Dan Deacon Hits the Spacebar

words by Ingrid Norton
photos by Randy Cremean

On the stage at Mohawk girls in wrap-around dresses sit on top of the amplifiers and their boyfriends with the flipped up shaggy hair lean beside them, looking down into the crowd below. In the center of the group of about 100 of Austin’s bright-young-things Dan Deacon has set up his synthesizer, computer and amplifiers. He has hoisted his “trippy green” plastic Halloween skull, which sends out pulses of light in and out of sync with another plastic white animal figure—audience members argue whether it is a cat or a rabbit. It’s after midnight in Mohawk’s steep back-garden and three opening bands have already played to a waxing and waning crowd of Austin hipsters where the men wear low-slung jeans and the girl’s high heels click and clack. Deacon’s set has been riddled with technical difficulties. Several times, the music cuts out mid-song and Deacon has one of his entourage walk the four blocks to his room at the Sheraton to get his laptop. In a moment of fidgety annoyance he sardonically proclaims, “Listen, if you guys are ever gonna start a band, start a band. Don’t get an iPod.”