I eventually find Dan Deacon deep in the tiny hull of the Bristol Thekla. Standing alone in lime green shorts and a figure-hugging red t-shirt, huge orange-framed glasses fractionally overshadowing a drastic, blind-barber haircut, the man looks a little confused.

Understandably - 2007 has been a whirlwind of a year for the 25 year-old Baltimore-based DIY electro-innovator. Whilst in-part due to a relentless-bordering-on-reckless touring schedule, (typically 3 nights off per eight-week tour) the vital element has been Deacon’s latest LP, Spiderman of the Rings. His ninth release in only five years, Spiderman... is the sonic parallel of a crayola-drawn master-scribble; an infectious, genuinely exciting 46-minute musical trip.

Across the Atlantic, the Dan Deacon live show has been heralded as pretty spectacular of late. Here in the UK however, until recently the sole evidence to support this rumour has been snatches of YouTube live footage, curiously almost unanimously unwatchable. The fate of the Dan Deacon live show camera operator seems to run like this:
(a) DD drops beat, operator is swallowed by sea of sweating bodies.
(b) DD drops beat, operator forgets recording duties and freaks out.

The current UK tour this summer is an exciting prospect then, but around the Thekla, Bristol’s most precious alternative music venue, there are no posters, no stage times and the Dead 60s are playing downstairs. At this point, a gentleman standing alone at the bar softly informs me a 30-minute set is planned for midnight. Explaining the set is designed to be exhausting for the audience and himself, the man disappears and it's two hours before we see Dan Deacon again and any disappointment of the prospect of a mere 30-minute set is laid to waste.

At 12.30am a table appears in the middle of the dance floor and a green skull illuminates. By now a small crowd has gathered, enough to surround the table as Deacon ushers people to surround him. Kids are already grinning seconds before the unlikely figure unleashes the opening keyboard chimes of 'Okie Dokie', stooped over a Casio tone and garbage-can sine-wave generator. Confronted with this music so intimately, it takes immediate visceral effect; the YouTube footage suddenly makes perfect sense and a small congregation unanimously lose it.

The preceding half hour serves not only to highlight the distinct power of the Spiderman... material but also the great showmanship of its creator. Deacon reciprocates the enthusiasm of a soon-devout nucleus of bodies by happily erasing the line between spectacle and spectator. Non-album track 'Silence Like The Wind Overtakes Me' is infused with tumbling, seasick harmonies, strangers challenge each other to dance-offs and 50 tiring voices countdown their conductor’s next turn. Spiderman... cut 'Snake Mistakes' is particularly powerful, Deacon’s vocodered voice punctuating the ship’s steel walls only to dissolve as the sine wave generator lays a whale-cry melody over the loyal mob.

'The Crystal Cat', 'Trippy Green Skull' and 'Big Big Big Big Big' follow in quick succession and within 30 minutes a sweating, beaming Deacon is dealing out high fives on all sides. The green skull turns black and a modest gathering walks away sweating, exhausted and mostly ecstatic. “I’ll be back in November!” Deacon calls out from the dark, carries two suitcases to the car park and waits in the night for his ride.