A girl is dancing, her brown locks flapping in the air as the muscles in her neck seesaw back and forth. Her hands float on nothingness as she bends and twirls in different directions, all the while, her face displaying various expressions of pleasure and delight. She seems totally entranced by her surroundings and would be fascinating to watch except that she’s unknowingly been smacking me in the face with her hair for the past ten minutes.
The smart thing to do would be to move away from her, but I cant. This is happening everywhere around me (including on stage) as a few hundred fans gyrate, dance, and hop to the massive harmonious jumble that is the Polyphonic Spree.
To the uninitiated, the Polyphonic Spree is an anomaly – part orchestra, part church choir, part kaleidoscope. A little bit Broadway, a little bit rock and roll.
Self-proclaimed punk rockers, the Spree is made up of an ever-changing amount of players that usually total 23. Don’t clean your glasses, boys and girls, that number was correct. At every performance at least 46 pairs of hands and feet take to the stage to create what is easily the most singularly unique presentation of sound and color.
To listen to either of the two Polyphonic Spree albums or to see them live means to take an existential trip that conjures up questions about life and death, joy and sorrow, pain and pleasure and most important, how music can be appreciated in its many forms. And believe me, the trip is worth the ticket.
Here’s what you really need to know about this magical ride:
Front man and group leader, Tim DeLaughter, started the group five years ago.
DeLaughter’s previous experience was with Tripping Daisies, a moderately successful rock band from the 90s.
The concept for the group was to create something unique by mixing various symphonic sounds to produce an unprecedented rock result.
DeLaughter constantly refers to the group as a rock band and his decision to steer clear of any mention of orchestras and choirs is intriguing.
Early in the life of the band, DeLaughter had the idea to have everyone dress up in robes –white with colors at the bottom at first, now, totally in color.
This decision, DeLaughter says, was out of the idea that with so many people on stage at once, it would make sense to have everyone in uniform so that each person would be recognized for their musical abilities, not their fashion senses.
The gowns certainly add to the element that they are an overdriven church choir or the cast of a wild new theatrical stage show. They also fuel an outside speculation that the group is a cult of some kind.
I must admit that the rumor is hard to ignore – DeLaughter is a good-looking man but the lines on his face and his wiry, long-flowing hair make him seem very fatherly in a J.C. kind of way. Add to that 22 other people dancing and celebrating in colorful kaftans and you have the perfect picture of cult practice.
The sight is even more uncanny when you stand with the band before they take the stage. 23 people waiting to perform – they give off the same energy before the show that they bring during it. It’s reminiscent of the electricity on display before a high-school drama club gets ready to put on their first show.
The group is jovial and in wonderfully high-spirits and it’s hard not to join in on the buzz.
That sentiment is true of their live performance as well. Live, they are even more fun and more impressive than their recorded material.
The group melds remarkably dissimilar sounds to create something puzzle-like – each piece seems awkward until it comes together.
There’s no doubt that DeLaughter is group leader on stage. He puts so much energy into his vocals and his movements that it’s hard not to wonder how astronomical his chiropractic bills must be.
That energy isn’t reserved for DeLaughter alone. In one recent show, I watched from the sidelines as the percussionist picked up his cymbal stand in one hand and carried it around on stage, thumping it with his other hand, or holding it over the crowd, offering them a chance to get involved in the fun.
When he finally returned to his kit he was so energized that he jumped onto his bench, knocking his timpani drum into his wind chimes, causing a nearby roadie to move to his rescue faster than most sprint runners do the finish line.
If wind chimes in a rock band throw you off, add to that a harp, a Theremin, a brass section and a flutist and you have a recipe for the unusual, but sublime.
DeLaughter looks on like a proud papa while his band mates dance and sing their way into the hearts of fans, old and new.
It’s impossible to leave a Polyphonic Spree show without a smile on your face - if the music doesn’t get you, it’ll be the dancing or the colors or the way DeLaughter assigns band members quirky aliases like Captain Smiles.
If you walk away with anything after a show, it’s an intense feeling of belonging. When DeLaughter isn’t running around, he stands tall at center stage, one foot perched on a monitor, hands opened wide, inviting all who are hungry to come and partake. He waves his arms over the crowd like a sorcerer conjuring up his latest creation – a creation of sound and color and movement.
If DeLaughter is the conductor of anything, it’s the crowd itself, and the crowd seems willing to go along with whatever he’s selling. Showing up in everything from frat hoodies to knock-off gowns, the fans are hungry to join in on the fun, some even paying a nominal fee for Spree-branded tambourines to bang along with.
The thought occurs to me that if this truly is a cult, I’m ready to commit. Give them a shot and you will be too.
