Grab your tracksuits and prepare to feel the funk
Take a look at the men on this page, kitted out in matching red tracksuits, and try and get used to the idea. Because while they might just look like a clutchful of north-European pervs, make no mistake – soon we will all look like Datarock. In fact, judging from tonight’s show, they’re fast turning into pop music’s most aggressive sect since The Polyphonic Spree.
With their questionable leisurewear and propensity for writing songs about robot sex and the possibility of women having cocks, you can consider these the Danish, new rave equivalent to Goldie Lookin Chain. Musically, though, they’re completely different, favouring an impossibly nagging car crash of the most basic electro-pop and addictive Parliament-style funk, all done with a Talking Heads sense of style that’s both noxious and compulsive. They’ll make you want to listen to nothing else for, ooh, a week at least.
Even the band themselves are growing exponentially: the last time we saw them on these shores was at White Heat when they were just the pair of them: gruff, chainsmoking frontman Ketil Mosnes and slight Annie collaborator Fredik Saroea (albeit augmented by a clutch of Suicide Girls who negated the point of being Suicide Girls by remaining clothed).
But tonight, during their album launch at Kilburn’s Luminaire, the stage is teeming with them: Datarock on drums, Datarock on funk guitar, Datarock on maracas. Where did they all come from? You and your rational Earth explanations might just scoff, “Yes, that’s because they’ve brought the full band over for their big album launch,” but I wouldn’t be so sure. These are not mere people – they are converts to the Datarock cause, drawn into some crazed cult of freaky dancing. And who knows what’s gone on to transform these Scandinavians into electro-smut monsters? What’s underneath those tracksuits – some sort of skin graft? What do they do to these people’s brains to make them so damn funny and funky?
Clearly, these poor droogs have no choice but to prance around a stage in front of north London hipsters, leading people in the quirky call-and-response genius of ‘Computer Camp Love’ or getting them to belt out the choruses of “BMX! Is Better Than Sex!” They even break into ‘Summer Nights’ from Grease at one point, as if there really are no rules.
Where will it all end? By ‘Night Flight To Uranus’, The Luminaire is completely under the spell of this perv-pop conspiracy, with simply no means of escape back to a world of safe, harmless music like The Kooks. They’re coming for you next, on the ShockWaves Presents Club NME On Tour, no doubt with 70 people onstage. Be vigilant: if you have to go near one – do not touch it! Your skin will turn red, you’ll get an impossible case of da funk, and you will never be indie again.
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