Dear, dear, dear Deerhunter,
Oh dearest Deerhunter, how we love you. Even in the surreally awkward space of the Butlins Pavilion mainstage, you delivered the poetic grace and sweetness of your records with the calculated grime and verve of tremendously talented live musicianship. We have no words - just love to stand the ages, solid, deep, and true. Like your songs.
All of Us
Bonus "ATP Moment" with Deerhunter:
Clutching an opened box of chocolate-covered marshmallow Snowballs from my random leftover chalet food stash, I stumble over to Deerhunter's van to have myself a last chance fangirl moment after checkout.
"Hello..." I begin. "Hi!" Frontman Bradford Cox is all smiles, and wraps me in a hug before I even get my first gush out. After I pour out my appreciations, Bradford throws a compliment my way--"I like your necklace!" I tell him I made it out of Sculpey clay. "Oh, I love making stuff out of Sculpey! ...But... I make dirty things..." He hesitates. I egg him on. "I made Moses [cofounder and drummer] a whole family of... male organs once. Four or five of them, from big to small. Do you remember that, Moses?" Moses doesn't recall. "Oh, that's because it doesn't fit in with his robot mind," Bradford continues cheerily. "What? What are you saying about me?" Moses calls from the van. "They're having a conversation about Mexicans over on this side and now you're calling me a robot... I don't know what's going on!"
This is getting too good. I have to do something, give something back. I feebly offer Bradford the half-eaten Snowballs. He graciously accepts. And then he makes the ultimate fangirl inversion move--he asks to take a picture of me, holding the Snowballs. Of course I comply. Oh, Deerhunter. Have we mentioned how we love you?