Ghostland Observatory
Still trying to locate my face.
Words: Michael Rabinowitz
Photos: Michael Rabinowitz

Appeared:
April 11, 2007
Garage Bar, St. Petersburg

There doesn’t seem to be enough stage room in the world for Aaron Brehens.  The lead singer of Ghostland Oberservatory, and alter ego to mild-mannerd bandmate Thomas Turner, applies dance moves that elevate the performance to Baryshnikov-like levels.  These beat masters dominated the space with their grooves being reverberated of the concrete hexagon floor.  While the theme sold to the public was electronic, the vibe was undeniably disco. 

The hook on “Sad Sad City” is a perfect sample of what Ghostland can do to a simple bass and snare when applied with Brehens’ banshee brash vocals.  Then again, he can be as a equally sultry on “Stranger Lover” when behind a Gibson.  As a duet, with Turner’s robot voice on chorus, this Donna Summers’ warmth permeated through the amps through the appendages of the sparse crowd.

There is a shamelessness in Brehens’ performance that is undeniably infectious.  You first stand in awe of his unabashed command of his hips, his lacquered on Levis can be daunting to witness.  Then the centuries old connection of performer and audience kicks in.  Once the shock washes over you, your cranium leads with a bop and before he takes another swing of the mic cord around his waist, you are in full imitation mode. 

“Vibrate” is the track that Brehens will use to take over the world, one unsuspecting dance freak at a time.  His shrill alone can wake the dead, kill the corrupted, and electrify the senses.  If virility were personified, it would share Brehens’ now trademark Cherokee pigtails.  As he spins under the slack of his mic chord, he becomes concentrated soul, as fluid as 10W40, a god of the two chord lick. 

Maybe historians will look back at this period and ponder, “How could they dance during such tumultuous times?”  Maybe we dance to forget.  Maybe we dance to overcome.  Maybe we dance to cope.  I don’t have that answer.  I do know the 30 or so people at Garage Bar that night shared something—at least one thing—that we didn’t when we walked in: the primeval collective consciousness that is dance.  And we have Brehens’ tight jeans to thank for that.

Can one man change the world?  He can if he possesses Aaron Brehens’ hips.