Mindfucked by Ratatat

Last week I headed to the Fillmore to catch Brooklyn duo, Ratatat... also the band with the funnest name to type. Upon arriving, I got into ready position to absorb the rays of electro-fantastic-instrumental goodness.

The first band to take the stage was Think About Life. I don't know that they really inspired me to follow the instructions of their name, but it was danceable. At some points TAL brought to mind The Clash, at other times The Rapture, and Bloc Party. Just as I was getting into the singer's hyperactive energy he proclaimed "Sorry guys, I'm just not feelin' it tonight". From that point on it seemed that after every song he either apologized for sucking or deflated into a look of defeat. What a buzz kill. Though I must admit, seeing the nerdy little drummer stand up and do a solo dance gave them a few bonus points in my memory.

Next was white boy rapper, Despot. He emerged and set up a music stand on which he placed a notebook with a drawing of a person constructed out of penises. Granted, that made my expectations relatively low, but I was still awe-struck at just how bad it was. Despot rapped over lackluster beats not unlike what you might hear if you pounded repeatedly on a wall. And he couldn't even remember his own lyrics. Hence, the penis notebook. In between songs he blabbed drunkenly about the journey of making his raps and tried to get the crowd to do aerobics. I found myself hard pressed to locate more than a handful of people in the entire venue that appeared to be enjoying the performance. Yikes.

So, after two somewhat disappointing openers, I needed a big boost from the boys of Ratatat. Luckily, when I heard the opening notes of Shiller (and I have a weak spot for shows that open with the opening track of their album) radiate off the stage in unison with hot yellow lights, I got excited. They jammed through their latest songs in front of a psychedelic film reel displaying shifting shapes, colors, and multiplying animal heads. It seemed to settle right in to the San Francisco crowd. However, somehow in spite of the psychedelic video show, the long haired band members, and the overall trippy musical journey, I underestimated just how much of a bro-crowd the band would attract. Thus, I was caught off guard by the number of college stoners pumping their fists and yelling "YEEE-AH!" and "This is SO TIGHT!" But hey, who's to say they weren't just as mindfucked by Shempi as I was. In fact, they were probably more so.
After a brief encore, Ratatat returned for a few more tracks, closing with their initial fish hook, Seventeen Years, during which a cannon of silver confetti exploded. Fuck yeah, bro. Fuck yeah.