There's still no cure for the 1980s

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)