Known for his high expectations of the audience and refusal to play on elevated stages, Dan Deacon came to Lollapalooza and refused to compromise on the former while giving a little on the latter. The stage was crowded with performers at all times and Dan orchestrated the discordant electronic dance-circus with a deft hand.
The Babylon, New York native graced the stage in a purple t-shirt and a sequin hat with a pair of drummers to match...and another to match them...and a trio of keyboardists and a matching guitar suite...oh, and a marching band to match all of that. The gang of musicians he had in tow would have outnumbered the audience at the last show I saw him play, and there were a lot of people there.
At the first push of a synth key the crowd surged forward, eliminating any space remaining between bodies. As the crowd coalesced, so did the music. Dan's heavily-processed vocals whizzed around like a dragonfly through the maze of sounds his entourage created. Dancy and chaotic all at once, the noise seemed to cause a quantum shift in the crowd.
Ritualistic head-bobbers found themselves in the jumping camp and fist pumpers found themselves in a rudimentary (and misplaced) mosh pit. Whoever you were before you walked up to that stage was left behind and you became just another member of the Dan Deacon ensemble.
He engaged in a group therapy for the audience. Asking everyone to turn and look at one point, put their hands on the head of the person in front of them and rub. Then put pressure. Then release this pressure with all of the negative thoughts of the day. Whether or not that worked is up for discussion, but it was certainly a study in audience obedience. They wanted to know “how high?”
A somewhat-failed attempt at his epic London Bridge followed. But the highlight was likely the interpretive dance lead by their bus driver. A circle was created and the crowd was challenged to mimic him as he moved around. He moved his arms this way and that, arcing about himself in the ways of the Deacon Tribe. His offering to the weather gods was trash, sent sailing in the air. Vitamin Water bottles, beer cans and cigarette packs rained down and the dancing began again.
The marching band joined shortly thereafter, playing a rendition of Crystal Cat as the closing number with the band filling in with the synths, the beat sequencer wrapping it up and serving to to what turned into a raucous this-is-the-last-song rage among those in attendance. As the speakers vibrated the last note, the crowd was released from their trance to find themselves sweaty and grinning.
Brian Gloede is a Chicago native who moved on to different (notably browner) pastures and he can't give up the trappings of being a tourist in his home town and cramming as much music into his heatstroked head as the festival will allow. He can be found on Twitter at @thatkidthere. Photos by Brian Gloede.
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thatkidthere
Having mastered English in the preceding 36 hours, this lingual anomaly will now be attempting a feat of journalistic ineptitude mended with naive hopeful wit. More
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