The boys of Ghostland Observatory rolled pretty much solo tonight. Yeah, technically speaking DJ Anjali—of Portland’s dance club circuit renown—was breaking the sheet of ice that slicks the beginning of any evening, but fans had to look pretty hard to find her, squirreled as she was behind the sound booth.
People milled, the house lights were up, the occasional board creaked across the hard-wood floor as Anjali’s Bali-infused club music tweaked someone’s attention, and people drank McMennamin’s $6 dollar micro stouts.
Then the smoke rolled out and the eye-bleeding lasers shone through, reflecting back on themselves from the far wall with flesh-severing (or at least sunburn-inducing) intensity.
And through the haze, the Ghostland Duo—Aaron Behrens and Thomas Turner—took the stage. No need here for an opener, Ghostland launched into “Piano Man” with a flurry of ready arms rocketing up from the audience.
Behrens conducted the show—sometimes described as a balancing act between rock and dance music—the mix reflected in the lead singer’s movement more than his appearance. The entire set was populated with impromptu dances that spanned, if not synched with, Turner’s extended keyboard rhythms.
Turner's music has a synthetic fanfare effect achieved through voice distortion and keyboards, with the occasional recourse to drums. It is all rather dark and desperate, with lines like “Keep on dancing, dancing on my grave.” Which is exactly what the crowd did. Ghostland might be classified as goth disco, but Behrens’ vocals counterposed with a high-end drive you'd more expect from a hair band. Quite a mix.
Ghostland Observatory is a band for people who realize there is something beautiful lurking in the dark corners. At times, the melody of the keyboard is lost and evaporates within the crunchy bass and martial-rock edge, like a too-sweet caramel center. There is usually something to dance to—occasionally, they would loop an extended rhythm section that doesn’t quiet do enough to really feel alive—but these are only temporary breaks in an otherwise accessible onslaught of feet-moving material.
Tracks from 2006’s Paparazzi Lightning dominated the beginning of Ghostland’s set, with “Piano Man,” “Ghetto Magnet,” “Sad Sad City,” and “Stranger Lover” all making the setlist. They then moved into 2008’s Robotique Majestique with “Free Heart Lover,” and “Dancing on My Grave,” down the line to a “Silver City” encore. At the half-way point between the more recent albums, the audience was treated to wailing strobe effects coupled with a keyboard intro that sounded like an air-raid siren. On cue, Behrens switched from a warrior pose to a duck and cover crouch at the end of the minute long barrage—how appropriate.
As he sang “I need you to want me, to hold me, to tell me the truth” (from “Sad Sad City”) Behrens, with his aviators, Indian braids, and skin-tight western wear—to which, in response to a crowd grope for his shirt, he cried out, “Not safe around you people – trying to undress me”—pointed out to the crowd; in a cascading domino effect, the girls in the house start pointing at their men. Ghostland Observatory has that effect, where people identify with their tracks, take them for their own, and spur forth love in the rawest form possible, a la Guns’N’Roses. Perhaps, in ten years time, we’ll be paying homage to G.O.’s music in karoake bars with the same drunken intensity with which Axel is revered and relived.
