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franceslievensDaan on stage is more than listening to some guy playing his songs. It's the whole performance that counts. But Daan's latest incarnation – The Player – hasn't found its way to the stage just yet.
The concert at the AB starts off in the same way as the latest album: the synthesizer introduces Mirror, a song that refers to eighties new beat and ends in a soundscape that's worthy of Rammstein. This is Daan, the Player: mix and match different musical styles, and if they don't match, let them clash. Unfortunately the show quickly slows down. There is no direct built-up to one big high-point, and after several nearly-theres the concert collapses a bit.
Daan's faithful audience doesn't let it get to them. It only needs a couple of words to go crazy. "Do you remember this one?" Daan asks, and raises two fingers in the air into a V-sign. Victory! The crowd goes wild. This player in his old brown suit plays the audience like the playboy he ultimately is. When his lyrics proclaim it's the girl that made him into this, the screaming girls and jumping boys tell a completely different story. We get more than one occasion to scream and jump up and down. Daan has written some great danceable poptunes: Swedish Designer Drugs, Bridgeburner, and housebeat Housewife. All these get interesting and novel live versions, that have been in place since the Victory-tour and are documented on the Camera-dvd. Bridgeburner is responsible for the first squeal-moment of the evening when drummer Isolde Lasoen picks up the bugle, and Daan himself takes place behind the drums. Together with the trumpet they bring a little instrumental that's reminiscent of Mexican bands. It shows the skill of these musicians for letting such a tune dissolve into the intro for Bridgeburner.
There's a gap between these older songs and the new material from The Player. More than other Daan-albums, The Player walks the thin line between the top and going way over it. The lyrics are a mix of English, French and German, and wouldn't be out of place at the Eurovision Song Contest. On the other hand, their constant self-reference is hilarious. There's a lot of tongue in cheek, but that doesn't translate itself onto the stage. Suddenly everything becomes very serious, whereas The Player doesn't take itself serious by default.
There are a couple of reasons for this. First the band doesn't seem as close-knit when bringing the new songs. It seems they are still looking and discovering how to bring this material. Second Daan's player isn't as established and grand on stage than our Victory-yelling sex-god was a year ago. And third it's all in the mix: Daan's wonderful voice (sometimes crooning, sometimes yelling, sometimes mumbling, but always an orgasm for the ears) disappears in the noisy mix. And his ironic lyrics with it. Although The Player has some of the best* lyrics Daan has ever written, the audience can only guess as to what he's singing. When we hear him talk in between songs, the constraints of the mix get even more prevalent. In his intro to Promis Q he asks for the help of his fans to look for props for his next video. "Give them to me," he says in that darkbrown voice that makes you want him to read the telephone book for you every evening for the next decade. As soon as the music starts, it's gone though.
1969 does show that the seeds of irony are there. The voice and manners Daan uses in this song remind us of Klaus Nomi. The concert hall doesn't explode, but had a great evening. The new songs will have to grow. When the Player returns, the house will be too small.
*All in proportion of course. Daan still doesn't write the best lyrics ever, but he has improved, and moved into a direction song-writers usualy don't dare to go: kitsch.
The concert at the AB starts off in the same way as the latest album: the synthesizer introduces Mirror, a song that refers to eighties new beat and ends in a soundscape that's worthy of Rammstein. This is Daan, the Player: mix and match different musical styles, and if they don't match, let them clash. Unfortunately the show quickly slows down. There is no direct built-up to one big high-point, and after several nearly-theres the concert collapses a bit.
Daan's faithful audience doesn't let it get to them. It only needs a couple of words to go crazy. "Do you remember this one?" Daan asks, and raises two fingers in the air into a V-sign. Victory! The crowd goes wild. This player in his old brown suit plays the audience like the playboy he ultimately is. When his lyrics proclaim it's the girl that made him into this, the screaming girls and jumping boys tell a completely different story. We get more than one occasion to scream and jump up and down. Daan has written some great danceable poptunes: Swedish Designer Drugs, Bridgeburner, and housebeat Housewife. All these get interesting and novel live versions, that have been in place since the Victory-tour and are documented on the Camera-dvd. Bridgeburner is responsible for the first squeal-moment of the evening when drummer Isolde Lasoen picks up the bugle, and Daan himself takes place behind the drums. Together with the trumpet they bring a little instrumental that's reminiscent of Mexican bands. It shows the skill of these musicians for letting such a tune dissolve into the intro for Bridgeburner.
There's a gap between these older songs and the new material from The Player. More than other Daan-albums, The Player walks the thin line between the top and going way over it. The lyrics are a mix of English, French and German, and wouldn't be out of place at the Eurovision Song Contest. On the other hand, their constant self-reference is hilarious. There's a lot of tongue in cheek, but that doesn't translate itself onto the stage. Suddenly everything becomes very serious, whereas The Player doesn't take itself serious by default.
There are a couple of reasons for this. First the band doesn't seem as close-knit when bringing the new songs. It seems they are still looking and discovering how to bring this material. Second Daan's player isn't as established and grand on stage than our Victory-yelling sex-god was a year ago. And third it's all in the mix: Daan's wonderful voice (sometimes crooning, sometimes yelling, sometimes mumbling, but always an orgasm for the ears) disappears in the noisy mix. And his ironic lyrics with it. Although The Player has some of the best* lyrics Daan has ever written, the audience can only guess as to what he's singing. When we hear him talk in between songs, the constraints of the mix get even more prevalent. In his intro to Promis Q he asks for the help of his fans to look for props for his next video. "Give them to me," he says in that darkbrown voice that makes you want him to read the telephone book for you every evening for the next decade. As soon as the music starts, it's gone though.
1969 does show that the seeds of irony are there. The voice and manners Daan uses in this song remind us of Klaus Nomi. The concert hall doesn't explode, but had a great evening. The new songs will have to grow. When the Player returns, the house will be too small.
*All in proportion of course. Daan still doesn't write the best lyrics ever, but he has improved, and moved into a direction song-writers usualy don't dare to go: kitsch.
