Yesterday, after getting my badge at the convention center, I took an elevator up to the fourth floor and watched MNDR—the solo project of producer and singer Amanda Warner—play a short set in a cavernous carpeted conference room at lunchtime. Lots of people were lying on some sort of corporate-cool giant body pillows using the wi-fi. There were rows and rows of empty chairs arranged in front of the stage. The lights dimmed and Warner brought some hi-NRG techno-pop heat to the weirdly air-conditioned room. I sat in the front row with four other people.
Three teenagers moved from the pillow zone to the chairs, lured by the MNDR mega jams. "Bring it, bitch!" yelled one with a Mohawk. I feel like the only place really suited for MNDR is a stadium, on a bill between Rihanna and Gwen Stefani. I feel like she's the people's Rihanna, up from jazz dork to glam dazzle. She whipped her glasses off accidentally and played it off as a dance move and everyone cheered.