MOG

Today was a library day for me, and that meant getting some new music to listen to over the course of the next two weeks. I like going to the library because I can pick out cd's based on cover art, this is something I used to do a lot of when I had more disposable income. The trip to my lovely library was great, and I was happy to see a nice selection of cd's in which to browse. I guess that is the one problem I have with cd shopping at the library, sometimes you end up with nothing and that is like finding out a girl you are insterested in is a bad kisser.

Today I hit the jackpot, and ended up taking a total of 10 cd's home. One of the cd's I chose was soley on the cover art, and I was anxious to come home and listen to the music that went along with the cd jacket. Lets just say I was pleasantly surprised when I began to listen, and even more so when I did a little digging on the internet as to who this band was.

As it turns out they are a newer band from my lovely hometown of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Their name is simply the Dance Band, and not dancing to their music is a crime as far as I can see. The actually remind me a lot of the Electric Six, and the videos I have now seen of them fit that bill as well. Before I play the video I will give you a write up from my local City Pages, looks like I scored big time at the library after all.

Good funk bands don't need to remind their audiences to dance. Then again, most don't have to deal with stiff Twin Cities crowds either, so we'll cut Dance Band some slack for their dumb name and constant imploring. "We are Dance Band, and that's what you're gonna do!" commands the group's spastic and hirsute singer, Captain Octagon. "Shake your baby maker!" The thing is, the crack rhythm section behind Octagon is so good, and their quirky electro-funk is so catchy, that every butt in the house is bouncing. Begging for something that's already happening—it's like pillow talk as stage banter. Which is appropriate, since Dance Band—like any indecent interstellar funk band—isn't really about dancing at all, except as a pretext to more explicit night moves. All this makes Captain Octagon something of a Ron Jeremy for the local hipster set. Like any indecent interstellar bandleader, he begins every show dressed to the gills in a spangly jumpsuit, and finishes wearing little more than his own chest hair. The best part: From the sound of the critical mass anthem "Pedal Power," there's even a political bone in their sweaty bodies. That'll give you something to talk about in the morning.