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music

Fischerspooner

You may not actually have known any of the songs, but with their pleasingly familiar New Romantic techno-pop beat, you felt like you should. In any case, by the time you filed out of Gavin Brown’s Fifteenth Street gallery—filled to capacity for every performance of Fischerspooner’s five-night run—you were more than ready to shell out twenty bucks for the CD. And weeks later, it has become your sound track. Every time “Fucker” or “Invisible” comes on you’re back in the strobe-lit, sweaty heaven of Fischerspooner’s synching and dancing extravaganza.

Transformed by black fabric and a series of catwalk-like risers that brought the performers up close, the tiny gallery provided the backdrop for the high artifice of Fischerspooner’s parody of glam-rock stardom. Performers lip-synched to the words of front man Casey Spooner, who levels any remains of the fourth wall with his feigned unpreparedness,

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