Dan Deacon

Some late hour finds me poured into a dark cushioned seat waiting for the lights to dim and whoknowswhat to flicker across my synapses. Middle of the middle. Primo location. I order a Royale with cheese and an Arrogant Bastard Ale. It's Texas and all the quaking bodies pulse in ryhthm to the pre show music, their able pieces drinking in the stark cold of the theater while it can.

A montage of coming events leaps onto the screen with the dissonant buzz of electricity and a throbbing kickyouinthelungs bass line. My senses are attacked again and again with the progression of images, the salted amalgam of cleverly named diner fare, and most insistently the mountainous crecendo of a song unlike any song I'd heard before. Filling the soft spaces behind my eyes and under my tongue. I am closed off and the sounds creep across my muscles and sloose through my pores.

All Dan Deacon's Early Albums Free

Dan is surprisingly eloquent:


The Sound of Young America: Dan Deacon