The Book of Ryan

Imagine. A tiny chapel. A sparse crowed of young kids, parents and elderly make up the audience. On stage, twelve bedraggled, twenty-somethings—unshaven, half-stoned and in various states of hygene—pound drums, jingle bells and play the accordion. Strapped to a wheelchair is a frankensystem complete with mixer and projector spouting cockeyed lyrics onto a screen. And that was just the warm-up band.

Compared to Pslaters, the headliners, Madison Greene was more lively, more spiritual and more friendly. Their set consists of an acoustic guitar, electric base, tin whistle and a set of tribal drums of every shape and size. Their lyrics combine West African tunes with American spirituality, political disaproval and questioning of the church.

MG makes the type of music that makes you lose yourself and dance. Not some perverted grinding, but free, unencumbered joy—the way dancing was meant to be.