In Concert: Shamir
Let’s get the elephant out of the room: Shamir isn’t a great singer.
His voice, bereft of any formal training, is nasally and limited. Then again, when has that ever mattered? Friday night’s Mod Club appearance by the Las Vegas native was electric from the get-go.
Prior to his grand entrance, HANA (L.A.’s answer to Grimes) cradles early patrons with her voice and modulated pulses. The subdued electro-pop serves its purpose: A warm-up to dance time.
“I want to see all the bodies in the room…moving,” declares Shamir with open arms, his finger nails shaded in neon orange.
Amidst the frenetic crowd, Shamir commands the audience in the palm of his glittered dusted hands.
Evidently, his fan base runs the spectrum: Peasant dresses, french collars, and leather biker caps. Let’s not forget would-be moms and dads mixing it up.
Amidst the frenetic crowd, Shamir commands the audience in the palm of his glittered dusted hands. Enlivened by a band of keyboards and drums, tracks like “Make A Scene” and “Call It Off” sound huge.
Sporadically, the house lights rise, as if Shamir desires something deeper from his devotees. Dimming back to darkness, he steps away from the mic to sway to the beat.
No, Shamir’s music doesn’t come from a broken disco. On the contrary, his roots are the desert, the dance-floor, and the denizens who came to support his ratchet ways.