Dan Deacon plays Red Hook

I've heard a lot about the Baltimore based Dan Deacon in the last few years. Everywhere I turned rave reviews of his live set seemed abundant. And the phrase “community driven electro-acoustic” popped up enough times to make me wonder what the hell that meant. So when I had the opportunity to see him play Red Hook Park in Brooklyn, I was not about to pass it up.

Deacon directed his attention away from the goings on of the pre-show stage, and released a statement to the few hundred people before him that perfectly foreshadowed the upcoming set. “The last show we played was really stressful,” he announced, “And it's not at all like that today. It feels like we've just been released from prison.” The moment the set began, an instantaneous wave of energy erupted from the crowd and the uniform exuberance felt so natural and comfortable that in the entire mass of people, I could spot no more than a handful of people not dancing wildly. I quickly found myself in the center of probably the most considerate mosh pit ever formed, with each accidental elbow or shove warranting a reassuring smile whose warmth felt so antithetical to the sheer aggression of the pits at punk shows.

So unvarying was the energy that the pit quickly spread until it had engulfed all but the timid few individuals located on the outskirts of the audience. After a while, the rarely interrupted stream of music emanating from the stage's eclectic arrangement of musicians and electronics prevented all but the most astute observer from discerning where one song ended and where another began. Had it not been for the cues given by the ever shifting group of musicians accompanying him, such a task would have been challenging at best. I could count at least twelve members of the ensemble, but their alternating roles made it difficult to be certain whether or not one of the four drummers had in fact been playing electronic mallets only moments before. Perhaps the only stagnant member was Deacon himself, who stepped away from his table of electronics only momentarily to rescue beach balls lodged on the nearly packed stage.

I had previously been under the impression that such a free spirited and collectively non-judgmental attitude could only be found at a drug fuelled rave, or at the very least Woodstock. And although I am certainly not in a position to make sweeping generalizations about everyone in attendance, the absence of any sort of bar and only occasional whiffs of weed led me to believe that the majority of the audience was largely sober. Perhaps I'm fooling myself, but that fact only made the communal sincerity feel more effortless. Deacon shot through tunes - Red F, Woof Woof, Crystal Cat - each one maintaing the enthusiasm that exploded with the very first synthesized note. The set culminated in Silence Like The Wind Overtakes Me, a gorgeously simple sing-along that engaged anyone willing to belt out the sustained “OOOOOOOH” that followed the repeated titular line.

The only true pauses came when Deacon twice instructed the audience to form a large circle. A cross-dressing hula hooper led the crowd in a dance contest, which I shockingly found myself swept up in. As the sky darkened and the show drew to a close, I walked off the grass field back onto the concrete that makes up Brooklyn, and continued thinking about what had been meant by the word “community”. And although it may sound corny, as things often do, I felt closer to the friends I had brought along with me. Maybe the few hours we spent dancing our asses off weren't in fact that unique, but it damn sure felt that way. I can't tell you if every show Deacon puts on is a repeat performance, but I can assure you that everyone in attendance will be grabbing all their buds and hauling them down to see him play the next time he graces New York with his presence. I do my best to avoid superlatives, but I for once feel comfortable proclaiming that this was easily the best show I've ever been to.