Two beers were spilt within thirty minutes of doors.
The attendees of Great Scott were milling about as New York garage rockers The Britanys languorously wandered through their opening slot on stage. The guitarist recounted a zany tour bet (“our drummer’s gonna give me $10 to ask the crowd, online ‘what’s your major?”) and continued their buzzy riffing.
There was equilibrium in this scene. From the singer’s Julian Casablancas-aping mannerisms to the pockets of crowd members debating whether dancing or drinking is a better option, nothing could’ve informed the dance party that was set to unleash in an hour’s time. A figure in a sequined shirt quickly became the source of attention, alternating between entranced movement and near-constant documenting of the band via a tablet-sized phone. The most shamelessly enthusiastic dancer is often the most mocked at a show, but last Thursday, the majority of the room feared him with nervous excitement.
The dancer was, of course, twenty-year-old dance pop wonder Shamir Bailey.
Coming off the heels of the critically acclaimed Ratchet and its club-adored single “On the Regular”, Shamir’s presence, never mind the fact that he was unabashedly dancing his face off, during both opening bands’ sets was something of a unusual sight. As the mood-heavy beat work of Soft Lit winded down, the audience was in part fixed on the stage and forming a cautious circle around the crowd’s most famous member as he readied himself to switch roles.
The magnetism surrounding the glittering Nevadan imploded with the opening strut of “Vegas”, which was essentially a slow-burning showcase for Bailey’s absolutely pristine countertenor voice. Yes, the terms “male falsetto” and “bubbly” aren’t entirely incorrect descriptions of Shamir’s voice, but with each growing chant of his city, the near-sinister levels of power he commands are undeniable. Of course, “slow burning” moments pass quickly in Shamir’s world and, luckily, his dance-heavy brand isn’t a static affair either. The Hot Chip-reared “In For the Kill” was followed by fan favorite “Regular”, which could be easily related to Azalea Banks’s caustic anthem “212” sans the Twitter drama.
“Does anyone know the band Joyce Manor?”, he asked coyly mid-set. “I was just in Europe and they had no idea what I was talking about.” Without pause, he educated a fair chunk of the room (and most of Europe, apparently) with a cover of last year’s “Christmas Card”, carefully unwrapping the themes of drunken disconnect into a forlorn anthem that would’ve earned the late Whitney Houston’s blessings. It’s in surprises like these where any attempt to draw a single, easy caricature on Shamir (see: the former country singer, current genderqueer activist, dance-happy Joyce Manor fan, etc.) are laid to rest permanently.
As simply as one can put it, Shamir is happiness personified. Whether he’s determinedly closing his set on piano before chirpily declaring a post-show smoke or jumping into the crowd during “Head in the Clouds” to give the first five rows (myself included) bear hugs, there is a rare, completely legitimate kind of joy at work here. Sure, Shamir’s star is rising by the hour, but it’s not illogical to think he’ll be cheering on his openers when he’s selling out arenas someday.
In the meantime, may he never stop being the most enthusiastic dancer in the room.