Recently, the hipsters of the world (or at least a majority of those in the Tri-State area) descended upon Chicago’s Union Park for the third annual Pitchfork Music Festival. The three-night, two-day concert extravaganza was a must attend for those who like their clothes made by American Apparel and their music rounded to the 1/10 decimal place. (This is, of course, a stereotype – but seriously, does AA have to advertise in every square inch of all indie music magazines and websites?)
Although I spent the majority of my weekend hawking of Montreal t-shirts and Owen LPs at the Polyvinyl merch booth, I did manage to catch a few sets from amongst a diverse lineup that featured both buzzworthy and veteran indie acts from around the globe – including underground Japanese metal, American hardcore rappers (no, not Flavor Flav) and a Serbian brass band.
Here’s the breakdown as I saw it:
1:30 PM - Saturday
Performing immediately following the morning’s heavy rain showers, lo-fi garage rocker Jay Reatard never gave the crowd a moment to towel themselves off (or take a breath) as he and his band tore through an impressive assortment of their often less-than-two-minute howlers – all of which were only separated by the briefest of pauses during which Jay yelled the name of the next offering. Although the vocals were lacking toward the beginning of the set (especially on the immensely hooky “Blood Visions” – a song that does more in 13 words than most bands can do on 13 tracks), as the band got more songs under its belt it became more satisfying to just stand back and enjoy the ride. Just when it seemed like the frenetic pace would become unsustainable, Jay strummed his last note, took off his guitar and exited while extending his middle finger to the audience.
4:00 PM - Saturday
A few hours later, Dizzee Rascal took to the other main stage in what was the antithesis to the set I just described. The English-accented rapper – who is labeled in the unofficial festival program as the British version of 50 Cent – tried somewhat successfully to whip his audience into a frenzy via all the traditional methods: swearing excessively and taking off his shirt. Being personally more familiar with his reputation than his recordings, I can only assume the set was filled mainly with his well-known songs. (After all, who flies 4000 miles to perform deep album cuts?) Although the title of his latest album (Maths + English) would seem to suggest a hint of intelligent lyrical content, from what I could understand it seemed like mostly standard fare about girls and money. However, one edge the across-the-pond grime artist does have on his American counterparts is exactly what the name of his genre implies: dirtier, rawer beats that are much more intriguing than the overproduced fluff found on most stateside rap releases.
5:00 PM - Saturday
Fittingly, the band scheduled to perform smack dab in the middle of the day was the same group that has been at the front and center of the indie world since releasing its debut album earlier this year: Vampire Weekend. As the quartet that everybody loves to hate (and others hate that they love them) took to the stage, I was hoping that by the end of the set I could finally decide which camp I was in. Even if you’ve never listened to their self-titled release (guilty!), chances are tracks like “A-Punk,” Oxford Comma” and “Walcott” would still be instantly recognizable. And indeed, the group seemed to be playing off this familiarity – accepting that pretty much everyone already has their mind made up and therefore not working too hard to convert any stragglers still remaining on the fence. While the group certainly played much of the material from its aforementioned record with a high degree of competence, the performance overall seemed to be lacking a sense of urgency. Although I did discover a new personal favorite amidst their offerings (“I Stand Corrected”), the gentlemen in Vampire Weekend didn’t seem too concerned with whether or not I became a devoted follower. I guess the music media is already working overtime on that front.
7:00 PM - Saturday
Luckily, The Hold Steady were taking no chances in this respect. Often labeled the “greatest bar band in America,” the Brooklyn-based five-piece delivered a set crackling with energy and filled with feel-good rock tunes. Despite the fact that lead vocalist Craig Finn’s half-talking, half-singing style sometimes grows tiresome to me on disc (no matter how clever his lyrics are), its not hard to stay attuned when watching the group in person. Even while weaving narratives about cryptic women (“Chips Ahoy”) and one-night flings (“Sequestered in Memphis”), the effusive frontman was always smiling and in a flurry of motion – whether it was to point at the crowd or lead them in fist-pumping and hand-clapping. By the end, I needed no prompting to give them a well-deserved round of applause.
1:00 PM - Sunday
While eating a not-too-overpriced $6 pulled pork sandwich, I sacrificed the skin on the back of my neck to watch Times New Viking take the stage under the searing afternoon sun. Like their Matador labelmates Jay Reatard, the Ohio-based trio peddles in quick, blink-and-you-miss-them bursts of sound with extremely low production value. Perhaps as a result of the breakneck speed at which the set moved (about halfway through, drummer/vocalist Adam Elliott proclaimed: “We’ve got time for 15 more”), there never seemed to be enough substance for me to latch onto. While there were certainly a few highlights, such as the heavily disguised pop sensibilities found on “My Head” (ironically introduced as “Song not about drugs #1″), the rest of the offerings dissolved into a fuzzy flurry of noise and buried vocals.
7:50 PM - Sunday
After sitting out most of the rest of the day so that my fellow co-workers could catch some of their most anticipated bands (including HEALTH, The Dodos and King Khan and the Shrines, who were phenomenally entertaining from what I’ve been told), I walked across the festival grounds to watch Bon Iver. Those already familiar with the quiet, achingly sincere nature of the songs found on Justin Vernon’s debut effort most likely sense the inherent disconnect in performing these intimate tracks in an expansive outdoor setting. And indeed, the material came across with mixed results. While the hushed, higher-pitched vocals and double drumming kept some in rapt attention, others around me just seemed to be angling for a better position to watch Australian electro-pop purveyors Cut Copy immediately afterwards.
9:00 PM - Sunday
Closing out the festival was Texas-based indie rockers Spoon – a band that has seen its profile rise with each successive album release. Unfortunately, what should have been yet another step in this ascent – headlining the final day of P4K 2008 – turned out to be a bit of a backwards tumble. Perhaps underestimating the amount of energy still left within those in attendance, the band chose to stock their set with slower cuts – including Rhythm & Soul and Don’t Make Me A Target (and other older numbers that, not being anything more than a casual listener of the group, I am not able to name). While some people did find opportunity to shake their hips to “I Turn My Camera On,” on the whole the weekend’s grand finale was a bit of a prolonged fizzle. But don’t take it only from me – even some who have seen the band in concert numerous times over the past few years felt it was the weakest show they’d seen. Oh well, even God rested on Sunday.
Chris Hassen: I goes to shows.
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Chris Hassen
I goes to shows.