ELECTRIC SOBO SHAKES OFF CONVENTION

Fort Worth’s Tidals launch into their set at the Electric Sobo festival, on Sunday, March 15, at 900 Bolivar St. in Denton around 4 pm. Members of the audience bob their heads to drones flavored root beer-y over hard, punchy percussion. Someone’s patio, spacious enough to accommodate 30 to 40 people at a time, makes the venue, where people either stand coolly or sit around in lawn chairs sipping beer, coolly.

The festival is a part of the popular 35 Denton event, although after seeing people bring their own beer and eat vegetables out of an aluminum tray, someone could mistake this show for a house party. Serving as the stage is a patio shelter, decorated in Christmas lights and complete with speakers and an unlit disco ball. No divider separates DJs Jeremy Lantz and Joshua Wrinkle from the audience, who frequently walk within a foot away from the shelter to snap photos during the performance. The intimacy is large part of the show’s appeal.

“I think the open spaces are a good thing,” says Dan Hill, aka DJ Black Dolphin, 27. “I think they’re beautiful things.”

The first annual Electric Sobo is a festival marketed as the electronic alternative to the mainstream, guitar-based 35 Denton.

“It’s a great show for any kind of post-dubstep/people who want get outside of the norm of the DFW and into more, like, fun dance-y stuff,” says Nasir Mazboudi, who raps and produces as Arcane Timpani, 27. “ It’s a good way to be active.”

Electric Sobo is the brainchild of Jessica Edeker and Grant Ring, bka known as DJ Beach Priest. Edeker was inspired when she felt certain acts were slighted by 35 Denton.

“A bunch of artists that we really like didn’t get into the festival,” says Edeker, who owns Button Up Denton. “Some of them didn’t get in -I don’t know if all of them entered — so we decided to throw our own show.”

Edeker, who also DJs under the name Lil Buttons, asked friend keyboardist-producer Steve Bolivar of Traan Raals and Save the Humans for Later, to host the event at his generously spaced home. THRWD Magazine soon got involved, promoting the event on their Facebook page.

The crowd at Electric Sobo is impressive considering, again, that it’s set at a house. People casually wander in and out of the show, never truly depleting the audience.

“It’s kind of been coming in waves,” says Edeker. “I know a lot of people have been recovering. Saturday night was a big night, so everybody was out late, seeing shows and stuff, and we all had to get up today and do it all over again. I think everybody’s taking it easy. I heard even over at the festival that it’s kind of slow today, ‘cause everybody’s is tired from two days. But I think it’s good.”

New-New Wave-r Rat Rios follows Tidals, driving all the way from Dallas to play next. Her honed style of ‘80s pop blends well with the freeform dance music playing before her. Armed with a laptop and keyboards, Rios wails about love through opal sunglasses. Rios’ stage attire, a hot pink dress with white polka dots and a brown belt, stands out from other acts on the lineup.

“I love Rat Rios,” says Edeker. “ This is my first time to see her, and I’m really excited. She’s really nice, and I’m glad she could come and do it. Everybody’s that playing today is awesome. ”

Rios herself is delighted to play today.

“I’m really glad it’s in the day time, so I can hide behind my sunglasses,” says Rios, 23, who majored in Theater Studies at SMU. “Because for some reason if my face is covered, it’s easier for me to let go.

“Yep, I’m just a big ol’ coward.”

Next up is DolphinPriest, a collaboration between Blue Dolphin and Beach Priest. While the other bands offered little in the way of stage banter, DolphinPriest fill the void in spades. From behind his workstation, Priest dances and makes faces at Dolphin, together churning out an aggro, dub-y bump from the speakers.

It’s hard to tell who’s playing what, but Priest downplays the importance of roles.

“We both do everything,” says Priest, 37, who credits his name to a childhood ritual he and his family observed. “He runs rhythm, I run rhythm. He does synths, I do synth. He tweaks everything, I tweak everything. Just a fit of knobs, basically.”

A woman wearing a mauve shirt, dress, and leggings calls out from her lawn chair. “When does your album come out?” says the woman in mauve. “’Cause I’m gonna buy it.”

The headliner of the night, Cygnus, wears a camouflage long sleeve tee over his form-fitting blue t-shirt before gracing the stage. It is around 7 pm; the sky is a light indigo.

The bespectacled Cygnus, real name Phillip Washington, deals out electro-funk tinged with psychedelia. Overcoming a delay due to sound issues, the dreadlocked wunderkind let loose a syndrome of sounds — broken down stargates crashing into flayed whales while monkeys on growth hormones beat their clock drums furiously.

Cygnus entertains his fans from behind his station and front, stepping out to dance and pop his booty before a collective “Woo!” from the audience.

By 8 pm, the show closes. Cygnus joins Foolish 2's Craig Welch and Priest upstairs in the main house to discuss, something. Under a red glow, surrounded by vinyl and friends, he mentions how scientists add hydrazine to rocket fuel, explaining why rocket exhaust resembles vapor.

His crowd, more intimate than before, appear impressed.

“I have a Ph.D in Science and water, “ says Cygnus, 30. “So if you have money, give it to me.”

So ends the first annual Electric Sobo festival. No word on whether the festival will continue on for next year.