Dan Deacon Turns Up the Volume and the Crazy in Equal Amounts

If attending Dan Deacon's concert at the intimate (albeit under-equipped) Horn Gallery taught me anything, it's that when Dan Deacon tells you to place your hands on the hair of the person in front of you and remember the worst thing you've ever done, you had better do it.

It is not that his presence is particularly intimidating. On the contrary, his pasty, loveably overweight and balding appearance is not an image that demands subordination. It is that Deacon performs in ways unlike any other artist or DJ I have ever seen, making himself the ringleader of his own fluorescent, techno circus. The effect is so exhilarating that you are left with no choice but to lose yourself in the sea of neon chaos he creates.

First of all, it is important to establish that, as an artist, Deacon is not particularly outstanding. His songs are okay. He composes like any other DJ, writing loops that build upon each other gracefully, turning notes into melodies into electronic symphonies. All in all, it is not notably different from any of the indie house music you have heard before. Deacon's presentation, however, elevates his art form and establishes him as a performer who is at once profoundly theatrical and unique.

Deacon does this quite simply, by adapting the space to suit his needs. Whereas the opening band, Nuclear Power Pants, was limited by a lack of stage and the painfully obvious rushed sound check (the set was fraught with feedback and incomprehensible singing), Deacon made the venue work. In doing so, he demonstrated that some strobe lights, gallons of neon paint and a gargantuan, pyramidal construction of speakers can go a long way.

He also overcame the obstacles of the space by conducting his set like a dance rather than a concert - which appeased the 90-odd percent of audience members who had no way of seeing him. The act was perfected as Deacon presented the intimate crowd of not much more than a hundred with a series of tasks that accentuated the music. The most memorable of these involved volunteers and the rearranging of his audience into large, exaltant circles.

"We will now stand in a circle and Greg will lead us in an interpretive dance," Deacon said. "He is the queen bee, and we are all his drones. If whoever is at the light board isn't busy and could dim the house lights, that would be cool, too." What followed was a massive, ritualistic tribal dance that built with the music to a picture-perfect crescendo.

By the end of his too-short set, the audience was in the palm of his hand. The dancing became manic and hysterical (apologies to that guy I accidentally punched in the face), and despite being exhausted I was eager to remain lost in the music and the crowd for another hour. Deacon's projections, lighting and color palette do no less than assault the senses - which begs the question: do strobe lights really need to be placed inside glow-in-the-dark-skulls and hung from the ceiling?

The answer - irrefutably - is yes.