By LA Weekly
By Henry Rollins
By Weekly Photographers
By Shea Serrano
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Dan Weiss
By Erica E. Phillips
By Kai Flanders
The same could be said for the show’s visual bombardment, which is obviously post-MTV. My friend felt that in the end, this show’s roller-skating, rope-twirling, see-sawing, trampolining mashup frenzy kinda diminished both the Beatles and the performers. On that note: The 22-year-old chorus members here are working so effing hard — risking their necks, literally, performing horrifically dangerous acts of superhumanism in the most atrocious costumes imaginable — that you feel like an absolute jerk for laughing. At the end of the show, you really have to clap hard for them. For the kids.
But mostly, you must laugh. And drink Here Comes the Suns heavily.
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