LIVE REVIEW: Deelay Ceelay, Wednesday, May 6 @ Gallery Homeland
Deelay Ceelay blew a fuse at Gallery Homeland on Wednesday night. At least that's what the band joked when backing tracks suddenly stopped playing under the duo shortly into their set. It wouldn't be a surprise considering that over the last few days the group, in both their live and recorded form, blew the minds of more than a few friends of this writer
Sure, the name had been bandied about before, but never truly with the enthusiasm of the last few days. A check of the band's website resulted in a unique experience itself (even if we are still waiting for that damn manatee to text us back) and the music was immediately engaging. It was the recommendation of friends that drove me to seek them out. With the rearranging of a few plans, a field trip was arranged and a performance was attended, armed with hopes not expectations. Hopes were fulfilled ten fold.
Wow. What a show. Where to begin? Why do people do drugs when there are experiences like this to be had? Who needs our natural original senses altered or enhanced unnaturally when those senses can so very often be overwhelmed and intensified by witnessing events such as this?
On a day when a discussion was had about the momentary gratification industry that seems to be sweeping certain portions of party trash dance show scenes, here was something that was truly art. Fun AND sophisticated, this was performance 2.0—high gloss AND interactive, the shadows of the audience becoming part of the visual backgrounds projected around the band.
Who had two drummers first? Typhoon? Or Starfucker? In a town blessed with so much talent, it has often been noted we seem to have an inordinate amount of brilliant drummers. Some of those talented drummers appreciated from the audience Wednesday night, including members of Explode Into Colors and Starfucker.
Two additional great drummers, Delaney Kelly and Chris Larson, drove the Deelay Ceelay experience, manning their kits more than ably while backing tracks sent out ringing guitars, shiny synths and assorted cacophony, a set up compared more than once to something akin to "Ratatat in reverse.” The music of the evening's set grooved, locked and shook, rinsed washed and repeated, closing with a one-two punch of covers which included a reverent remix of the Beach Boys' "Sloop John B.” On this night, though, nobody really wanted to go home.
The whole thing can't really have justice done to it in words, or maybe it just needs a better writer. This was the kind of thing that needs to be experienced firsthand. Are you experienced? Go to their website. Go to their MySpace. Are you there yet? Are you dancing? Why aren't you dancing? Dance.