So the other Monday, March 4th, I was struck with the sudden urge to dance my face off, an urge so powerful that I found myself compelled, Pied-Piper-style, out of the cozy burg of Somerville and all the way across the river to Great Scott to hear a whopping THREE of the baker’s-dozen bands on the Phoenix’s “Class of 2013” roster: Abadabad, Early Nineties, and Color Channel.
I should start this off with the embarrassing admission that, between getting off work far later than I’d hoped, schlepping down to Union Square from way up on Spring Hill, waiting for the 86 bus to Harvard Square AND waiting for the 66 bus to Allston, by the time I finally stumbled into Great Scott, Abadabad had already finished their set. I know, I’m the WORST. BUT, the general consensus seemed to be that they totally killed it—and, judging from The Wild, their superb EP, I don’t doubt it. Sorry guys—I’ll be there next time, I promise.
The next act to take the stage was Early Nineties, Boston’s newest representative of the young tradition—spawned in Britain by the likes of James Blake and now gaining traction on our shores with acts ranging from Grimes to How To Dress Well to Washed Out—of standing solo at a tableful of electronics and singing into a mic, collapsing the duality of producer and performer into one person. Apparently they are technically a duo, but on this night, Early Nineties was just one man, Adam McGinn, standing all alone at the knobs and buttons, backed by the brightest flashing lights I’ve seen in weeks. He sang, he danced, he played truly delicious beats, and it sounded great.
Somehow, though, something didn’t quite click. This isn’t just my opinion—dance music, like stand-up comedy, is a type of performance whose success can be discerned quite clearly in the crowd: you know your stand-up is working if people are laughing and, just so, you know your beats are working if people are dancing. And during Early Nineties’ set, people just weren’t really dancing—no more than a half-dozen or so, at any rate.
Weirdly, this may have had as much to do with the stage presentation as anything. Holed up there on a dark stage behind a wall of synths and drum machines and a glowing MacBook, with the flashing lights behind him all but blinding the crowd, McGinn was practically invisible. Throw in the fact that his reverb-soaked vocals are buried deep in the mix, and what you’re left with is a show that almost didn’t feel like a show. But for the dim outline of a figure dancing his ass off between blinding strobes, the music could have been pre-recorded—which is a shame. If the wild gyrations of that dim outline were any indication, McGinn has got stage presence to spare. If only the crowd could’ve see him a little more clearly, I strongly suspect they would’ve been dancing just as hard as he was.
Finally there was Color Channel, whom I’d already seen at TT’s back in January, and for whom I would gladly make the pilgrimage to the 02134 any night of the week. Their only goal is to show everyone a hopping good time (in the words of the description on their Facebook page, to “spawn in their fans the irresistible urge to dance”) and hoo boy, did they ever succeed. For one, there are six of them up there, and each of the six is fun in his/her own way. Up in front at their Roland workstations are Color Channel’s two lead vocalists: the exuberant Andrew jumping up and down and nodding grinningly at the crowd and shaking his thick brown locks all over the place; and the placid Jess making goddesslike gestures with palms upturned like to lift the music skyward. Then there is Mat, the guitarist and Color Channel’s spriteliest member, hopping nimbly about stage-right and playing each sleek and streamlined riff like it’s his little secret. And all the while, Nate the bassist and Dylan the drummer, along with Andrew, Color Channel’s drum-machine operator and third Roland-man, hammer relentlessly away with shut eyes as if lost in an ecstatic trance.
And as if that weren’t enough to guarantee a good time for all, they also began their set by unleashing into the crowd a handful of sexy-dancing accomplices in animal masks, and ended by dropping balloons from the ceiling and dousing everyone in silly string. AND, to cap it all, Andrew’s workstation was draped with a banner featuring two naked ladies with cut diamonds instead of faces scissoring each other. Color Channel are not a band; they are a party, and a damn fun one. If I were the marrying sort, I would book them for my wedding in a second.
Then, of course, there was the music. Upon viewing Shut Up and Play the Hits, one critic mused that “we may never dance again.” You probably don’t need any reassurance that that elegiac little sound-bite is a load of crap—but if you do, Color Channel will happily supply it. It’s been ten years now, or so the story is told, since we uncrossed our arms and started dancing, and if Monday night’s show at Great Scott was any indication, we will keep right on dancing until broad daylight every single night from now right on up until the end of time. LCD Soundsystem may be gone, but Color Channel stand as proof that the DFA sound is not going anywhere.
The reason it’s not going anywhere is that it works. It could’ve had its mid-2000s moment in the sun and then died off as all trends must, were it not for the fact that if you fire up a drum machine and a couple of Roland synths and pair them with live drums, bass, and guitar, the crowd will dance like crazy people no matter what year it is, not because it’s new or cool or trendy but because it’s fun, plain and simple. It was fun in 2003, it’s fun now, and as long as we have bands like Color Channel, there’s no good reason why it shouldn’t keep on being fun straight on into perpetuity.