Last Saturday, a band known not as pyramiddd, not as STRFKR, but as the one and only Starfuckerheadlined Bowery Ballroom. They sauntered on just before midnight in an array of fairly typical vintage sweaters and ill-fitting tank tops (no sign of Shawn Glassford’s feminine side), after Beat Connection and Alexico’s feedback had long since faded. Style choices aside, after the August release of their new album, Reptilians, it was abundantly clear the band had not lost their ability to produce the addictive melodic riffs that keep us listening (and dancing!).
That being said, on Saturday, the first thing we heard did not include any of the four synths, which crowded the front of the stage and were adorned with Christmas lights. Instead, the boys took to their strings and standard keys to play a lighthearted poppy hit, “German Love,” from their self-titled 2008 album. The crowd swayed and bounced in excitement, but this was no indication of what would follow. By the third song, after almost all four members had gotten their hands on every instrument on stage, the dynamic of the show, the music, and the crowd had transformed into an untamable, indefatigable beast. One of the more excitable audience members had somehow launched himself center stage, but with a small push from Glassford he returned from whence he came.
Starfucker makes the kind of noises (not just lyrics) you want to sing along to, and I was not the only one who felt that way. The crowd was riotous, and the fervency never waned. The only downside was that without many clear distinctions between songs, and a lack of self-awareness from the audience members, a pseudo-rave effect took over at points.
But the hits still stuck out. Songs like “Death as a Fetish,” with it repetitious lyrics and appeal to the juvenile in all of us, had the whole place shaking. Another new song, “Julius,” achieved glory alongside the most edible of their hooks, like “Hard Smart Beta” which they played earlier in the night. Midway through, a young girl was literally dragged off stage; young men intermittently writhed—rather than surfed—through the crowd.
The pre-encore set would have ended in a numbing mess of bodies and non-distinct noise if it was not for the choice to play their cover of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” during which Glassford plunged into the crowd, bass on shoulder. Just when it seemed to have swallowed him and robbed him of his instrument, he was miraculously pushed back on stage, still playing, although distracted by the necessary technical adjustments. A crowd mostly consisting of young men shouted the lyrics and flailed to the band's take on this classic.
The encore was more of a recovery than anything else, but I’m quite sure I was not the only one exhausted enough not to care. The boys from Oregon inspired carelessly fun debauchery in their New York City audience, making depravity seem stylish, and Cyndi Lauper seem badass.
