It could be Independence Day on E.T.’s planet, between the Mayan’s agrocrag décor, the spaceship regulation size disco ball hovering onstage, and Thomas Turner’s shiny homemade cape. The music—what might occur if DJ Assault beats slowed down, meeting Andy Gibb and James Brown in the middle.
Every person attending the Ghostland Observatory show most definitely spends a good portion of alone time dancing. That’s not saying everyone inclined to dancing with themselves loves Ghostland, but everyone who likes this band definitely dances around the house. That’s what happens when you turn it on. I just happened to be standing when the album began playing. Guess what happened?
I believe that when we dance we are supposed to feel like we look like Aaron Behrens dancing. Wild stomping, sliding, gyrating, and pulling shapes with our arms—but super smooth and flowing, essentially moon-walking through all our moves. Fog billows around us. Lasers shoot out of the ground, ricocheting off a giant disco ball. That’s what dancing’s all about. Music leads to the physical symptom of rhythm: dancing. A vibration being pulsed gets twisted until it begins taking shape. After it becomes a sound, it becomes a body. When it comes to Ghostland Observatory, I see the whole package. The sound and sight splash against each other like shore to sand.
I’m also sure most everyone in the room dressed up as Michael Jackson at one point in their lives.