The facts are these. On the night of Tuesday, August 13, 2013, I went to a Jonas Brothers concert. I am 23 years old. I have seen every Jonas Brothers music video, I have (with one of my best friends) watched every episode of their short-lived Disney Channel sitcom and, in the winter of 2009, I took a 40-minute bus ride to Emeryville to see their 3-D concert movie. It all started as a joke.
The facts remain. Around three years ago, the trio took a break for solo side projects with various and subpar results. Nick started his own band, took over for Daniel Radcliffe in a Broadway show and, according to a video I definitely did not just look up on YouTube, was briefly shirtless in Hawaii. Joe, too, did his music thing, dropping the purity ring in exchange for a buzzed haircut and tighter pants. Kevin Jonas got married, prompting the question nobody was asking: “Do people really care about Kevin Jonas?” The answer: Absolutely.
It seemed the group was maturing, both as individuals and musically. I, too, strayed away from the group, developing other interests that almost exclusively pertained to Google imaging cheese, bread and pictures of both cheese and bread. So, when the opportunity presented itself for me to see one of their concerts, I had to reason with myself:
“Jessica, you don’t actually like the Jonas Brothers.”
“Jessica, you’re too old to like them, you’re into adult things now like hard cheeses, washcloths and ‘50 Shades of Grey.’”
“Jessica, you have to go. ‘This is an SOS — don’t wanna second guess.’”
I was right. So I went. Expectations were astronomically high. I had, after all, seen their 3-D concert movie, which featured pyrotechnics, foam guns and weirdly erotic back-to-back brother gyrating. And, after three years apart, I had to know: Was there an audience left for the Jonas Brothers? What happens to a boy band after they’re past their prime?
Here are my findings.
A Jonas Brothers concert is not what it used to be. Instead of the vibrant stage gymnastics, costume changes and Beatlemania-type chaos, this was a more muted occasion. The throngs of neon-clad tweens seemed to be there in dozens, not droves. In front of me danced four 13-year-olds with matching “I <3 Nick” shirts while behind me there stood a robust man in his mid-30s clearly regretting his decision to be in a relationship with any young woman who could like the Jonas Brothers. The crowd as a whole seemed to be in its own awkward transitional stage between the carefree, unabashed enthusiasm of childhood and the too-cool-for-school attitude of early adulthood.
It was a tension that could also be seen on stage, in the visibly fatigued faces of Joe, Nick and Kevin, in the dark monochromatic wardrobe and in the dramatically altered Jonas Brothers brand. Their previous logo, a simple-yet-accessible cursive “The Jonas Brothers” has devolved into “JB,” a modular and minimal design that could only really stand for “Just Boring.”
They were there to play new songs — meaningful, heavier songs. I was there to hear the bubble-gum deep cuts. They were there to be “serious” musicians, and I wanted the escapism of nostalgia and the thrill of seeing Joe work that mic like I work a pack of Gouda — seductively. Alas, there was hardly a sliver of fun to be seen on that stage Tuesday night. Joe meandered aimlessly, Nick was efficient and Kevin proved capable.
When the three finally busted out “Burnin’ Up” as their finale (before the encore), the crowd, and I along with them, freaked the fuck out like nobody was watching. It was pure bliss — no cynicism, no judgment and no need to make fun for the sake of appearing cool. Maybe now the Jonas Brothers should take a cue from their audience.
Contact Jessica Pena at [email protected].