As the sun set, things started to get topsy-turvy.

The Shout Out Louds channeled the Cure,

and too well. They’re nice, they’re Swedish, they figure to gain ground now that they

are no longer on a major label (Capitol) and are aligned with a hip indie (Merge). But

some of the tasty stuff in their set Saturday, and on their album "Our Ill

Wills," veers awfully close to the bittersweet flavors dispensed by Robert Smith

(although I’m not sure I ever saw him in red horizontal stripes) back in The Decade That Nobody at the Detour Festival

Was Old Enough to Remember.

And it occurred to me while Adan Olenius

warbled through the band’s nice set that this Detour — lacking anything resembling a

groundbreaking headliner — represented little more than a window to what you can get

away with calling hip, as long as it’s danceable and illuminated by enough Glo Sticks

and neon bracelets. At least the Shout Out Louds were playing; the myriad DJs dispensing

their various strains of disco were just recycling. Whether they are collagists or mere

selectors, their music acts as little more than an aural cattle prod, and possesses

about as much longevity.

The herds moved obediently.

Photo: Shout

Out Louds (by Kevin Bronson / LAT)