Rude Dudes began the night early with some funky turntable action. They were more like old scruffy dudes, but maybe they were rude, too--can't be sure; they looked pretty friendly. Dressed in camouflage ball caps and flannels, the dudes dropped house beats to which, strangely, no one danced. But DJs have it rough if they expect anything more than deadpan stares and the odd head bob from a pre-10pm, Tuesday night audience.
Brooklyn's Sammy Bananas slipped in after, continuing the funky house theme while turning the heat up a notch. Midway through his set, Sammy grabbed the microphone and asked us, “Portland? Are we getting warm? Kinda warm?” A few woos and yahoos flew, but the majority had yet to shed the energy efficiency mindset. In due time, my friends, maximum energy use would be mandatory. A dapper fellow, adorned with a blue collared shirt, a clean shave save for a carefully edged moustache, and a Sunday school haircut, Sammy twitched and grooved over the turntables. He delivered a clean, straightforward house set, waiting until the end to introduce an original song called "Fifteenth" from his new album. At this point, he stepped back from the decks and produced a glimmering golden saxophone upon which he blew, filling the air with magically delicious melodies. Once indifferent audience members whipped around to gawk at the phenomenon -- a simple DJ turned sexy-sax-man, like Clark Kent emerging cape-clad from a phone booth. Oh, but there were more gifts to come! Mr. Bananas lay the golden instrument down on a bed of white rose pedals and approached the sound-amplifying device once again. "Thanks, Portland!" he said sagely. "I have some stickers..." He then descended the platform and proceeded to hand the kneeling believers holy "stickers" from a silver chalice.
Here’s a nineteen-word bio on Mayer Hawthorne – he’s pretty, he loves 1960s soul music, and has a decent enough voice and musical skill to replicate it. He performs with genuine energy and joy, but the intermittent "praise me" attitude distracts from the music. During "I Wish It Would Rain" we all "rained down" (i.e. bowed before the prince. See photos.) with wiggling fingers. How many times did he command the audience to perform a dance move, yell, clap, snap, jump, bring him a Hot Pocket, or do long division? Enough to make anyone over the age of 20 feel like a proper youth again, that's how many. The neo-soul brother was backed by some humble gentleman (they at least seemed so in light of Hawthorne's flamboyance), aka The County, on bass, guitar, and keyboard. The music, if you haven't heard A Strange Arrangement, is reminiscent of the kings-of-sentimentality, Smokey Robinson and The Miracles, Curtis Mayfield, and Barry White. His brand new album (released Oct. 4th), How Do You Do keeps soul at the forefront but incorporates jazz, disco, funk, and Snoop "Doggy" Dog (oh, my!). Speaking of, they started the set with "Gangsta Luv," originally a collaboration with Snoop himself, though of course, sans Snoop in this case. We were blessed with an enthusiastic performance of Mayer Hawthorne's new single, "The Walk" ("You can walk those high-heels baby right out of my life ["So long, you did me wrong."]"), a "song about sex," and a Hall & Oates addendum after "Dreaming." At the end, a heart shaped vinyl disc went flying into the audience and MH explained that this was a free copy of the "first song [he] ever wrote, from the first record [he] ever recorded, about his ex-girlfriend." Somebody's heart just melted.
Chromeo made a grand entrance amidst the chro-mee-oh oooh-oh's (to the tune of Wizard of Oz's oh-ee-oh...) and epileptic stage lights. After a run through of "Fancy Footwork" and a couple others for warm-up, the duo announced their arrival: "Our name is Chromeo and we are in control (The "O"'s were talk-boxed by P-Thugg, of course)," and continued the party with '80s synth-pop treasure, "Tenderoni." Unlike the tortured heart-throb image Mayer Hawthorne promotes, it's easy to believe (whether it's true or not) that these men have had awful luck with women, and Chromeo is the embodiment of a long-running joke about an imagined life where long-legged females clamor and cry over them. Even if this is way off-base, a tongue-in-cheek retread of '80s pop is the perfect vehicle in which to deliver this vision. By the fifth song, "Call Me Up," the place was a steamy miasma of pot smoke and sweat. Looking around, there was no one not dancing. And Chromeo didn't even have to coax, con, beg, or trick us into doing so. The first chords of "Hot Mess" got the girls' blood boiling and sent them running through the crowd to, presumably, find the hottest spot on the dance floor to burn every calorie ingested that day. And how do you make any hot situation even hotter? Just add saxophone! Oh! Sammy Banana did it! He came out on stage with his sexy saxophone and played during "You're So Gangsta." Dave (lead guitar/vocals) complained about the heat, but boldly kept his red leather jacket on during the entire performance. To his and P-Thugg's delight, and the dismay of every security guard on duty, "Mama's Boy" inspired twenty or so ladies to climb up the shoulders of their beaus for an exalted sing-a-long. Holy security breach, Batman!
The show came to a close after a climactic explosion of metallic confetti (isn't this how every night of our lives should end?), a generous encore performance including, appropriately, "Don't Turn the Lights On," and a couple hundred more loyal Chromeo recruits.
