The Brooklyn Electronic Music Festival had its debut this year at the multi-use, scraggly space that used to house the American Can Factory in the Brooklyn neighborhood of Gowanus, which recently has been picking up the pieces of the “do it yourself” venues. The location adds allure to shows and festivals with nearby, long streets of warehouses and X-rated video stores that also make up the industrial clang. The lettered sign announcing the festival outside the venue made for a fun time with pranksters, who managed to move the letters around to suit their bad boy whims more than a few times.
During the first moments inside the indoor performance space, it was sporadically populated with what seemed to be the most fervent, early bird fans. I think I crouched down in front of the stage to shoot a photo, but I was too stunned to remember clearly, since immediately the singer of Purple Crush, a curvaceous and purple wildfire, looked me directly in the eyes and proceeded to tell me to “f**&* lick her c*** c*** mother*** d*** pistol”, or something along the lines of “fucking lick her cunt cock mother fucker dick pistol”. I was held up at gnarly bass swear point and robbed of my critical senses. No photographic evidence is available of that moment. Unfortunately, the spell was quickly broken as that was the last song of their set; Next time, I’ll know better, Ms. sailors’ mouth.
The early outdoor bands sounded unlike acts that would make me think of an Electronic Music Festival, but I suppose, in the post-partum of the under the bridge raves of the 90′s, pretty much every band had acquired at least a few guitar pedals that would intimate their heraldic connection to the general electronic music genre. I was raised on Ninja Tune milk and was expecting more performances in the vain of Venetian Snares, Daedalus, Fourtet, or a Kid Koala set that would make someone turn around and wistfully say: “Kid Koala is sad today”, which as humorous as it sounds to me, did happen years back at PS1.
The first act I saw, Amazing Knife, actually finished with a tribute of sorts to Artist Known As Symbols, with “Purple Rain”. And then there was funk. It thematically qualified with a stretch after a few cool tequilas served up from the bar. I talked over some of the experiences with other patrons at the end of an alley that tapered off from the bar. Many were surprised at the early line up choices, however, later there were Shy Child, Designer Drugs and The Juan Maclean, the between-set DJs put on tribal house, and the rotating block of cheese we were traveling on had some steady vinyl on top of it.
Flashmen were mostly wearing clothes.
Young Love were again a bit of a surprise considering the “Electronic” moniker of the festival, but a welcome one. The singer, Dan Keyes, spun around to new wave-inspired tunes and would drop in to the dancing front rows, a welcome bouquet to the excited female fans. There are parallels here to a more a more fluidly gesticular Joy Division in the hooks of the band and the frontman’s performance.–Tim Nestor
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