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In the corner are three of Chauncey’s pals — or, as specified in the standard MGMT rider, an “assortment of puppies.” Aside from playing a live set, they’ve all agreed, their two managers included, to moonlight as DJs at the party, taking turns in pairs. He beams goofily toward Goldwasser, who smiles shyly back.Goldwasser slides headphones on and scours his laptop for a playlist. The black- and-white-checked dance floor, where no one dared tread all night, quickly fills as the band takes the stage, puppies in tow.An hour later, the guys congregate in Van Wyngarden’s Four Seasons suite, a step up from their usual less-than-five-star, two-to-a-room digs.Since then, they’ve played every big festival around the world, toured with Radiohead, sold nearly 200,000 albums in the U. At a time when a band’s cultural cachet is often exhausted before their album even comes out, MGMT’s steady rise, a full ten months after Oracular’s release, feels suitably anachronistic.Picking at the vegetables and hummus in the greenroom are the duo’s longtime friends enlisted for their live band: guitarist James Richardson, bassist Matt Asti, and drummer Will Berman.A leafy sprig hangs from the scarf tied around his noggin. Ten yards away, barricaded in front of Toronto’s tony department store Holt Renfrew for the Toronto International Film Festival kickoff bash, paparazzi and camera crews grow visibly anxious. The 25-year-olds stroll toward the black carpet, possibly addled stuffed pooch in hand. He does remember drinking a lot of Maker’s Mark and “trying really hard to stay in control,” but not throwing pillows at security or fleeing into the streets or stumbling into a homeless shelter. He recalls getting thrown out of the shelter, whiskey bottle in hand, and being picked up on a sidewalk by two ladies who gave him water; he woke up at in the morning on their futon.They’ve been told that MGMT, the party’s main attraction (and stars of sponsor Converse’s new ad campaign), are on their way. They stop in front of the logo-laden backdrop, and an onslaught of flashbulbs and questions begins — “How do you like Toronto? Goldwasser — intense, dark-eyed, and mercurial — looks at his partner in disbelief and sheepishly offers, “This is not typical for us.” What’s considered typical for MGMT is changing by the minute.
Pizza is ordered, drinks are made, and Kirsten Dunst, who’s been linked to Van Wyngarden, flickers on a nearby TV. Even Phoenix Suns point guard and real-life Canadian Steve Nash, who had been holding up the wall, sways in his designer suit.
Down an escalator, past mahogany shelves full of cashmere sweaters, cakes and cookies have been strewn across a long table beside hills of shrimp on ice. Halfway through MGMT’s last song, the euphoric, synth-driven anthem “Kids,” Van Wyngarden unbuttons his shirt, tears the fluffy innards out of a white poodle, and sticks the hollowed body on his head, the jet-set crowd cheering his flair for accessorizing.
Their furrowed brows and tender pats suggest concern. Van Wyngarden — the shaggy, Marc Bolanesque dandy — is in good spirits, despite being exhausted from the previous evening.
The puppy’s state of mind, however, is inscrutable — sunglasses conceal his eyes, and his furry tongue dangles jauntily. Then, finally, a howling voice gets through: “Who are you with? MGMT performed at a New York Fashion Week party, complete with attendant Olsen twin, but he doesn’t remember actually playing.
” Chauncey and his handlers leave without another word to take refuge in the store’s makeshift greenroom.
The group began as a joke designed to annoy their college classmates, then scored a major-label deal without even trying and played Letterman before their debut album, Oracular Spectacular — a spacey cycle of catchy psych pop steeped, sonically and aesthetically, in a world they call “future ’70s” — was released.