I thought that the girls in bikinis had taken their concert wardrobes a little too far when I first showed up at the Roseland Friday night for Dillon Francis. How quickly I retracted my judgement. The night started by purchasing the last ticket and hearing everyone chant “Flossie! Flossie!” coercing Flosstradamus out onto the stage.
A sign reading FUCK YOU was proudly brought out and waved around on stage. If its intention was get people riled up, then I guess it did its job. “Flossie” played their trademark hip hop/electronic dance for a solid hour, warming up bodies left and right. For being a 16+ show I was worried it was going to be a lot of angsty, asshole teenagers, but surprisingly I only met super nice people that just wanted to do more dancing than moshing. Right around 11pm, Dillon took the dj booth and the temperature went up about 20 degrees.
Halfway through his set, he “hit the wrong button” and all sound stopped. It was a little awkward to be booty shaking, feeling the vibrations and then listen to him explain his way through the mistake. The 30 second timeout afforded me enough time to ask the guy behind me if it was Dillon that was giving him a raging boner. I wasn’t offended when he said yes. The music resumed and the crowd got over it as though nothing had happened. He ended up playing for a good hour and forty minutes, throwing now classic “Masta Blasta” in the middle of the set and ending on “I Don’t Give A Fuck.” By the end of the night I had dripping wet hair and clothes – my opinion of the bikini clad girls had completely changed.
Walking out, I saw one guy wringing out his t-shirt. Francis’ Wet and Reckless show was exactly that. It was my friend’s last night in Portland and said she had never danced so hard for so long. Thinking about the shows I’ve been too, I had to agree with her. Neither have I.
Words by Kelly Kovl.
Photos by Miki.