Kansas City Music Blog

Dan Deacon's current tour, in support of his new album, Bromst, is to electronica what a live performance by the Roots is to hip hop. Times ten. Rather than turning knobs and tickling a keyboard over only a programmed drum loop, Deacon employed a guy pounding furiously on a drum kit. And another guy on a drum kit. Not content with the percussive fury of two ?uestloves, he recruited four or five musicians to play a gauntlet of electronic mallet instruments and floor toms. Add in a pack of guitarists and bassists, a flock of keyboardists (or is it a 'gaggle' of keyboardists?), and a glowing green skull, and Dan Deacon's electronic assault orchestra was complete.

An NPR story on Deacon pegs the number of supporting musicians as 15. I had trouble getting close enough to the mayhem to get a full count, and the flashing red and green lights didn't help. If watching the performance from the sidelines felt like an epileptic aura, approaching the thrashing mass surrounding Deacon was a grand mal seizure.

Grant Snider

Deacon's "Cool Bus" rolled into the West Bottoms around 11 p.m., a burnt-out VW station wagon in tow. Openers Teeth Mountain didn't go on until well past midnight. It took time (and audience help) to set up all that equipment. Teeth Mountain played a couple songs of meandering electronic horror music. They'd be a perfect soundtrack for one of the West Bottoms haunted houses come October. Their set was also a perfect time to venture outside the Foundation Room for some air, or to make a quick run to the liquor store (the venue is BYOB).

The set by Future Islands was similarly brief, but more appetizing. Their singer's voice sneered and crackled like the guy from the Walkmen, over dark but colorful waves of synthesizer. It was a calming interlude before Deacon's spastic set. I've never listened to Peter Gabriel, and I can't even spell "Eno," but if the '80s sounded anything like Future Islands, the decade can't have been all that bad.

By the time Dan Deacon began playing, it was nearly 3 a.m. The sizeable crowd of high school kids, costumed art students, and bearded, aging hipsters was still mostly feverish, though some sleep-deprived zombies shuffled about. Deacon himself was a cross between Milton from "Office Space" and Kanye West: red-bearded and balding, with big glasses and a big ego. His right arm was in a sling, rumored to have been injured in a fall down the steps of the Cool Bus.

Though he's apparently a conservatory-trained musician, his show thrived on performance art, specifically, audience participation. He commanded the sweaty fans like Ken Kesey to his troupe of Merry Pranksters, urging dance-offs, parades into the street, and lines of people running counterclockwise around the dance floor, high-fiving those standing at the periphery. The response was a little fatigued, but mostly compliant.

Most of the material Deacon played was from Bromst. Songs like "Get Older" and "Snookered" were a constant build-up of volume and energy. He may have claimed they were about "narcissism from a narcissist" and "doing a really horrible thing to someone you love," but there was no subtle message or discernible lyrics, just pulsating lights and dancing humans. An extended version of "Baltihorse" showcased the sheer onslaught of the vibraphone/marimba/xylophone section. It was like listening to Steve Reich's "Music for 18 Musicians" while your kids watch Ren and Stimpy in the backseat and your minivan careens off a cliff and bursts into flames in midair.

I jumped in the middle of the thrall during "Crystal Cat," a frenetic piece from Spiderman of the Rings, only to be smashed in the chin by the top of someone's head. I thought I had chipped a tooth, or at least lost an orthodontic bracket. Insomnia never felt so good.

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