Considering how late it was when the Mississippi Studios doors opened for the late edition of Tuesday’s Starfucker extravaganza, we can assume that the early show must have run considerably long. And since a party that overstays its welcome without the benefit of alcohol must be one hell of a shindig, expectations were justifiably high when opener XDS (formerly Experimental Dental School) finally took the stage.
Having seen Starfucker before – and regular melophobe visitors will presumably be familiar as well, either vicariously through our previous coverage or directly, via the basements, bars, and, more recently, honest-to-god concert halls of the Pacific Northwest – I opted to take advantage of the peculiar layout of Mississippi Studios to get a vantage point unavailable anywhere else. Making my way down the long peninsula of balcony that stretches from the rear of the room along the northern wall, I claimed a position directly above the front of the stage, such that I was literally looking right down on what would eventually become ground zero of Starfucker-led dance worship.
What did I see? At first, not much. XDS, under the mistaken but seemingly reasonable impression that drunken adults will out-misbehave sober kids, repeatedly exhorted the crowd to act their (drinking) age and start shaking some ass, but generally to no avail. Perhaps the extended wait outside cut into the pre-show drinking, or perhaps one consequence of being a grownup is not particularly caring anymore if you’ve been out-partied by a bunch of snot-nosed kids unaccustomed to hitting the clubs on a school night. Whatever the case may be, XDS couldn’t quite rally the bulk of the crowd, in spite of a truly valiant effort. They can at least claim one convert, though, who must have been doing some serious pre-gaming. Her vigorous convulsions, blurring the distinction between dancing and staggering (or, to give her the benefit of the doubt, artfully demonstrating that they are one and the same) threatened at various times her own safety, that of her neighbors, and, not least, the monitor positioned at the front of the stage.
Next came Strength, a sex-and-Motown minded outfit perfectly suited to play the role of sensual foreplay to Starfucker’s down and dirty humpin’ music. And this is where things started getting interesting. The crowd in front of the stage responded, not just dancing but groping, pinching, and caressing one another, themselves, and anything else they could get their hands on. Which is to say, Strength had them right where they wanted them. A mid-set cover of the Romantics’ “Talking in Your Sleep” served to pull in the more casual fans, but was ultimately unnecessary as the infectiousness of the set was amply engaging as it was.
Then, finally, Starfucker, a band that can boast as cult of a following as any foursome of skinny guys in women’s clothing is entitled to, and then some. And I’ll confess that when the first summer dress-clad musician ran across the stage to assume his position, I momentarily wondered when the band had added a hot chick, before catching myself and quickly backpedaling.
Having been suitably lubed up, the packed house was ready for Starfucker. The image of an entire room full of people jumping up and down, as observed, remember, from directly above, is both astounding and disconcerting. I’ve been in the midst of that crowd before, and viewed it from the safety of the fringes, but never quite from here. And this was the scene for much of the night, with nothing in the way of respite for the increasingly sweaty mob beneath me. Gradually, as the evening wore on and the scent of several hundred perspiring Portlanders wafted up to the balcony, sufficient space emerged on the floor to facilitate something along the lines of a mosh pit. The roiling mass of bodies churning underneath me straddled the line between sensuality and violence, as strangers were forced provocatively against and then apart from one another, and potential belligerents brought together on the tide of blissful, sweaty humanity long enough to exchange words, and then parted on the same tide just as smoothly before coming to (too many) blows.
As a theater for sociological observation, it was unparalleled – a fascinating image of the bliss of communal experience vying with individual passions: jealousy, angst, aggression, horniness. If this is the experience of a Starfucker show, then it is the experience of urban living, in microcosm, condensed and stirred up and shot through with unnatural energy and all of the passion, good and bad, that comes with it. It is the resignation that, whether you love or hate your neighbors, that’s who you’ve got to dance with, and the trust that you put in a collection of strangers that if you fall, you’ll be picked up, and if you move your body, somebody will move with you. It was, in short, a demonstration of the varieties of human interaction, and the power of music to bring people together, to paper over the chasms that normally exist between the perspectives of strangers. Finally, of course, it was a performance, and only a performance, with no intention but to entertain, from one of the most significant bands in Portland, and from my elevated vantage point, a success on every level.
