Gig: Dan Deacon

Dan Deacon (Lightning Bolt / John Milner You're So Boss)

The Great Hall. Tuesday, October 10, 2010.

Apparently there was a discount on hard-assed bouncers that The Great Hall got in on. "Any sharp objects?" asked one as he rifled through my bag. His partner peered at my ID through squinted eyes, like he was deep in concentration. Charmers.

Things were friendlier inside, with a healthy number of folks on hand before the show's listed 9:30 start time. And not an entirely regular crowd, either, as there was a small number of folks in masks and costumes circulating around. There was also a band's worth of gear on the floor in front of the stage — a drumkit and guitar, plus a heap of stuff including some pedals, toy instruments and a telephone receiver plugged into a little mixing board.

All of that belonged to locals John Milner You're So Boss,¹ who opened things up. They exploded for a short set of noisy, shouty stuff — not a lot of vocals to be made out here. Vocalist Danielle LeBlanc had a propensity to wander as far into the crowd as her mic cord would let her while the zlblerbling toy keyboard and flailing guitar thrashed behind her. The music was not, um, melodically structured and it was formally untethered from the rigours of hardcore. One might categorize it closer to "I had an accident in my pants" — and leave it open to interpretation if that's a sad or happy turn of events. There was a sort of cartoon-y aspect to it, so if the aim of the noise and spasms was catharsis it didn't quite get there.

It was often unclear when songs started or ended. There was a setlist with about a dozen titles written on it, and the whole thing came and went in eleven minutes. Was it good? Or, more precisely, was it entertaining? In an eleven-minute burst, it had some charms, though I suspect more than that would generate diminishing returns.

And then, attention turned from the floor to the stage, with a large glowing skull mounted on an extended mic stand looming over the crowd² while the masked ghosts, on the balcony above the floor, were dropping down streamers and balloons to be batted around. From the get-go the whole point was to create more of a spectacle than a show.

In that spirit, Dan Deacon attempted to lead the band, as they emerged, in an off-mic acapella version of "Get Older", that didn't get off the ground, as Deacon joked, "a magic moment could have been made, but drummers are embarrassed coward men." His gibe at his bandmates masked another thrust of the show — aiming for transcendence and grandiosity is okay, even if it doesn't work out. And it was with that in mind that his intense rhythm machine chugged to life. It was, all told, a ten-man ensemble, with the musicians shifting around, but at any given time, there were usually two guitarists, three drummers, two vibraphonists and three keyboard players. Deacon's vocals were massively vocodered/pitchshifted and more an element in the mix than the focus. The band was mostly playing material from his most recent album Bromst, interspersed with a few newer ones.

The vibe was mainly celebratory craziness, and in service of that there was a few stunt-like moves. At one point, Deacon called for the creation of a giant circle in the centre of the floor for a dance contest, which was soundtracked to a song inspired by Konono N^o 1.³ At times, it felt like the songs were almost more distinguishable by their extramusical qualities — this one gets the green strobelights, that one gets the dance contest, etc. Which is also to say that the whole thing was clearly more geared as a get-into-it participatory dance party.

To judge it as a set of tunes feels rather beside the point, though musically, our own Holy Fuck comes to mind as a point of comparison, though Deacon's tone was usually a bit warmer and less distanced. But there was definitely a love of arpeggiation, especially the kind found in electronic music, repurposed for this live ensemble. Or to pick another point of comparison, when you see four guys shoulder-to-shoulder playing vibes at the same time, you realize that the gap between this and, say, the Blue Man Group isn't so big.

There was certainly a propensity to stretch things out — the last three songs took up about half of the hour-long set, with closer "Baltihorse" going more than twelve minutes. The best of the bunch was probably "Wham City" (from his 2007 album Spiderman of the Rings), a tribute his own Balitmore cultural milieu. This was enjoyable stuff — arguably moreso for the people who were there to just let go and sink into the more celebratory aspects of the show.

Listen to a track from this set here.

There would be a different vibe after that. Though Dan Deacon was the night's headliner, there was one more band to go after him. That would be Providence's Lightning Bolt, making music since 1997, and apparently well regarded — though they were new to me.

When I came back towards the stage after the break between sets there was an almost absurd wall of amps being built. And looking around, it seemed like the crowd has changed considerably. Whereas before it was fully mixed, now there were largely dudes pressing toward the stage, and a lot more of 'em in punk gear than I'd spotted before.

Meanwhile, there was a protracted bit of setup taking place on stage, where drummer/vocalist Brian Chippendale was quite particular about getting each drum individually mic'ed. Once that got settled, I wasn't sure if they'd started playing, or were soundchecking or goofing around, with Chippendale — who was masked, and vocalising with a mic built from a telephone receiver that was held inside his mouth — doing a sort of deranged beatboxing while bassist Brian Gibson kept getting ready.

The band were on stage for more than ten minutes before getting going, and it soon became apparent that all of those amps weren't just for show, as this was an intensely loud set. The band tore off into some muscular shredding aggression, and the crowd that had packed up in front of the stage responded. I needed to move back pretty much right away.

Although the music wasn't generally tuneful it wasn't undifferentiated noise — there's obviously chops and technique here. Call it pummel-core, I guess. Adding to the disorienting gutpunch of the instrumental attack, Chippendale's vocals were run through all sorts of weird effects. I guess I could sort of appreciate this, but I wasn't sure I actually liked it. Plus, it was a worknight and I was getting tired. I hung around for about a half-hour, then cut out early.

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¹ I must admit that I'm not cool enough to immediately be able to tell if the band is named after the hot-rodding American Graffiti character or the '70's slugger for the Mets (a/k/a "The Hammer" — 112 OPS+ on his career). Or, perhaps less likely, the controversialist 18th century Catholic bishop.

² This would be the souce of what might be this show's most notorious legacy: apparently a personal icon and longstanding stage prop for Deacon, the skull was stolen after his set, leading to a threat from Deacon that he would never play this town again until it was returned — which it was, a couple months later.

³ In fact, I believe Deacon called out the title as "Konono Ripoff No. 1".