Occasionally—sometimes on a full moon, near All-Hallow's Eve, if the mood is just right and there is plenty of alcohol and maybe a reason to celebrate—Seattlites are moved to dance. But Wednesday, the 8th of October was nowhere near the full moon, and after Fall drops it's gray curtain there is rarely a reason to celebrate, so it made me wonder. Was it the two days of much-needed sun that brought folks to make mincemeat of the dance floor? Or, was it Matthew Dear's Big Hands? And let's not forget his big voice, his even bigger beats (is that possible?), his darling suit and his even bigger Jerry-Lee-Lewis-meets-Beat-poet stage presence.
After getting Asa Breed last year and wanting to name it both the absolute best album to vacuum to during a break-up and the best album with which to wow a dance party that never listens to electronic music, I expected the show, in an act of self-preservation, to be a bit of a computer hugging stand-by. Luckily, I didn't read a single review of Matthew Dear (or any of his aliases) because I wasn't just pleasantly surprised, I was moved to sweat it out with my fellow reserved Seattlelites who are even shy to pop a hip to an Al Green groove.
Dear played the faves with tasty tidbits of flare but kept it reigned in so we could all sing along to the spare, cryptic lyrics we know and love. When a roomful of people are shaking their booties and singing along to such poetry, the words take on a whole new meaning. And as the dance floor, whose empty corners didn't discourage people from joining in, thrashed about to Dear's irresistible hooks, soul-craving words, Matthew Dear's Big Hands did an incantation of its own. Again, here is where my expectations were delightfully shattered. I have to admit, I am not a connoisseur of electronic, house, drum-and-base or any techno (I even think some of those terms might be out of date). I can appreciate certain tracks when they remind me of soul and jazz beats but I generally expect the music to be a bit boring and in addition, fallaciously, that DJ's probably don't dance along. I'm wrong! Matthew Dear cut a rug up there between laying down vocal tracks and loops, then singing to us front stage, and his performance has led me to believe I might enjoy expanding my mind a bit more to include some other dance genre. So watch the listings, Matthew Dear is a dance uprising with pithy lyrics and it might take your mind off the election for a night or more.
Even with my post-show revelation that I might like more electronic music if I tried it out, Telefon Tel Aviv did not strike my fancy quite like Dear did. Their background tracks sounded like they were looking for a dance party but didn't give dancers anything to grab onto. A bit drony with bass that drowned out the rest of the music, I longed for a little ear candy to get me going. They certainly had a few fans in the audience who were eager to applaud, but it might be that the majority, like me, was waiting around for Dear. It's tough to be an opener for an act so explosive, but if a band can pull it off, they would be worth their slot on the Dear ticket.
