Dan Deacon: Rock Star; White Williams: the Real Star

Four years ago I saw [Dan Deacon] play at a divey bookstore in North Carolina. Place smelled like ancient paper and sweat, and during the day they served really good vegetarian sandwiches. It had just as much business being a rock club as Deacon did being a rock star – which, nowadays, he kind of is. Still, it was fun, but mostly because we could all get inexcusably close to magnetic, teetering toddler Dan in that cramped room, and not because of anything that came out of the speakers, however bouncy or kindergarten-kinetic.

Saturday night at [Bowery Ballroom], getting close to Dan's foot-of-the-stage table was reserved for a rabid (semi-frightening) few. And, honestly, I'd have had it no other way – me and everyone else in the room seemed to have a decent time. But that had just as much to do with audience compliance (to Deacon, and later, Girl Talk's overly-simple idea of a good time, and to the idea that we weren't owed any more than a dude 40 feet away twiddling nobs on a sampler or keyboard) as it did with the songs Deacon's were garbled, frenetic electrostomps, while Gillis' whole set (like his records) was a radio dial on the loose. Shit was great to listen to from afar (what I did for Dan), and great to lose your mind to from the floor (which I did for GT), but I wonder what the few hundred kids planted in the middle felt like? A venue the size of Bowery just doesn't lend itself to the "one with the crowd" performance mode of Deac or Gillis.

But what of openers White Williams? Arguably the most impressive set of the night came from this Brooklyn Numan-devotee and his band. Far from a barnburner, there weren't nearly as many antics –overflowing stages, tall, blow-up spiders and strobing green skulls were for DD and GT, while a (nearly-adorable) video display of frolicking coins and a reserved stage manner was for White. The crowd wasn't falling all over itself, but the songwriting on Williams' upcoming [Smoke] is incredibly sharp, and the live performances were just as taught. The sleak, Numan-esque synth-wobble  "New Violence" was the most engaging moment of the entire night – "Crystal Cat," and the part where Girl Talk tried his hand at "Umbrella" notwithstanding. Seemed the audience was primed for mind-losing (and why wouldn't they, with a double-shotgun headline bill like this), but Willliams was an admirably resolute and level-headed counterpoint.

Photo by Robbie Mackey