HeiBräu

This review is dedicated to Mitch Thorson, who turned us all on to Dan Deacon.

Hailing from the Wham City scene of Baltimore, and sporting dangerously goofy attire for someone with a master’s degree, Dan Deacon is probably music’s least likely electronica star. At very least, he’s certainly someone who calls certain adages about books and their respective covers to mind.

From a relatively early point in his career, Deacon has been exploring some surprisingly avant-garde musical avenues, releasing several albums in 2003 that included live performances, studio wizardry, and some of weirdest stuff people had ever heard, including the jibberish chorus line of “Biggle Hat Was Ice Cream Time (Card Shark Nose Nose).” Given Deacon’s higher education in electro-acoustic and computer music composition, his early work echoes pioneering classical compositions like Luciano Berio’s “Sinfonia,” not surprisingly.

Until 2005 saw the release of Spiderman of The Rings, Deacon more or less continued in the vein of musique concrète, following in the footsteps of the modern composers like Berio, Crumb, and Ives, who approached the business of writing music from a more classical perspective. Though they are fascinating studies in art theory, releases like Meetle Mice and Silly Hat vs. Egale Hat come off as clinical and insular, seemingly keeping the listener behind the glass with their own brand of enigma on tracks like “It’s Not As It’s Going Downtown” and “BJI Aii Hmhp #14.” Still farther out, “Drinking Out of Cups” was merely a spoken piece, capturing schizophrenic thoughts about random passersby, objects, and events. And yet, there were embryonic stabs at his current style, like “my own face is F word” and “The House I Was Isn’t My Girlfriend’s Porche.”

Dan Deacon’s “Snookered,” from Bromst.

His cheeky exterior and ski-goggle specs portray him as a demure, intense mind who churns out fits of electronic madness the way Dustin Hoffman spouts numbers of toothpicks in Rain Man. In reality, though, his personality is every bit as wacky and fun as his 2005 indie hit, “The Crystal Cat;” his live shows are a total circus, with Deacon at the center of the room organizing his interactive games, dances, and all manner of schizoid electronica.

On Bromst, Deacon has a focus not present elsewhere. Of the many directions his music reached previously, he has explored the galaxy of options in one subset, crafting heartening and catchy electronica over blindingly rapid beats and tones. “Of The Mountains” comes full circle, with its future-primitive beats and drums. It sounds genuinely tribal, yet it’s ironically spun from this avatar of electronic excess. In Deacon’s capable hands, amateurish voice samples probably lifted from 80s-era synths take on their own personality, hooting in cycle as they intro “Surprise Stefani.”

The entire album works as a unit; previously, the nature of his work was inherently fractured and difficult. Here, however, Deacon proves himself startlingly cohesive at nearly every turn. Best of all, the music isn’t merely incidental. There’s undeniable craft evident here — the crushing sadness of “Snookered,” the triumphant ear-candy choruses of “Red F,” the charged atmosphere of “Paddling Ghost” — and watching Deacon curse his way through the process until his machines yield the desired results is wholly engaging.

Even the cover seems appropriate, showing a mysterious glowing tent amid dark foliage. Having broken through the weeds and brambles, the artist has pitched his tent. Inside, Harry Potter references notwithstanding, the tent is far larger than it appears, and gleaming even more brightly. Bromst is ripe with genius, showing Deacon at his eclectic, frenetic best, where he’s still aiming to push the limits not only of electronica, but of music itself.

- Johnny B.