I cosign on what Eric said about Randy Jones/Caro and will add that he’s one of the most unlikely-looking soul men working today. And that he achieves the remarkable feat of making house music sound fresh in 2008. And that he probably has an amazing cosmic-disco EP (at least) in him.

Detroit’s Jeremy Ellis surprised the hell out of me with one of the most enjoyable sets of this year’s Decibel. While I don’t have the same qualms about Ellis’ voice as does Mr. Grandy, it is the least impressive aspect of his skill set. Besides the discussed mad MPC abilities and beat construction Ellis displays in real time, he’s also a deft keyboardist with enough soul to play with Parliament-Funkadelic member Larry Fratangelo and Carl Craig. Another thing that marks Ellis as a huge talent is his gift for imaginatively arranged cover versions. He played revamped renditions of Prince’s “Nothing Compares 2 U,” Hot Butter’s “Popcorn,” James Brown’s “Mother Popcorn,” and John Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme,” all of which made you appreciate those classics in a new light. Plus, he paid extended homage to the late, legendary hiphop producer J Dilla. During Ellis’ set, a respected Seattle techno producer astutely noted, “Somebody’s going to get their fuck on if he keeps this up.”

Later that night at Neumos, the Decibel Finale got off to a lovely start with Mexico’s Fax (Ruben Tamayo). Using guitar, laptop, and effects, Fax launched My Bloody Valentinesque plumes of lavender fuzz tones and alternately languorous dub and brisk techno beats. The bulk of Fax’s set blurred shoegaze rock into dubby techno, and the result was music of understated exhilaration.

Winnetka, California’s Flying Lotus, by contrast, brought a post-Dilla jaggedness to instrumental hiphop, informed both by IDM’s scabrous textures and astral jazz’s lofty atmospheres. And he brough some heavy, heavy funk. Amid his own tracks from Los Angeles and new cuts, FlyLo dropped Lil Wayne’s “A Milli,” something by Kode9, and that TI$A/Daedelus song with the refrain, “fuck what ya mama say/I’ma vote Obama way.” As much as the crowd dug it, nobody is more into Flying Lotus’ music than Flying Lotus—he really radiates an infectious glee behind his PowerBook.

^{The Bug's Warrior Queen finds a real man at the Decibel Finale. Photo by Ken Roeder of Soulful Elements Photography.}

The Bug (London producer Kevin Martin) done fucked my mind—and probably my very atoms—something fierce. His apocalyptic bass pressure battered and fried me like so much human tempura. Martin essentially turned the entire venue into a vibrator. The material off London Zoo had incredible torque and the beats carried a crushing force. While the heavily FX’d rewinds that punctuated every (truncated) track got on some attendees’ nerves, I could’ve listened to that rippling, bleepy sound for hours. When Warrior Queen got on the mic, her rapid patois upped the energy level. I couldn’t understand a word she said—until, crazily enough, she started rapping in Spanish. The Bug’s dubhall/grimestep assault wasn’t everyone’s cup of hemlock, but no one could deny that this set stood apart from the rest of Decibel like a nuclear missile among Colt .45s.

Neumos emptied a bit after the Bug finished (maybe to catch Noah Pred, who inspired several texts to the effect that he was killing it), but Supermayer—Kompakt Records mainstays Superpitcher and Michael Mayer, playing vinyl and CDs—patiently built up the dance floor again with some Mr. Oizo, House Master Boyz’ “House Nation,” Lindstrøm’s “I Feel Space,” and some funky techno tracks and sweet cosmic/kitsch disco cuts. This wasn’t the devastating climax that past Decibels delivered, but it felt celebratory nonetheless. Director Sean Horton’s traditional closing speech didn’t happen (he reportedly lost his voice) and the lights went up around 2 am. People walked around dazed and smiling, some scheming about the afterhours gig with yet more Supermayer action, others angling toward their beds or perhaps the hospital (thanks to the Bug).

Decibel v.05 provided many indelible memories, plus some deep regrets from the amazing shit I missed. Sean Horton again went all out to book a diverse, high-quality lineup and make Seattle—over the past four days/nights—the epicenter of electronic music in America. He and his able crew of volunteers deserve utmost respect (and, one hopes, some financial reward) for their strenuous efforts.

By the time last night's big Decibel Finale at Neumos rolled around, I was in serious need of a second (or fourth, or fifth) wind. I eventually got back into it, but it took until the very last act of the night.

Which isn't to say the opening acts were sub par by any means. Flying Lotus played a set of immaculate hip hop instrumentals surrounded by dubby effects, gunshots, and Wilhelm screams. Steven Ellison (aka Flying Lotus) rocked back and forth, bobbed his head, and flashed a wide, open-mouthed grin throughout his set (according to some laptop spotters, he didn't do much else though, only tweak effects while a pre-planned set played out.) That grin, though, was hard not to rally behind. Ellison played Mr. Oizo's "Stunt" as well as possible another Oizo track; he played his Robo Tussin remix of Lil Wayne's "A Milli," Daedelus' "Hours:Minutes:Seconds," Aphex Twin's "Windowlicker," and TI$A's "Vote Obama Way"—all fused together with his own instrumentals, warped to his own style. For the Obama track, he tried and largely failed to involve the crowd in some call and response; Seattle or perhaps just Decibel crowds not so much feeling the call and response this weekend. Still, he maybe had the biggest, most obviously enthused crowd of the night.

^{The Bug by Ken Roeder, Soulful Elements Photography}

I missed the first half of the Bug's set, which sounds as though it was somewhat marred by Kevin Martin's far too frequent rewinds on the CD decks (a staple of the style, sure, but apparently he was spinning tracks back after only 30 seconds or so). By the time I arrived, though, MC Warrior Queen was on stage, and Martin was providing her with minutes of music at a time. I've had trouble with patois before, but I think Warrior Queen was harder to translate thanks to some extra fiery craziness on her part. She kept talking about doing a song for "all da real man in da house," but Martin either wasn't into it or couldn't find the right track, so that the song was introduced and diverted multiple times before finally landing. She rapped in Jamaican accented Spanish. She called for the legalization of marijuana (shock horror). Dancehall, even of this digitally distressed variety, isn't exactly my scene, but Warrior Queen was an entertaining MC, and more importantly Martin's bass was just unbelievable, probably the heaviest rumble of the whole festival.

^{Supermayer by Ken Roeder, Soulful Elements Photography}

But it was Supermayer who really got my spirits back up for one last dance at Decibel (much of the crowd, though, took off after the Bug; either Supermayer don't have the same level of hype as the previous two acts, or else people just had to work the next morning). The duo, looking elegantly elfin as always, entered to orchestral fanfare and started their set with a Mr. Oizo song (was yesterday his birthday or does he just make universally beloved tracks?), all analog synth bass and beat, and they kept things simple like that for some time, hard, thumping beats with truly minimal action in the spaces between. I suppose I had expected them to hit more of the fey disco acoustics of Save the World or their recent killer remix of Hot Chip's "One Pure Thought," but this was much more like Speicher territory—they played Sascha Funke, possibly Closer Musik, and "House Nation," all in this vein. They took turns selecting and mixing records and maybe CDS, and when either of them wasn't busy DJing, they were lithely dancing, Superpitcher sometimes waving his hands around as though beckoning or hypnotizing the crowd. It's cute. After a seemingly interminable, drum-less breakdown lit by monolithic strobe light, they finally got into some more euro disco territory with Baxendale's epically cheesy "I Built This City For You" and a dub of the Foals' "Olympic Airways." They played on after the club brought the lights on, and the crowd kept dancing.

Afterwards, there was a private party for the Decibel staff, volunteers, artists, and whatever press could beg their way in. A lot of people do a lot of work to make this festival happen, many of them as volunteers, and it was great to see everyone finally unwinding, happy in a job well done. It was maybe the first time I saw Sean Horton looking relaxed and dancing all weekend. Earlier in the festival, a friend observed that Decibel is great because it makes you feel, for a weekend, like you live in some other city (one Decibel built for you, I suppose), where the parties go all weekend, full of people from different places with different foreign accents, headlined by high-caliber international artists. With each year's increasingly successful Decibel run, though, one imagines it feeling less like a departure for Seattle and more like a part of its regular fabric. Here's hoping.

^{Sun Tzu photo by Brian Geoghagan}

Saturday's Decibel in the Park may go down as the single coolest event of this year's fest—not necessarily the best sets, or the wildest party, but just a really great time. In similar spirit, but with sunny parking lot asphalt instead of grassy lawn, was Sunday's Decibel BBQ. Hosted by Sun Tzu in the Havana parking lot, with chicken or brisket (and sides) for sale along with drinks, the event was a fine way to ease into another day of Decibel (in fact, the one complaint I heard at Decibel in the Park was that there should have been food vendors). It was sparsely attended for Kid Hops' enthusiastic set of sunny dub—after some weakly realized "whoa-oh-oh/yeah" call and response Kid Hops asked over the PA if Dixon had really killed it so hard at the previous night's afterparty that we all just couldn't even talk. Basically, yeah.

The place began filling up a bit for Caro, though. I hadn't seen Caro (aka Randy Jones) for a while, and either he's become really impressive in that time or I just wasn't paying close enough attention before. Jones played lightly buzzing electric piano, a miniature analogue synth (Yamaha CS-01 for the nerds), and laptop. He sang in an overdriven, slightly clipping funk croon. He built rhythmic loops out cowbell, shakers, and his own ohs, ahs, grunts, and exhalations. As one breakdown gave way again to a thumping beat, he deadpanned, "C'mon now," to the slowly warming, moving crowd. It was a great set, combining a touch of Jamie Lidell's vocal tics and live looping with Matthew Dear grooves. He played some new stuff, and apparently he's at work on another album; based on today's performance, I predict that record will be ace.

Next up was Jeremy Ellis, wearing a pale yellow cotton suit and a black leather cap out of which emerged a long red ponytail. Make no mistake, Ellis has some fancy fingers when it comes to the MPC, tapping out busy improvised break beats and drum fills with real skill, as well as summoning up samples and bass and melodies. It was like watching some savant playing Simon. I've previously praised local ER Don's facility with the ubiquitous sampler, but Ellis is in an entirely different league here (although the bit where Ellis plays the MPC with his chin just doesn't look as bad-ass as, say, playing guitar with your teeth—sorry). That said, every time he got on the mic to do some ska scatting or sing a pinched, "soulful" version of "Nothing Compares 2 U" I wanted him to stop. Technically, he's tuneful and skilled on the mic as well, but his style there is just not my bag by a long shot. Still, the music was fine, ranging from soul bounce to loping reggae loops to a drum filled finale that sounded like he had the entire JBs and James Brown in his sampler, which he very well may have.

Sun Tzu did their thing next, combining funky house with live congas and the occasional spot on the mic with the kind of easy skill that has made them an institution around here. It was a perfect way to wrap up the BBQ—breezy, fun, and groovy enough to get the crowd loosened up for the night's big finale at Neumos.