The Wake

Arriving for the show at 10:00 p.m., courtesy of Campus Circulator Luanne’s dance party commuter, I was informed I had missed out on show opener Tarlton. Several sources further informed that I hadn’t missed much more than an embarrassing display of bass guitar and lack luster drumming. “It was like background music, for talking over,” says one unenthused man. Others expressed similar sentiments but having not seen them myself, I can’t confirm or deny those claims. Luckily, none were appalled to the point of departure, as what transpired next will go down in Dinkytown history.

The Varsity Theatre is truly a wonderful place to dance. The onstage lights were purple, then blue, and disco balls spun overhead. A thin layer of smoke began to spread while an excited chatter filled the room. The sold out Varsity supplied as diverse and friendly a crowd as I’ve seen to date. There were couples holding hands, awaiting their chance to dance. While using the urinal I stood next to a fellow in a dashing, orange and neon green Nickelodeon jacket. I ran into a Frenchmen named Pierre whom I met the night before at the Triple Rock. A couple in the lobby was trying to tell me about their business, Retard Enterprises: a series of websites that sell stickers. Haley Bonar walked by, arm in arm with her performance bassist, and a girl from my salsa mini-course stood by the stage. This was shaping up to be some night.

Dance Band was the second act. The band was formed a year ago for the purpose of one show at the Nomad, and they have been playing area shows ever since. Their outfits were more than my eyes could endure, the music was far too danceable for my ears to believe, and the kid who stood in front of me wore a thrift store suit coat that reeked of sweat. In summary Dance Band’s performance was more than my senses could endure. Their front-man appeared to have dropped down from the heavens with Coke bottle glasses and a beard of respectable volume, he wore the lethal combination of a denim vest with skin tight jeans. Accessorized with a blue headband, a set of matching arm-bands, and a gold, bulldog chain, he would end the show in nothing but a pair of tight boxer briefs and the thick coat of body hair with which God had blessed him. I conducted my first ever dance interview with him on stage during the Girl Talk set (more on this later). I danced my way across the stage and congratulated him on a great show. He introduced himself as Paul, and we talked extensively of the great sense of community obtained at any Dance Band show. “We’re all a part of Dance Band,” shouted Paul over the music, “it’s just that those in the audience are slightly less a part.” But only slightly, we agreed.

The party started amidst flashing lights from above and behind the Varsity stage, and one out-shined them all. The pale skin of Dance Band’s skinny, shirtless guitarist produced a light of such overwhelming fluorescence that it was unsafe to look for too long. The drummer wore a pink, white, and blue wind suit none too different than the one your middle school gym teacher used to sport. Best dressed of all was the bass player, who accompanied his orange instrument with an orange shirt, vest, tie and pants, capping it all off with an extremely well fashioned mullet atop his head. The keyboardist was of the most understated hilarity imaginable. His sweaty face, devoid of color, stared blankly into the crowd. His soaked white t-shirt was stretched around the neck collar, and his chubby face sat below a glorious set of curls.

Gregg Gillis, a.k.a. Girl Talk, is a native of Pittsburg, PA, known and loved for his unique spin on the mash up. No genre is safe from the sampling hands of this twenty-six-year-old party starter. Here are several of the song’s he’s remixed: Ying Yang Twin’s “Wait (The Whisper Song)” over The Verve’s “Bittersweet Symphony,” Bow Wow ft. Ciara “Like You” over Manfred Mann’s “Blinded by the Light,” and Billy Squire’s “The Stroke” over Dr. Dre’s “Nuthin’ But a “G” Thang.”

The band, as advertised, “supplied the dance,” stopping only briefly between songs. Aside from a weak but valiant effort on a Radiohead cover, the band proved an unstoppable force, winning over the crowd with ease. A good time was simply unavoidable with absurdist lyrics about the “Midwest Coast,” and “shaking your babymakers.” Although I had heard great things about Girl Talk’s performances, I was skeptical. To my utter surprise, Girl Talk more than surpassed all expectations.

The cogs began to swing frantically as “Once Again” the opener of his heralded album, Night Ripper, stirred the crowd into a perfect frenzy. A fan from the crowd was surfed onto the stage, and then promptly and forcefully removed. It happened again a few minutes later. When the second offender was back on stage only thirty seconds after being shoved off the side, the two security guards rushed him towards the back of the stage, this time with greater brute force. Gillis, looking up from his laptop to see this, left his small circular table, and chased them down; after a moment of conversation, the fan was allowed to stay and danced triumphantly. The stage was quickly overrun by a crazed mixture of rump shaking beauties and head banging guys. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, I traversed my way to the front and hopped on stage. The next hour and a half or so was without a doubt the hottest party in the Midwest that night, as we all proved that the Minnesotans can indeed “shake it.”

Gillis was like a lighthouse in a sea of crashing waves, appearing and reappearing from within the throng of bouncing dancers. Unfazed by the wild activity, he proceeded to lay down a seamless dance mix, which was glorious. The most contemporary number of the evening was the fusion of Grizzly Bear’s “Knife” with Clipse’s “Wamp Wamp (What It Do).” He worked diligently on his laptop, occasionally stopping to dance recklessly, shaking his head and spraying sweat. On-stage and off, we all shared an evening of incessant body moving. As Gillis called the evening to a close, it was to resounding applause. He turned to us on-stage as the room began to clear, and thanked us for our efforts. He turned and hugged the girl closest to him; I was next. I complimented his skill, and he thanked me graciously, a fitting end to an evening of shared emotion and elation. We embraced and then parted ways. I am forever grateful to Mr. Gillis for providing this memorable night of onstage debauchery.