Ghostland Observatory - Crystal Ballroom (Portland, OR; Nov. 8, 2009)

When a band grows beyond the confines of its hometown scene to national prominence, it can make for a disorienting experience for the fans that were there from the beginning. The urge to proudly announce to the world that you were into them before they were cool vies, almost inevitably, with indignation for what fame (money/record label/Yoko Ono) has done to the band. Seek out those in your community who remember seeing Nirvana play house parties—they’re out there—and they’re likely to tell you that everything after Bleach was bullshit, opinion of pretty much the rest of civilization notwithstanding.

It was in this frame of mind that I ventured to Portland’s Crystal Ballroom to see Ghostland Observatory on Sunday night. When I moved to Austin four years ago, Ghostland were already the darlings of the city’s famed local music scene, and were about to release their sophomore effort, Paparazzi Lightning. And while the band typically packed Austin’s smallish venues, on the road they were just another touring band that no one had ever heard of. Nevertheless, over the course of my time in Austin, it was becoming increasingly clear that Ghostland were on their way to some sort of stardom. Rumors that the band had turned down a major label deal bewildered locals and fed the growing mystique, while a packed, sweaty show at a metal bar in South Austin felt distinctly like the final opportunity to see Ghostland in their incarnation as a “local” band.

And, sure enough, it didn’t take long. Shortly after I returned to Portland, Ghostland released Robotique Majestique, their poorly received but widely publicized third album, and played for a surprisingly large audience at the Crystal Ballroom. The show, featuring unfamiliar lasers and lights and long, uncharacteristically slow orchestral segments, befuddled me and delighted most everyone else. And while my own lasting impression from that 2008 gig was “what on earth happened to these guys?” it was undeniable that Ghostland had arrived on the national scene. Now, having the opportunity to see them again, playing the same material in the same venue, I was determined to put my bewilderment aside and see the band for what it had become. And the experience, to my delight, was more than rewarding, if still a little on the bizarre side.

Making my way out onto the floor at Crystal Ballroom, I was immediately struck by just how much the floor was bouncing. The immediate cause: a full-on fleet of teenagers, decked out with glowsticks and assorted other rave paraphernalia, putting on their own blissful little dance party in the middle of the floor. Contrast to my Austin days, when most Ghostland shows took place in bars, and yeah, this was definitely a shock. The techno music being pumped from the stage was appropriate to the revelry, but hardly necessary. Nor was it the kind of thing you’d warm up the old Austin audiences with—as good an indication as any that the band’s core demographic has shifted.

The pre-Ghostland dance party went on for slightly more than an hour before the lights dimmed and a slower, darker variety of electronic music began. Anticipating the imminent arrival of the band, the crowd cheered and pressed forward toward the stage. They would have to wait. This intro, if one could call it that, was sustained for nearly 20 minutes, long enough to give me time to head to the restroom, check out the view from the balcony—too smoky to see clearly—and finally land a prime spot on a bench on the side of the room. After teasing the crowd almost to the point of antagonism, Aaron Behrens and Thomas Turner finally took the stage. Behrens looked much as I remember him from my first Ghostland show: aviators, Indian braids, tight t-shirt. I remember being unsure at the time whether this frenetic vocalist was male or female. One could still be forgiven that mistake. Turner, meanwhile, donning a high-collared purple cape with a comically large cross on it, looked like the bastard son of Ozzy Osborne and Gram Parsons. Whether he pulled the look off or not is debatable, but the presence of caped fans in the audience suggests that it was working on some level.

With a quick greeting, the band jumped directly into “Piano Man,” something of a Ghostland Observatory anthem and the opening track from Paparazzi Lightning. The room immediately started bouncing, prompting me to widen my stance on the bench for stability. Up next were “Ghetto Magnet,” “Stranger Lover,” “Vibrate,” “Sad Sad City,” and “All You Rock ‘n’ Rollers,” all from Paparazzi Lighting, which had now been played more than half way through its entirety. Fine by me, that being the first Ghostland album I had been exposed to. But more compelling than that was the response from the audience, who seemed to know the material at least as well as I did. Indeed, “Sad Sad City” was practically a sing-along, and during “All You Rock ‘n’ Rollers,” a song that’s every bit as cool as its title suggests, the action on the dance floor was as entertaining to watch as that on the stage.

Following the onslaught of Paparazzi Lightning material, Behrens and Turner started to mix it up a bit, with selections from across their catalogue. “Dancing on My Grave,” with its repeated appeal to “keep on dancing,” was an obvious crowd pleaser, as was “Move with Your Lover.” Strangely, a creative rendition of Prince’s “Darling Nikki” failed to move the crowd, many of whom were likely too young to know the tune.

Following “Darling Nikki,” Ghostland left the stage for a brief encore break. Checking my watch, I was surprised to see they had already been playing for 70 minutes. The crowd cheered wildly for the band’s return, and weren’t kept waiting long. Within minutes, Behrens and Turner were back on stage and, after briefly thanking the audience, launched into “Silver City,” a cut from their debut that, by all rights, this audience should have been oblivious to. If they were, though, they didn’t show it. Raised hands from the stage to the back of the room floated over a sea of moving bodies. It was impossible to not be impressed. After “Silver City” came “Rich Man” and, finally, “HFM,” a somewhat lackluster track on the album that possessed an unexpected power in its live rendition.

All told, Ghostland played for an hour and a half, an impressively long time to maintain that kind of energy, and apart from a lull during “Darling Nikki,” the bulk of the audience managed to keep up. Barely a soul left early, and when the houselights finally came on and the crowd began to file out, the heat and odor from the sweaty bodies was almost overwhelming. Dripping and dazed, fans clustered on the sidewalk around the exit, seemingly too wired to disperse and go home.

And I, too, was a little wired. I hadn’t expected to enjoy the show as much as I did, and I certainly didn’t expect so much from the audience. The set, which heavily favored older material, was not unfamiliar to the audience, though it’s highly doubtful that more than a handful were fans when those albums were released. Indeed, the search phrase “Ghostland Observatory” doesn’t even register on Google Trends until April 2006—three months after Paparazzi Lightning was released. That fact is illustrative of what is truly impressive about the band’s following today: it’s one thing to have people hop on the bandwagon, but quite another when they make an effort to acquaint themselves with the back catalogue. Longtime fans will be tempted to claim some kind of high ground by being dismissive of any new material the band puts out—there are people in Austin who will tell you that everything after delete.delete.i.eat.meat is bullshit—but the fact is, Ghostland’s following today is as legitimate as it was when I first encountered them four years ago. Its face has changed, but the enthusiasm is authentic and compelling. To say it was an enlightening experience might be a bit much. After all, I’m still going to diss anyone who confesses to liking post-Black Album Metallica, and Van Halen definitely sucked in the Sammy Hagar years. But Ghostland Observatory, with its legions of newfound fans, has amply demonstrated that they are just as good as I remember, and are still earning their keep.

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