I went to Saturday night's United State of Electronica show at the new Crocodile totally ready to hate it and have a terrible time. You see, after a couple listens, I am really not feeling their new song, "All The World," which debuted here on Line Out last week. U.S.E. have always been electro pop maximalists, but even by their standards, I thought this track was just way too much—no dynamics or build, just all cylinders all the time, from one balloon-dropping chorus to another. Worse than that, the group's unstoppable positivity—formerly restrained to singing the joys of such modest subjects as Seattle's neighborhoods, beaches and discotheques—was now promoting something like World Unity Through Song, the kind of sentiment that just feels a little too Jesus-freaky for me (lines about "sisters and brothers," "joining the mission," etc). It occurred to me that maybe I'd just had my fill of this band and their positive mental attitude, that, as with Shout Out Out Out Out, I just prefer my anthemic electro rock with a little more dark times, debt, and doubt.

So, yeah, totally ready to hate on this show. Not helping things at first was the sold-out crowd, which makes navigating the new Croc somewhat difficult (the new layout is prone to bottlenecks between the bar and the soundbooth on the way into the main showroom), although a guy from the adjoining Via Tribunali was able to make it through the crowd to deliver a few pizzas (which were then eaten in the middle of the crowded showroom, a potentially messy practice which will hopefully cease once the restaurant is fully up and running). Another note about the new Croc: yes, it is immaculately clean and good-looking in there, from the bathrooms on up to the many shiny, silver lighting canisters above the stage; the sound is great (Jim Anderson was looking dapper and deft on the boards as ever); but once you get into the big, square room, you kind of get the feeling that you're stuck. At the old Croc (as with clubs like Nectar, Chop Suey or Neumos), you could hang in the showroom, or you could duck into a quieter alcove, another bar, or some other space. There's a smoking section outside, I suppose, but if you're not into that, there's just the small mezzanine above the showroom to escape to. If you're feeling a little bit anxious, there's just nowhere to go. This is, of course, a terribly piddling complaint—I'm just saying.

But then, you know what, I had a drink, I listened to DJ Kris K play a pitch-perfect mix of upbeat funk, roller-boogying electro, and R&B that ranged from James Brown and the Jackson 5 to Fujiya & Miyagi and Hot Chip (bonus points to Dave Segal for predicting some Junior Senior would make it into the set—clairvoyant trainspotting, who knew?), and I started having a good time. I think Velella Velella could also use a bit more dynamic range (a couple crescendos came off as more shrill then swelling), as well as a lot more oomph in the drum machine department (maybe ditch the ipod for some stronger hardware?) and some more distinctive vocals both in terms of annunciation and content, but I still enjoyed their set of loungey, loosening-up funk. Also, it turns out that, if you can secure a spot looking down over the stage, the mezzanine is a great place from which to watch a band, especially one with as much gear and actitivity to scope out at as VV).

And then, U.S.E. Damn! I'm still not sold on their new EP, and now that I think about it, it's been easily a year or two since I listened to their first album, but it is downright impossible to be mad at the band's live show. There's a lot to love: keyboardist Noah Star Weaver, with his sequin body-suit, his christmas-lit belt, and his rubber body bending back and forth to the beat without ever dislocating his mouth from his vocoder-equipped microphone; drummer Jon E. Rock, who busts out amiable, on-beat raps while keeping metronome-perfect time; vamping tiara-wearing vocalists Carly Nicklaus and Amanda Okonek; the (relatively) unshowy core of guitarists Jason Holstrom, Peter Sali, and Derek Chan. By three songs in, I was bouncing on my heels a bit (the rest of the ebullient crowd was way ahead of me, hands up in the air, bodies twisting and pogoing, singing along); by the time they played "It Is On!" halfway through the set, I was (once again) hooked.

U.S.E. are simply the most charming and fun party band in Seattle. Their set was a mix of a few old favorites ("Open Your Eyes," "Emerald City") and a lot of newer songs (that one they've been playing with the chorus of "love is gonna break your heart," another about "bouncing on the ceiling," several more for which my notes become jubilantly illegible but whose lyrics were doubtless all about dancing, love, and celebrating good times). Jon E Rock rapped one song into a loose interpolation of "One Nation Under a Groove." Someone crowd surfed and stage-dived during new single "All The World" (huh, where did the old "no stage-diving" signs go?). They closed (no encore) with a song about a "river of love" sweeping everyone up in its path—and you know, watching them play, it really is more fun to go with U.S.E.'s flow than it is to fight that current.

photo by Kelly O