Dan Deacon @ Rhinoceropolis
By Paul Custer | December 16th, 2008 | No Comments »
The hipster faithful respond to Dan Deacon’s call to action at Rhinoceropolis on Saturday. Photos by Joe McCabe.
To the uninitiated (which included me before Saturday) Dan Deacon’s shows are all about audience participation and freaking out to his spastic compositions. And, by asking you to follow along through the entire set, he creates a test of loyalty. It was a test I saw half the audience gleefully taking and the other half giving up on at Rhinoceropolis. And, despite all of my best intentions, I felt relieved when I joined the latter group.
Having never been to Rhinoceropolis, I showed up early and set to making myself at home in the labyrinth of thrown-together lofted bedrooms, art studios and lounge areas. The space was everything I imagined the underground warehouse venue would be: works-in-progress sat on couches next to empty 40 oz. bottles while two black cats roamed freely on the garbage-spotted pathway leading out back to the weathered deck. Stark industrial lights revealed themselves around corners while junkyard-furnished living areas surprisingly enticed everyone to get cozy and stay a while.
After meeting and sharing a bottle of vodka with a group of well-dressed kids from Boulder I realized that this venue, despite its dank interior, was the real deal. This was where truly underground music, art and fashion are shared, and developing hipsters get together and network. In other words, the perfect place to see Dan Deacon.
After three openers, whose styles ranged from meditative noise to hardcore to local DJ Pictureplane, the show opened in characteristic Deacon style. The barely-visible man attired in a red-and-black lumberjack shirt and blue hoodie took the mic from behind a crazy array of glowing electronics. Asking everyone to count down from 10 to 1, with each number getting lower in pitch and volume, he launched into his first song — a rush of swooshes that crescendoed into a flurry of insistent electronic drums.
It was clear that everyone was there to dance. The only problem was that the music failed to convince the entire room to go nuts. Watching the young fashionistas attempt to keep moving to “Mark Brown” was like watching a class of 300 trying to learn how to ride pogo sticks in a room already wall-to-wall with other people. Some gave up and resigned themselves to staring in perplexed silence, while some managed to stay on — bouncing with giddy grins plastered on their fresh faces. It was both disheartening and understandable to see a lot of the audience hit a wall when their desire to keep moving was squelched by the music’s un-danceability.
There were bursts of compelling sounds and passages, but even with great tracks like “Wham City Part 1 of 2” the vocals were barely audible, leaving a bludgeoning assault of monotonous beats that rendered many around me motionless. Songs like “The Crystal Cat” noticeably intensified my body heat as it released a dumptruck-load of tension into the crowded space. Even the down-tempo songs like “Big Milk” seemingly failed to stimulate the sweaty masses to do anything but anticipate Deacon’s next big attempt to get everyone involved.
When Deacon asked the entire audience to walk, single-file, through the inner-workings of the building’s cluttered rooms while he continued playing, I realized this was my chance to escape. My disappointment didn’t lie in the fact that I didn’t get it; it was based solely on the fact that I didn’t feel compelled.
I watched a handful of budding fashion mavens giving up on the hype as well, taking it as my cue to follow. I walked out behind them, bracing myself for the cold, finally freed of being asked to follow along. Behind me, the building released a sigh of hot air as the door swung shut.
Paul Custer is best known for inventing the Herky Jerky, the Backwards Hopscotch and the Funky Zombie, among other popular dances. His moves and life have been the subject of the biopics “The Flailing Whirlwind — A True Story” and “Liquid Vertebrae.” When he’s not busting dance-move burglars he can be found passing on dessert, identifying scent combinations and playing with dirty cats.
Joe McCabe is a Denver freelance photographer and regular contributor to Reverb.
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