Wham City Feet Night

After the full night of psychedelic majesty that was Eyes Night, the Baltimore music collective, Wham City, put on their dancing kicks and metaphorically kicked our asses, mania dripping from the walls of the ‘Sco. It’s a good thing Dan Deacon seems to love us so much, choosing Oberlin for one of the few places both Eyes Night and Feet Night occurred. Fuck midterms; let’s dance.

The longest break we got between 9:30 and 1:00 was a trip in itself: a man and a woman shrouded in light, gazing into each other’s eyes and panting the phrase, “We cut the throats of those who are wrong.” Judging by the standards set by the quirky, neon-splattered family that is Wham City, nothing is wrong. No one is wrong. The more “wrong” the evening becomes with such artists as DJ Dog Dick, The DeathSet, and Lizz King, the more "right" it all feels. No throats cut tonight.

The very structure of the Round Robin tour is testament to the cooperative nature of the collective. Nobody has a bad spot in the room, no band is deemed an “opener,” no microgenres are defined, and the bands collaborate to create well-done multimedia presentations that simultaneously take us back to the 90’s thrust us into the future of pop music. Aesthetically, Dan Deacon always delivers with gusto, green skulls alight, fluorescently decorated equipment abuzz…even the audience becomes a part of the visual experience as the inner circle violently dances in a halo of light, singing along to the culmination of the evening, the Wham City “national anthem” of sorts (appropriately titled “Wham City”) off of the critically acclaimed album Spiderman of the Rings.

Living up to their name, the electro-rock powerhouse Video Hippos also employed visuals in a way that captured attention without distancing us from the musical experience. Perhaps the most entrancing of the videos is that of a human profile, ideas and insecurities about direction, intimacy, and even weight filtering in, bouncing off, and melding into each other as we, in our various boozy, drugged up, or simply amped states stomped our feet, grabbed each other, and stared as human emotional universality struck a surreal chord. Hey, I’ve felt like that before. But now all I care about is dancing, music, and colors, man.

Not all the visuals felt this seamless, however. Lizz King, positioning herself as a Lolita-type figure, combined images in her video for the song, “Booty Queen,” of Tinkerbell getting spanked, Pocahontas and John Smith having sex, JonBenet Ramsey strutting her way underage “stuff” on stage, and most notably, what seemed to be webcam videos of herself in assorted levels of angst and auto-sensuality. Pursing her lips to the camera as she sings, “Ooh la la, ooh la la! She’s just a BABY!” we watched as she jammed her face almost directly into the lens, smudging overdone, burlesque clown-type makeup down her face as she cried. In person, she danced energetically on a table in a series of angles and contortions as she shrieked to the minimalist electro beats and, occasionally, belted out some surprisingly soulful notes in an alto range. Her last song, an eerily slowed-down, robotisized cover of Rihanna’s “Umbrella,” left a slightly bitter taste in my mouth, although it was wonderful to glance around the venue as people, oblivious to the fact that it was perhaps the creepiest cover of “Umbrella” ever, paired up and shared profound drunken eye contact with the grinding partner of their choosing.

“Electrospazz” band Nuclear Power Pants jokes that they’re just happy that people talk about them, even if journalists and bloggers seem to dislike their music. Not this one. Dressed in a two-headed business suit, the two singers probably sang in different keys the whole time, but the vigor with which they were able to belt out their silly and usually unintelligible lyrics as they bobbed their heads and played catchy synth lines completely won me over. The three other instrumentalists were totally decked out in neon green shark outfits which seemed to emit a weird glow. Because the music is intrinsically disjointed rhythmically, it seemed as though some people didn’t really know how to dance to it. So, there was a lot of jumping around, splashes of PBR raining down on us like amber-tinted, electro rain.

Using virtually the same set up, Height bumped shit up to the next level with their subtle use of synth and their robust hip hop beats. Rapper Mickey Free stood on a table, a sinister light showing every detail of his face, as his flow, self-assured, not too fast nor too slow, galvanized an already-intense groove. The strongest of their songs were the rock-rap tour de force, “Smash Your Eyes,” and the gritty, supremely catchy “Bad Weather,” which epitomized Wham City sensibilities in many ways – electrocentric, danceable beats, a complete refusal to pinpoint a genre, and artsy, sometimes irrelevant lyrics, as with the chorus to “Bad Weather”: “You’ve got a safari hat for rugged landscapes. / You’ve got frosty mugs full of drinks I like. / You’ve got tropical feathers on a bad weather bike.”

Employing some elements of hip hop, the predominant dance rock of Smart Growth sparked a fuse with the audience. Although not necessarily memorable or especially original, they kept the energy alive, as did Future Islands. Future Islands had all the typical electro-pop tricks up their sleeves – the increasingly intricate beats, the vamps, the heavy bass…good thing these tricks seem to always work.

Other featured electronic artists included Adventure, a DJ who seemed to love playing in the cage, casually sipping various alcoholic beverages as his high-pitched, heavily arpeggiated melodies assaulted our ears in a way reminiscent of Crystal Castles and Boys Noize put together. The crowd around the cage couldn’t get enough of the twisting of knobs, the and ebb and flow of distortion. Even more seriously distorted was DJ Dog Dick, whose music demanded the audience’s attention through bizarre and sometimes hilarious lyrics, surprising tempo alterations, and sudden switches in beat emphasis. Both DJs seemed oddly apathetic, yet motivated some of the most extreme dancing of the evening.

Famously rejecting the ideals of “hipster apathy” and music constructed around influence, Double Dagger totally ravaged the ‘Sco and became an audience favorite. Right before their first song, “Luxury Condos for the Poor,” vocalist Nolen Strals looked me in the eye as he informed the audience that, “if you move up real close, at the end of this song, we’re all going to be good friends.” He was right. Spending more than half of the time embedded within the crowd, Strals demanded full attention.

Explosive, engaging, and badass, Blood Baby pushed all our buttons at the same time. Besides their incredibly intense appearances (and name), Blood Baby gave Oberlin a crash course in artsy hardcore. Immediately following a Wham City compilation video (soundtrack done by the Creepers from Eyes Night) and an exhibit in hypnosis done especially for those who were the most fucked-up, Blood Baby took the stage for the last time. Punky hardcore songs usually lead to the smashing of things – people, instruments, eardrums, whatever. Double Dagger and Blood Baby successfully accomplished all these things, but not quite to the degree of The DeathSet.

For such a small-statured guys, The DeathSet really know how to rip it up live. You might not guess just by walking around campus, but Oberlin students can really mosh if they want to! As one of their songs ended, I found myself in head-butted disrepair, but completely electrified by their stage presence. Drums, cymbals, audience members, and even band members were thrown and displaced, thrilling even those who thought they’d never like a hardcore show. The DeathSet summed up their appeal best themselves: "Tape deck, select / burning wreck, broken neck, / dirty speck, bitches wet, / motherfuckin’ DeathSet! /In your eye, weapons fly, / don't even try to feel our size, / wonder why the people cry / the motherfuckin' DeathSet!"

If there was anything too good to be true, it was the award Dan Deacon promised for the winner of the dance contest: “If you win, you will become Prince!” Fueled by high-octane electronic madness, various audience members shook what their mamas gave them, gaining screams of approval from those anxious to go head-to-head with other wannabe Princes. Oberlin students have never looked as good as they did in this two-minute span of psychosis, which is probably why no one definitively won this desirable new identity. We can’t all be Prince.

I don’t know much about geography, but I can tell you my favorite city just might be the City of Wham, that luminescent orgy of creativity. After all, “There is a mountain of snow, up past the big glen. / We have a castle enclosed, there is a fountain. / Out of the fountain flows gold, into a huge hand. /That hand is held by a bear who had a sick band.” Not just one sick band, two full nights of sick bands. Plus an after party. Who could ask for more? Aside for maybe a spontaneously magical A on that midterm you forgot to study for.

Akon: The Eternal Creeper

It seems to me that sexual icons that go for the whole playa/gangsta/pimpin thing are inherently creepers, the only differences being the stacks of money flying out of their pants, the forever-present draaank, the abundance of “whatever you smokin’ on,” the pimped-out cars, and their appealing group of friends who are just like them. Take, for example, the eternally creepy Akon, who has a limitless supply of hoes, somehow. It’s probably his new techno-influenced beats. Plus the added bonus that he’s super sincere, romantic, and probably mind-blowingly intelligent.

Or not. Akon is fundamentally confused about his existence, and rightfully so. Famous for his involvement in a car theft ring, his sexual exploitation of 14-year-old girls at shows, outbursts of violence, his new reality show about his relationship to his brother, and his overall “konvict” status, Akon seems to now have no idea who he really is. Most of the songs on the new album, Freedom, are about Akon the Badass (shown brilliantly in “Troublemaker”), Akon the Happy Dude (as in the vomit-inducing “Sunnyday”), Akon the Guy Who Got Out of Prison (displayed in the title track featuring the symbolically striking, ethnic-sounding pan flute), and Akon the Sex God (the 90’s electronica-tinged “Beautiful”). However profound and cultured he wants to sound, lyrics like “See, I’m that type of guy you won’t love. / I’m that type of guy you won’t cuff. / I’m that type of guy you daddy won’t let you go out, cause he thinks I sell drugs. / I’m that type of guy that will save ya. I’m that type that will call you later” show him for what he really is: confused, a little crazy, and sketchy as hell. This puts him on par with all other geniuses, ever.

A highlight of the album is his collaboration with T-Pain entitled “Holla Holla,” in which a heartfelt intro, complete with sweeping organ cadences, romantic acoustic guitar in the background, and Euroclub beats and synth lines set the listener up for a complete, sensual journey. The first verse fortifies the romantic atmosphere, alerting us to the fact that Akon and T-Pain have accoutrements galore: “We got plenty of drank, plenty plenty of water. / We got plenty of dank comin’ from Cali-ifornia.” The scene intensifies from here, with an unbelievably epic chorus focusing on the fact that Akon really wants to holla at this girl, and T-Pain’s really going to help him out, using his magically amplified and spliced voice to repeat that he does, in fact, want to holla at her (six times per chorus, to be precise). The beat is actually the best on the album, as it uses noises other than the hand clap, the poppy bass, and the 90’s synth sound. Despite some of the cool noises, the song ends up as a pseudo-R&B, pseudo-90’s Eurotrash attempt to seduce a girl. After all the yearnings for live lesbian action preceded by rollin’ out in a number of expensive cars in order to perform whichever sexual acts Akon and T-Pain are into (one can only imagine), I was left thinking about the word “holla,” and how (much like the word “lemon”) it lost its meaning after a certain number of repetitions, and now sounds like electronic mush to me.

The singles from this album, “I’m So Paid” and “Right Now (Na Na Na)” both feature the unsurprising, heavy synth, hand claps from all angles, and lyrical repetition of his other hit songs. For example, “Right Now” is just like his previous hit, “I Wanna Fuck You,” except this new song is much more urgent and slightly more emotional, as displayed by the constantly mutating, hurried, and repeated usage of the word “now.” It might actually be a sequel to his previous hit, or perhaps a clarification of intent. Yes, I do want to fuck you. No, not later. Right now, na, na, na, na. The bass-heavy, yet immaculately synth-fueled beat from pop-production purgatory also adds to the urgency and importance of the situation, as do lyrics like, “Just wish you could dine with me, / wish you could dine. / One that would grind with me, / ohh one that would grind.” The storyline here is made especially adorable because Akon happens to be pining for a hoe he had broken up with, and now wants back by his side, grinding and making love to him right now. What a man. How do you say no to that?

Despite having guest artists like Young Jeezy and Lil Wayne, the song “I’m So Paid” lacks something important: a point. Yeah, Akon has a lot of money. He sounds pretty happy, which is exhibited well by the happy melody, the cutesy arpeggiated synth background, and the mysteriously emotional attachment you will feel to money after having listened to both the original and remixed versions of this song, which are both on the album. I guess he really wanted everyone to know that he’s definitely been paid. Lil Wayne does a particularly disappointing job on this song, his voice even more bizarre than usual, his flow boring and slower than usual. The music video, however, is lovely, showing exactly how free Akon now feels as he enjoys his bountiful harvest of money, gliding over the open oceans with beautiful women, and basking in his infinite talent.

Akon himself said, “As soon as I conquer music, I can relax and focus on other things. Right now I’m strictly focusing on ‘Freedom.’’ Too bad Akon’s Freedom is not free at all, constraining itself to every trend in top 40 pop right now. Just mix electronic elements with cheesy lyrics, put a creeper on all the album art, add water, and gulp it down. Have fun conquering music, Akon!

Matt & Kim (my new best friends) at The Grog Shop

A friend of mine asked me what a “grog” was last time I was at the Grog Shop to see Soft Circle, Best Fwends, Matt and Kim, and No Age play. I thought about it for a while, didn’t know the answer, and thought to myself that if “grog” meant something exciting or clever, I could use it as a funny intro for this article. But it actually means “rum cut with water,” which has nothing to do with this show. So, for the purposes of this concert review, “Grog: n. A place a lot like a bigger, more intense, and sometimes more entertaining version of the ‘Sco.”

Soft Circle (AKA Hisham Akira Bharoocha) opened the show with a bang, literally, showering us all with sampled beeps, bloops, swishes, and varying drum distortions, while he complimented it all with live drumming. On his Myspace, he describes his music as “Morphing and melting memories shaped into blissful lightscapes of the past and present.” The music was danceable, technically interesting, and masterfully formulated, with a definite focus on rhythmic progression. As a former member of both Black Dice (up until Creature Comforts) and of Lightning Bolt, Soft Circle is the Brooklyn music scene incarnate. Focused on noise as performance art, Hisham captivated those early enough to enjoy the first opener.
Best Fwends, perhaps the polar opposite of Soft Circle, stormed the stage next, bringing with them some huge, floppy grey things, a park bench, and a backdrop littered with what can only be described as ugly faces (and one cat face). Where Soft Circle was focused on craft and on musical integrity, Best Fwends existed to entertain. I had been previously familiar with their remixes, but never with their original music, which turned out to be a brilliant spoof on hardxcore culture, as I was infinitely reminded of metalcore shows I went to in high school. The gimmick of the two guys being best friends actually worked, as they gave each other sporadic high fives and shared loving banter in between screamy, electronically distorted songs. The grey, lumpy objects on the ground soon revealed themselves to be blow-up gargoyles – huge ones that eventually ended up crowd surfing and consequentially being squished and punctured by enthusiastic fans. My friend who works at Goodwill in Cleveland lamented the fact that he’d probably be given these props the next day at work. The highlight of Best Fwend’s performance was the musical and spiritual culmination entitled “Hail,” which is all about worshiping Satan. Both of the present band members marched ceremoniously into the audience, hands poised in prayer position, looking profoundly convinced of Satan’s grandeur.

After setting up a projection of Zoolander onto the wall of the Grog Shop, Matt and Kim, the most joyous band alive, made our ears twinkle and our toes tap uncontrollably with their Brooklyn indie pop gems. Both humble and insanely smiley, seeing Matt and Kim live was an overwhelmingly happy experience. Songs like “Yea Yeah” (which has the most stereotypically “indie” music video ever) and “Lightspeed” (which is about a super cute game of baseball) rendered amazing crowd responses, crescendoing into Matt’s positively adorable attempts to hang on the ceiling. Having Zoolander playing in the background actually added some interesting light effects to the show, as every once in a while, Kim’s drumsticks would leave light tracers in which you could potentially see Ben Stiller or Will Ferrell’s face. I swear, Kim never stopped smiling, and Matt never stopped enjoying the cool effects he had on his new keyboard. If there ever was a band I would love to be best friends with, it’s Matt and Kim.

Did you see No Age last year at the ‘Sco when they opened for Liars? Oh, you did? Well, this performance was exactly the same. I enjoy listening to Weirdo Rippers and Nouns every once in awhile, but I must admit that most of their songs lack originality within the context of their full body of work. The result is that their live show lacks excitement. Ok, so it was really boring. The most effort they put into connecting with the audience was walking out a few feet, surrounding themselves with people for a couple minutes, then returning to the stage for more guitarcentric, underproduced rock music with indecipherable lyrics and little, if any, musical aptitude. The drums sounded messy, the guitar was overbearing, and the interesting textures present on their recorded material got washed over by the amount of flair they were trying, and failing to have.

A trip to the Grog Shop is sometimes the best thing you can do for yourself. Think about it: four decent bands in quick succession, an escape from the Oberlin bubble, the presence new faces you don’t recognize awkwardly from class or “that one party,” and a noticeable absence of ‘Sco smells… Also, if you’re 21, they do serve grog.

Kings of Leon: Kings of Europe and...Not Much Else

I remember listening to my friend’s shitty indie rock band practice covers of Kings of Leon songs in high school. Albums like Aha Shake Heartache (2005) and Because of the Times (2007) succeed in their ability to appeal to fans of The Strokes and Interpol, but also fans of country and blues. The sound was edgy, raw, and sounded easy to emulate, but actually wasn’t at all (at least for my friend’s band). The vocal techniques and dynamic songwriting were refreshingly unique during the reign of one-dimensional dance rock in MTV culture. Released on September 23rd, the King’s of Leon’s new album entitled Only By the Night is, for the most part, a far cry from any of their previous efforts. The guitar hooks sometimes remind me of cheesy pop punk from the 90s, and the overall sound is highly reminiscent of Band of Horses or even a Tennessee-based version of Coldplay. There is, however, the occasional gem on Only By the Night, such as the opening track “Closer,” in which the melodramatic lyrics are overshadowed by the sheer catchiness and rhythmical complexity of it all, making it the strongest song on the entire album. The first single, “Sex on Fire,” also has a memorable chorus, but lacks in every other department. The opening 50 seconds sound like a bizarre mixture of My Morning Jacket, The Strokes, and Sting, all leading into Caleb Followill’s massively emotive and bluesy bellows of “You / your sex is on fire, / consumed by what’s to transpire.” Hey, they never made any claims at eloquence. It might be time to start questioning the ultimate goals the Kings of Leon had in mind with this album. With their image taking the front seat, the Kings of Leon are enjoying phenomenal success in Europe. So they can hold on to their southern swagger, tight jeans, and overblown egos for dear life as loyal fans of old Kings of Leon pay $3 at the door to see their friend’s cover band play shitty versions of “Charmer” and “Four Kicks.” I’ll see you there.