree turned up in new threads. We all know who captains this over-stocked vessel. DeLaughter doesn’t need the hat to assert his authority. DeLaughter puts it on, makes a wisecrack about Gilligan’s Island, and gets back to steering his ship - the 24-piece Polyphonic Spree - towards a perpetual horizon where the sun never sets. Four songs into the Polyphonic Spree’s sprightly set at the Filmore, a crowd member hands singer Tim DeLaughter a sailor hat.
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