Time machines don’t exist — except maybe they do. Last Saturday night at the Greek Theatre, nearly 6,000 people stepped back into the early 2000s, when mixtapes meant everything and sharing headphones was an act of intimacy.
The occasion? A 20th anniversary concert celebrating “Garden State” and its genre-defining soundtrack. Sam Beam (you probably know him better as Iron & Wine) opened the show, armed with nothing but an acoustic guitar and that honey-whisper voice of his. His stripped-down version of “Such Great Heights” hit different now — somehow both a throwback and completely present, like finding an old photo that still makes your heart skip.
“Pulled this off? I still can’t believe it,” laughed Zach Braff, the film’s creator-star, gesturing toward that iconic green motorcycle with its sidecar (which, as Natalie Portman would later remind everyone to thunderous applause, is apparently “for bitches”). The whole evening felt like that — surreal yet perfectly natural, each moment building on the last in ways that shouldn’t have worked but absolutely did.
Danny DeVito shuffled onstage at one point — yeah, that Danny DeVito, original film producer and national treasure — to introduce Sophie Barker from Zero 7 performing “In the Waiting Line.” Something about watching him sway slightly to the music, eyes closed, muttering about how the song makes him float… well, it captured everything the night was about.
Then there was Remy Zero. Their first performance in 15 years, and damn if they didn’t sound exactly like that moment when you first heard “Fair” through tinny computer speakers in your dorm room. The projected fireplace behind them? Pure genius — a perfect callback to Portman’s tap-dancing scene that somehow avoided feeling too on-the-nose.
Speaking of Portman — her introduction of The Shins felt almost meta. Here’s the band that was supposed to “change your life,” and judging by the crowd’s reaction when James Mercer struck those first notes of “New Slang,” it actually had. Mercer knew it too. “Changed my life, I’ll tell you that,” he admitted after wrapping up “Caring Is Creepy.”
Between sets, the show wove together film clips and stories that reminded everyone why this soundtrack mattered so much. Back in ’04, this collection helped crack open mainstream consciousness to indie rock, riding the same wave as “The O.C.” and similar cultural touchstones. That Grammy win over “Kill Bill 2”? Still feels justified.
The night’s lineup proved surprisingly diverse — Colin Hay stripped “Down Under” to its bones, while Icelandic jazz phenom Laufey somehow made Coldplay’s “Don’t Panic” feel both vintage and completely fresh. Each performance added another layer to the soundtrack’s emotional archaeology.
Maybe the most striking thing? Watching parents point out songs to their teenagers, explaining why each track mattered. What critics once dismissed as hipster bait has evolved into something else entirely — a preservation of possibility from the last moment before algorithms started choosing our next favorite song.
Imogen Heap and Frou Frou closed things out with an improvised piece built from crowd vocals. In an age of perfectly curated Spotify playlists, there was something powerful about 6,000 people creating music together, messy and beautiful and completely unrepeatable.
Twenty years on, when every song ever recorded sits in our pockets, it’s worth remembering how it felt to press play and hope someone else would understand exactly what you were trying to say. The “Garden State” soundtrack didn’t just change lives — it captured that brief, brilliant moment when sharing music meant sharing your whole heart.
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