I’m saying this now: I don’t know how anyone is going to top Major Lazer’s MFNW performance. Between the sex-dance acrobatics (“Daggering”) and the raw, attitude-drenched electro/funk-hop/dancehall beats that poured out of Diplo’s equipment, I just don’t see how anyone’s going to do it. Success in that arena would mean hitting the mandatory minimums--like provoking crazed dancing from the on-lookers or having a frontman that climbs onto a 15-foot high speaker cabinet to tell you to go harder or at the very least, provides a soundtrack that would make you lose control without additional prompting. If another act does this, I’d be surprised, but thrilled, as that means I’ll have another show to add to my all-time best-of list. Because that is exactly where last night’s Major Lazer showcase belongs.
Major Lazer didn’t come on until 11 though, which meant we had plenty of time to warm up before game time. The first act that helped us get there was the Rude Dudes, two chubby, impossibly likeable DJs that spun a compelling mix of bass-heavy, Miami-lite electro-hop. Flittering between house, floating raps and beats with heavy knock, these guys knew how to turn a party out. The problem…no one was there. Alright, maybe 30-40 people, but this was in a room that fit 1,400. I kept thinking it was such a waste, as I knew that a large crowd would go ape over the music they let loose, but after awhile I just accepted it and gave into the rhythms.
That was one good thing about their set, though: if you wanted to dance, you had ample room. One lone rave kid made use of the space by waving his glowing gloves in the faces of other kids hovering near the stage. The Rude Dudes seemed unfazed by the lack of bodies just past their laptop; they just kept the party going, taking the time to dance themselves. One of them made sure to show us how much fun he was having by sashaying back and forth, raising his finger in the hair to wag it, as he followed the movement with his hips. My friend and I couldn’t stop laughing, he just looked so happy. Their enthusiasm was contagious and blended well with their music, which never dropped in tempo. It just kept pumping along, letting out a siren roar or a lazer shot every once in awhile, as if they needed to remind us of what was coming later. No joke, go see these guys!
Deelay Ceelay sat down behind their two drum kits right as the Rude Dudes were putting the final touches on their first mega-mix of the night (they would come back later). The minute the set was over, Deelay Ceelay kicked in. Darkness fell over the room and the two sheets that sat behind this duo of drummers lit up with a host of rapidly shifting, psychedelic images. The music began, and the mood was maintained. This was different from what came before it, but it still carried the same momentum that the Rude Dudes had utilized so well. Long instrumentals are the trademark of Deelay Ceelay, almost like the band Maserati, though a lot more accessible. You can dance, you can lose yourself amidst the pulses, or you can just stare deeply into the sheets as the images go flying by. All are acceptable choices.
This was my first time seeing Deelay Ceelay after hearing them name-checked for a good year or so, and I was excited to finally hear what they actually sounded like. The answer is experimental electro-pop. Though I’d read a lot more into the pop if I were you, as this isn’t the type of music that leans towards the dissonance that other experimental groups use. Instead it plays out like a triumphant victory song or a mid-day cruise in a well-washed Cadillac. And who can’t get behind that?
Like the Rude Dudes’ set, the music never stopped, and by this point the crowd numbers had swelled to a level an artist might want to play for. They ate it up, and the lone rave kid finally had some glowstick friends to share his time with. They particularly liked when DC dropped other people’s songs into the mix, like the Beach Boys’ classic “Sloop John B” or T.I.’s “Whatever You Like.” However, the vocals from each track were pitch-shifted just enough that you didn’t feel like you were in the middle of a Girl Talk performance, rather than a show propelled on by two shaggy-haired drummers. When they left, the crowd gave them their just due and the Rude Dudes came back out, finally able to play to a crowd as big as their music.
What came next was beyond the scope of my expectations. Big Freedia, a bounce rapper from New Orleans, emerged with a pink-dipped Flock of Seagulls haircut and a gold-bikinied dancer (possibly ex-stripper). Together they brought the strip club to a MFNW stage or at least a really good impression of a 2 Live Crew show. This is the moment where the concert turned into a sex-themed extravaganza. Amidst a battering ram of bass (enough that I could feel my heart shaking), Big Freedia and this woman showed everyone that life ain’t about nothing but booty and money. The woman made this known by confidently turning around, bending over and making an ass volcano. If you don’t know what that is, please see any recent rap video and you’ll know what I’m talking about. Big Freedia made this known by inviting girls (and a guy) on-stage to shake it to her chants of “Azz Everywhere!” Indeed it was, Freedia.
Her voice, a big booming thing, was like our boot camp instructor, telling us what we had to do and when we had to do it. Thankfully, the directions were really easy to follow. We would either A) yell back some lyrics (like “I got this gin in my system/somebody gonna be my victim”) or B) shake our asses. It was also helpful that the lyrics to the songs always gave us an excuse to shake it. For instance, one might think that a simple sample from “Rock Around the Clock” would just be a sample. Not here. Here we all understood that, ‘rock around the clock’ really meant we needed to swivel our hips. If only everything in life made this much sense. And even though, the lyrics were vulgar (if you took them seriously), you couldn’t leave this part of the concert without thinking that Freedia fucking rocked it! Afterward, my friend and I made a prediction: Freedia is going to find her way to your earphones soon, wherever you may be.
Finally, the moment was upon us. Diplo, all suit and tied up, took his place behind the table, and dropped a beat. Following him out was Skerrit Bwoy (the group’s blonde-hawked hypeman) and a beaming dancer. From that moment on, no one, from the crowd to the performers, let up. Like Freedia, Skerrit Bwoy was a natural born mic-controller/frenzy instigator. He barked out commands, he dry-humped his dancer (she would later dry hump him just for good measure), and chimed along with lyrics from the songs. Hands were going everywhere, people were jumping up and down, standard stuff, but done with a certain freedom of spirit that usually follows great concerts.
Everyone couldn’t get enough of the throbbing synths or infectious stutters of the reggae-electro beats. And like all smart DJs, Diplo knew that keeping the crowd meant “surprising” them with something they already knew. He did this multiple times by dropping Rihanna’s “Rude Boy” - a song which made the dancer take to a table, do a handstand and show us how an advanced ass-shaking school graduate might do it – Ace of Base’s “All That She Wants,” and Damien Marley’s “Welcome to Jamrock.” Each time the crowd exploded and a new high was hit. And that was the M.O. of this show, find the highs, forget the lows. Sure, there was an ebb and flow to the tempo, but not in your standard peaks and valleys format. This was like running and jumping from mountain top to mountain top.
One great moment came when a male audience member got on stage and began to dance like he was auditioning for Step Up 2 The Streets. The dancer made a “Is he serious?” face at the crowd as he grinded up on her. We laughed, but laughed even harder when she pushed him to the ground, and began to ride him. How’s that for crowd participation? The crowd made their mark again when a slew of girls came up on stage and sweated it out with Skerrit Bwoy. He obviously didn’t mind and made sure to dry hump some of them, too. Guess he was just living his mantra, “we party everyday/we don’t care what people say!”
This was the type of show that makes you understand how people develop Peter Pan complexes--the type that revels in the joys of being young and the impulses that tend to drive us. I know I never want to grow up if I have to leave this feeling behind; it’s just too good.
