Animal Collective, Fleet Foxes and TV on the Radio are among the bands that will perform July 15-17 at the 2011 Pitchfork Music Festival in Union Park, promoters announced Friday.
Tickets ($45 or $110 for three-day pass) go sale at noon Friday via ticketweb.com.
Here’s the lineup so far for the festival, with more acts to be announced later:
July 15: Animal Collective, James Blake, Das Racist. Curren$y.
July 16: Fleet Foxes, Dismemberment Plan, Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti, Woods, Sun Airway, Kylesa.
July 17: TV on the Radio, Cut Copy, Deerhunter, Destroyer, OFWGKTA (Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All), Yuck.
Pavement performs at Pitchfork 2010. View more Pitchfork 2010 photos. (Christopher Smith, RedEye)
Editor's note:
Updated 4:30 p.m. Wednesday with response from Pavement's Scott Kannberg
Updated 1:30 p.m. Tuesday with comments below from Pitchfork promoter Mike Reed.
Though the Pitchfork Music Festival streamed video of virtually its entire main-stage lineup last weekend, enabling fans to watch the festival as it happened around the world on their computers and cellphones, one notable band was not included: festival-closing headliners Pavement.
Why was Pavement excluded? One band member has a beef with Pitchfork's editorial department. The band’s longtime booking agent, David Viecelli, explained Monday that “one of the band members has some issues with (the Pitchfork e-zine), comments that were made (in past articles) that demeaned that person in the context of Pavement.”
“Some of the things he objected to were bitchy, personal attacks that, if someone had said them about me, I wouldn’t have been happy either,” Viecelli said. “Because of that, he had a problem with the video being streamed not just on the festival Web site, but on the editorial side as well. It was a last-minute thing and I wasn’t able to stop it. I apologized to (festival promoter Mike Reed). I don’t think it hurts Pitchfork – if anything it hurts Pavement because fewer people got to see them. But to me the biggest damage was that the fans couldn’t see it. I wasn’t happy with (the decision), but these things happen.”
Viecelli would not name the band member, but sources familiar with the situation say it was not singer Stephen Malkmus.
Pavement guitarist Scott Kannberg responded Tuesday to Vanity Fair after the magazine's Web site speculated that he was the culprit, responding to negative reviews of his solo work in the Pitchfork e-zine. Kannberg issued the following statement: "Regardless of my thoughts about the Pitchfork e zine, myself and the
rest of the band had a great time playing the Pitchfork music festival.
The crowd were super enthusiastic and we couldn’t have asked for a
better day. We only found out the day of the show about the live webcast
and I personally thought that it was not something that Pavement should
do. We apologize to the fans for pulling out at the last moment and
hope that you’ll come and see us in September. We’d gladly look forward
to playing the Pitchfork festival in another 10 years."
Pitchfork promoter Mike Reed noted Tuesday that other acts have declined to be videotaped, including Broken Social Scene last Friday, the festival's opening day.
"With all of the artists I make the offer to include the ability to stream
the show," Reed said. "Some artists take their time responding and some want it taken out
right away. The main goal is to have the performance, the webcast is secondary.
(Broken Social Scene) said no to the webcast from the start. We did not tape them.
"It's very common that these things happen and even in some cases get
axed at the last minute. Talking to other festival producers it's common that
come the day of the show the manager or a band might say no, for a variety of
reasons."
Pitchfork also issued the following statement in response: "We were thrilled to be able to showcase so many of the performances throughout the weekend on the festival webcast, but ultimately, we were focused on every one of these great acts playing their best show possible for the festival's attendees. For those acts that chose not to participate in the webcast, we were of course disappointed that its viewers did not have the opportunity to watch their set. That said, we very much respect the wishes and decisions of all the acts that play our festival."
A number of acts in past festivals, including De La Soul, Cat Power and Sonic Youth, have declined to be videotaped. And last weekend Big Boi and Panda Bear projected their own visuals on the video screens to accompany their sets.
For the majority of acts, video was streamed live from the festival in Union Park of the two main stages. Performances on the smaller Balance stage were also videotaped, and will be made available on the Pitchfork TV Web site in a week, said video coordinator Johnathan Crawford.
Video produced by Kevin Pang The Pitchfork Music Festival 2010 is in the books. Maybe it was the oppressive heat, but this was not a high-energy festival overall. Beach
House singer Victoria Legrand put it best Sunday: "There are a lot of
mellow, dark bands playing." So Sunday's lineup really got a boost when Major Lazer took the stage. DJ's
Switch and Diplo are top club draws, but they covered their bases by
bringing their own spectacle: Chinese lion dancers, dancers in tutus,
dancers parodying pro wrestling moves (including the time-honored ladder
leap). Fun suddenly become part of the festival, a trend continued by
OutKast's Big Boi. He may be the less cerebral half of the Atlanta hip-hop
outfit, but he does know how to throw a party - and Pitchfork needed one as
the long weekend wound down. As usual, my colleagues Bob Gendron (BG) and Andy Downing (AD) were on the
scene alongside yours truly, Greg Kot (GK). Our collective musings on Sunday's
action are below. Thanks also to hard-working videographer Kevin Pang, who
was everywhere with his camera. Here's how it went down Sunday: 12:06 p.m. Counting down to Day 3 Sunday in what is shaping up to be the strongest day
of music at this year's Pitchfork Music Festival. It takes a village to run
a music festival, as these numbers from Pitchfork headquarters indicate:
120 people on production crew; 85 people on beer staff; 120 volunteers per
shift (there are 2 shifts a day); 30 contractor staff working on the stage;
50 on video production crew; 70 people on security per shift; 16 food
vendors with an average of 10 people working with each. (GK)
12:39 p.m.
Rain is coming down in sheets, sending nearly all of the early arrivers
scurrying for cover under the Record Fair tents. While a welcome relief from
the heat, the downpour ups the already soupy humidity levels. When the sun
returns a few minutes later, the weather is uncomfortable but not anywhere
nearly as oppressive as in 2005, Pitchfork's inaugural year and the last
time Chicago temperatures cracked the 100 degree mark. (BG)
Counting down to Day 3 Sunday in what is shaping up to be the strongest day of music at this year’s Pitchfork Music Festival. It takes a village to run a music festival, as these numbers from Pitchfork headquarters indicate: 120 people on production crew; 85 people on beer staff; 120 volunteers per shift (there are two shifts a day); 30 contractor staff working on the stage; 50 on video production crew; 70 people on security per shift; 16 food vendors with an average of 10 people working with each.
First prize for the day’s most grossly inappropriate outfit goes to Jon Spencer of the Blues Explosion, who wore skin-tight leather pants for his late-afternoon set Saturday at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Union Park, and soaked right through them. Now that’s either complete irrationality or complete dedication to the rock, and this day needed a lot of both to survive it. Day Two was even hotter than Day One at Pitchfork, and the heat gripped the festival like a noose in the afternoon, perhaps explaining why there were only a handful of truly standout sets. Titus Andronicus delivered monster anthems at the height of the midafternoon meltdown. Jon Spencer made it seem like 1995 all over again. And, by gosh, was LCD Soundsystem something else. If this is indeed James Murphy’s last go-round with the band, I will never forget the moment “All My Friends” rolled over me like a big wave illuminated by a crescent moon and a disco ball.
Thanks to my dedicated colleagues Bob Gendron (BG) and Andy Downing (AD) who contributed to the hour-by-hour account of the day’s events below, along with yours truly, Greg Kot (GK).
1:03 p.m. "I hear frequencies in the back of my head," proclaims Netherfriends leader Shawn Rosenblatt, whose band's reverb is up so high it seems that his vocals are completely separate from the Chicago group's ramshackle pop. The echoes provide an interesting sonic illusion, a good thing, since Rosenblatt doesn't have anything of importance say. Percussive songs randomly stop and start, and wordless vocal harmonies spring up like a Jack in the Box. At times, the psychedelic choruses resemble the singing of Whoville residents from Dr. Seuss' "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas." Netherfriends score big on the cute factor but lack memorable material. The trio's set doubles as band practice in a basement where anything goes. (BG)
1:10 p.m. Philadelphia quintet Free Energy has a vintage look — think Stillwater in “Almost Famous” — and an equally vintage, if not-all-that-memorable, sound. It's clear the band members have absorbed plenty of T-Rex and Thin Lizzy, and their youthful enthusiasm fuels mindless dance-rock nuggets like “Bang Pop” and the shimmying “Free Energy.” On the latter, drummer Nick Shuminsky pounds his cowbell so hard that I half-expect Will Ferrell to dance out from the wings in his "Saturday Night Live" “more cowbell” getup. What singer Paul Spranger lacks in natural charisma (his stiff delivery on the strutting “All I Know” keeps the song grounded), he makes up for in genuine excitement. At times it sounds like the ever-grinning Spranger's stage banter has been penned by some combination of Jeff Spicoli and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: “Sweet!”; “That's so cool!”; “This totally rules!” (AD)
Jack Black, circa “School of Rock,” would’ve appreciated this face-melter. The Pitchfork Music Festival got underway Friday in Union Park with enough heat and humidity to prompt promoters to cut the price of bottled water in half to $1 for the rest of the weekend. Pitchfork, we salute you. And festivalgoers (all 54,000 of you by the end of the three-day festival), make sure to hydrate and apply sunscreen liberally.
As for the music, my overall impression of Day One was that we were off to a slow start, with a few exceptions.
The big winners: Sharon Van Etten, Broken Social Scene’s Chicago-centric set, and aerobics instructor/Euro-pop anti-diva Robyn.
The big outrage: Headliners Modest Mouse didn’t perform their biggest hit, “Float On.” I’m guessing their relationship to that 2003 breakthrough song is similar to what Warren Zevon’s was to “Werewolves of London” or Radiohead’s to “Creep” — it’s a once-popular song the artist who wrote it no longer loves. So are they obligated to play it? Me, I want to see a band play songs it is still emotionally invested in, no matter what the setting. If Modest Mouse is going to go through the motions performing “Float On” (much the way Van Morrison does when he phones in “Brown Eyed Girl”), I’ll pass. What’s your take? Let me know in the comments below.
I’m betting that Saturday is going to be just fine with much-anticipated sets by Gary, Ind., MC Freddie Gibbs, the Smith Westerns, and especially LCD Soundsystem. And Sunday should save the best for last with a murderer’s row of St. Vincent, Pavement, Big Boi, etc.
But let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of Friday. Below you’ll find an hour-by-hour account, with entries from yours truly, Greg Kot (GK), and my ever-enthusiastic colleagues Andy Downing (AD) and Kevin Pang (KP):
3:30 p.m. Sharon Van Etten could be forgiven for just wanting to run and hide as she takes the stage shielded from the Sun only by a veil of bangs. She is alone except for her electric guitar and she looks tiny amid the vast setting. She glances at the big screen flanking the stage and says, “There’s a bigger version of me over there,” as if she’d like to trade places with her video image. But, wow, what songs. Her butterfly voice floats over — take your pick — hypnotic/repetitive/trancy guitar strumming. She’s not attempting more than a few chords per song. But the effect is mesmerizing. She writes about broken relationships – an old, perhaps hackneyed subject — with switchblade insight. “Don’t you think I know you’re only trying to save yourself/You’re just like everyone else.” In the space of those two lines she moves from empathy to disappointment. Great stuff. The voice is direct, unvarnished, the sound of truth. “First day, first act, oh, my God … I feel like I have something to prove,” she says with disarming frankness. Mission accomplished. (GK)
4:10 p.m. From a spot near the soundboard, the Tallest Man on Earth appears to stand only about 5-foot-8. Kristian Mattson, the Swedish singer-songwriter who performs under the moniker, openly struggles with both the heat and a bad case of jet lag: “I haven't slept in two days,” he announces from the stage. Not surprisingly, his voice — clear, if somewhat nasal on record — seems to sport three-days growth. There's definitely more than a touch of Dylan in acoustic numbers like “Wild Hunt” and a particularly strong “King of Spain,” which finds the troubadour strumming his acoustic as though he wants to reduce the instrument to kindling. With the sun shining and clear blue skies overhead, it's fitting that so many tunes touch on the natural world; Mattson fills his songs with references to floating bluebirds, sunning lizards and flower-dotted meadows. Heck, even relationships sound more like big game hunts when filtered through Mattson's worldview. “If I don't get you in the morning,” he sings over dancing guitar on “Thousand Ways,” “By the evening I sure will.” (AD)
Rumors surfaced Monday that a reunited Pavement will headline this year’s Pitchfork Music Festival in Union Park.
Though Pitchfork has not announced its lineup for the July 16-18 festival, an interview with Pavement percussionist Bob Nastanovich published Sunday by the Louisville Courier-Journal has fueled speculation that the quintet will include a Pitchfork date as part of its worldwide reunion tour.
The Courier-Journal’s Jeffrey Lee Puckett wrote of the possible Pitchfork date as part of an interview with Nastanovich, a former Louisville resident: “The vast majority of venues will be far larger than any they used to play, but none are expected to be in Louisville. Chicago's Pitchfork Festival will likely be the closest; the only non-festival U.S. dates announced so far are the late September shows in Central Park [in New York].”
The comments have been picked up by numerous Web sites as confirmation of a Pitchfork date, but Nils Bernstein, publicist for the band’s Matador label in New York, says that isn’t the case. “Bob was talking about all the various things that might happen, and he talks with such confidence and glee that it may have come across that it is confirmed,” Bernstein said Monday. “But right now, the official word is ‘no,’ it’s not confirmed.”
"We are still working on the important details of ticket price, on-sale date and,
of course, lineup," said Pitchfork spokeswoman Jessica Linker. "Any information at this time concerning these aspects would
be premature."
Pavement was one of the leading indie-rock bands of the ‘90s, defined by Stephen Malkmus’ erudite wordplay and shambling, guitar-based melodies. The band announced plans to reunite last year after a decade apart.
The Pitchfork Music Festival debuted in 2006 as an off-shoot of the hugely popular music e-zine pitchforkmedia.com and has been selling out its annual three-day festival in Union Park ever since.
In the previous blog entry, Radiohead's "In Rainbows" is the decade's watershed moment, symbolic of the power shift from the corporate industry to the fans. Here are 10 more defining moments for the decade:
2000: N Sync caps an unrivaled run of prosperity for the music industry by selling 2.4 million copies of its album “No Strings Attached” in a single week.
2000: Radiohead’s “Kid A,” leaks on the Internet months before release, but debuts at No. 1 on the Billboard chart anyway with computer-savvy fans leading the charge. 2000: Metallica sues Napster, and brings the wrath of the music industry down on peer-to-peer file sharing.
2002: Kelly Clarkson tops Justin Guarini to win the first “American Idol,” and ignites the most popular mainstream music industry franchise of the decade.
2002: After a false start in 1999 followed by years of inactivity, the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival re-launches in California. In Tennessee, the Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival debuts. The two events kick off a decade of major destination festivals, including Lollapalooza and Pitchfork in Chicago, and help rejuvenate the touring business.
2003: Apple opens its digital media store iTunes, the music industry’s most successful response to the file-sharing crisis.
2003: The Recording Industry Association of America opens a five-year campaign to sue consumers accused of sharing copyrighted digital songs. Most consumers avoid trial by paying a $3,000 fine.
2004: An obscure Canadian band, the Arcade Fire, hits big with its debut, “Funeral,” fueled by massive Internet buzz fed primarily by Chicago-based e-zine Pitchfork. The next year, the Web site will begin curating its own festival, and a host of indie-rock bands would enjoy unprecedented mainstream attention.
2007: Culminating four years of lawsuits against file-sharing consumers, a jury awards the music industry $222,000 in the infringement trial of Jammie Thomas (later Thomas-Rasset), who is accused of making 24 copyrighted songs available on her home computer. The award is increased to $1.9 million in a retrial the next year.
2009: Live Nation and Ticketmaster announce plans to merge the nation’s largest concert promoter and ticketing company. Despite major concerns about a monopoly that could send ticket prices spiraling even higher, the merger was still in play as the decade ended.
The Pitchfork Music Festival 2009 is in the books, amid a shower of confetti and balloons from the Flaming Lips. All told, 40 bands played over three days on three stages, with 49,000 fans from around the world in attendance. Here’s our hour-by-hour coverage from Sunday, with contributions from my hard-working colleagues Bob Gendron (BG) and Andy Downing (AD).
12:20 p.m.: Outside Union Park, business for scalpers appears brisk, with $35 single-day passes for the sold-out Sunday bill selling steadily for $50 to $75. (AD)
1:14 p.m.: So much for a Sunday morning hangover. Performing its final show with its current lineup, the Mae Shi unleashes disorganized chaos in the form of cartoonish screeches, high-pitch screams and spastic bedroom punk that seems on loan from Japan’s freak-out bands. These aren’t songs as much as they are 40-second fragments and outbursts. Alternating between playing Mae Shi and Signals material, singer Jonathan Gray shakes and shouts as if he’s suffering from Tourette’s syndrome. He soon gets help in the form of Chicago hip-hop duo Yea Big (a knock-off for Napoleon Dynamite) and Kid Static, and the mood turns more frantic. A gang chorus rendition of “Run to Your Grave” inspires a robot dance to break out before the finale. Dorks just want to have fun. (BG)
1:20 p.m.: Micheal Columbia, a local trio (none of whom are actually named Michael), lock into the propulsive sci-fi groove of “Diana,” which one bandmate describes as being loosely inspired by the movie “V.” Utilizing guitar, bass and keyboard (along with the occasional saxophone solo), the crew crafts a dense, tech-heavy tapestry of alien grooves and disaffected vocals. “Made of Metal” (sample lyric: “Now that you are made of metal/Will you still feel summer breezes?”) even hints at Devo, or, perhaps more accurately, that band the outcasts of Tri-Lambda form in “The Revenge of the Nerd's” penultimate scene. (AD)
2:02 p.m.: Frightened Rabbit conquers early equipment problems that cause the band to briefly exit the stage. Vocalist/guitarist Scott Hutchison (left) doesn’t let the technical difficulties get to him, but he’s clearly consumed by relationships and heartbreak. Putting its three-guitar lineup to good use, the Scottish quartet’s tightly wound rhythms and crisp, rattling chords evoke the clattering sound of aluminum cans being dragged down a highway. Hutchison’s feelings are equally battered. The soulful nature of the jittery “I Feel Better” belies the song’s title, while the soaring “Good Arms Vs. Bad Arms” overflows with earnestness and pain. “I need human heat” Hutchison confesses on “The Twist,” opting for a cathartic honesty that boosts the impact of the group’s smartly written and well-executed songs. An impressive showing from a band that’s ready for a bigger platform. (BG)
2:25 p.m.: Frightened Rabbit finishes off a strong set in a rage that energizes the crowd. I’ll second what Bob Gendron says above: This is a band on to bigger things.
2:13 p.m.: Dianogah bassist (and noted artist) Jay Ryan stops the local trio's set, which to this point has been an oceanic swell of largely-instrumental passages, to pay tribute to former bandmate Stephanie Morris, who passed away June 1. “[We] considered bowing out of Pitchfork,” says Ryan, “But we knew how excited Stephanie was to play here.” Guitarist/keyboardist Mark Greenberg and singer/guitarist Rebecca Gates (of the Spinanes) join the trio for the second half of the performance, ably recreating Morris' parts on songs like “Sprinter” and giving added weight to lines like, “Tell me who am I without you by my side?” “We love you, Steph,” the bandmates holler as they depart the stage at the close of the touching tribute. (AD)
2:35 p.m.: A packed lawn indicates that fans are eager to show up early today. Whereas Saturday didn’t fill up until later in the afternoon, the park is already congested, making walking from stage to stage a slower, obstacle-ridden trip. (BG)
2:40 p.m.: The Flaming Lips army of roadies, dressed in industrial gear, are blowing up huge orange and yellow helium balloons behind the main stage in preparation for the night’s main event. Children wander past and immediately are entranced. A few make off with a prize for their curiosity; the beach-ball-size balloons are often as big as the kids carting them off.
2:53 p.m.: Portland sextet Blitzen Trapper is mesmerizing with a set of songs drawn largely from their most recent album, “Furr,” which is starting to sound more and more like a long-lost greatest hits collection from 1973. Just as their Sub Pop Records labelmates the Fleet Foxes made a splash at last year’s Pitchfork festival, Blitzen Trapper (right) is showing signs of doing the same this year. Four albums into its career, this band is clearly ripe to pop.
2:55 p.m.: “Take off your shirt,” yells an obviously-sarcastic gent in the midst of the throng gathered for local crew Killer Whales. The over-caffeinated bandmates, who appear to share a fashion sense with Huck Finn (all four are already shirtless and shoeless), are a kinetic blur for the bulk of their 25-minute performance. A pair of percussionists lay down a frenetic, tribal groove that borrows liberally from both post-punk and Afro-pop, while a dueling bassist and guitarist, stomp, twitch, sway and convulse to the spastic-yet-danceable rhythms of songs like “Chain Gang” and the relentless “Tunnel Station.” Credit Pitchfork with embracing a number of local artists in booking the Fest; it's a trend another Chicago festival (cough, Lollapalooza, cough) would do well to follow as it looks forward to 2010. (AD)
3:35 p.m.: Veteran MC Pharoahe Monch is kickin’ it old school, from his splendid Afro to his love of dusty soul beats with two backing singers. He also brings an aggressive political dimension rarely heard in hip-hop these days. Monch is a throwback to a bling-free era, when beats were hard and rhymes addressed even harder questions.
4:11 p.m.: The band Women momentarily refrains from its rumbling cacophony and reveals a softer side. Patrick Flegel’s monotone, out-of-tune vocals match the all-male quartet’s meandering arrangements as the indecipherable song fades to a close. Anything goes—or does it? Cold and detached, the Canadian band hurts for anything resembling a genuine stage presence. That’s not all. Random and indistinctive, the group’s deranged stomps owe more to artsy indifference than psychedelic experimentation. Save for the slightly tuneful “Black Rice,” Women’s splintered art-rock forgoes consistency. Loud conversations amid the crowd suggest a lack of sustained interest. Sometimes, noisy guitars and stoic looks aren’t enough. A bummer. (BG)
4:50 p.m.: The Thermals (right) cap their pogo-worthy set by covering Green Day, after earlier nodding to Sonic Youth and the Breeders. The alt-rock classics fit right in with a set of high-energy anthems that justifiably rev up the crowd. After a couple of relatively sleepy days on the big stages, the festival’s final day brims with slamming guitars and uptempo tunes.
4:54 p.m.: DJ Rupture's stage setup -- three turntables resting side-by-side --is most notable for what's missing: computer equipment. Eschewing laptops and iPods, the crate-digging, New York City-based DJ (born Jace Clayton) crafts a seamless, 45-minute mix of globe-trotting beats using only vinyl and his apparently limitless imagination. Few samples are instantly recognizable (even Ol' Dirty Bastard's “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” is slowed to a ghostly crawl), and the entire mix is haunted by ambient sounds (crashing cars, mumbled voices, video game bleeps). DJ Rupture reveals himself as a master of pacing and tempo, opening with more cerebral cuts to get heads nodding and gradually raising the beats-per-minute until a majority of the crowd is dancing along. (AD)
5:12 p.m.: A number of fans have found a way around paying scalper prices, as evidenced by a steady stream of fence jumpers by the Balance stage in the park’s southwestern corner. (AD)
5:37 p.m.: The Walkmen gets a little help from its friends. A seven-piece horn section saunters onto the stage and punctuates the New York quintet’s ramshackle tunes with Spanish accents. It’s a perfect match. The music’s opaque, hazy tones befit a last call at a 4 a.m. bar when just a few patrons remain, uncertain what to do and where to go. Singer Hamilton Leithauser is on his best behavior, content to slur lonely musings and howl about loss on songs such as the gauzy “Red Moon” and chiming “In the New Year.” Not that he’s completely coherent. And while the band’s muted material is slightly restrained for the occasion, strong suggestions of alienation and sadness go down without the need of a chaser. (BG)
5:42 p.m.: As Japandroids take the stage, singer-guitarist Brian King (left) notes the duo will have to keep the stage banter to a minimum because they're already pressed for time. “Come see us when we come back in a couple months,” he continues. “We're hilarious.” Two songs later, drummer Dave Prowse introduces his vocal turn on “Rockers East Vancouver” by saying, “I'm gonna do a Phil Collins impression for you.” Point, Japandroids. But though the Vancouver duo proves an affable, energetic and engaging onstage presence, it's tough to shake the feeling that the performance would sound better in a smaller club; the band's power—like many on the bill—is clearly diluted by the expansive outdoor setting. That said, the set isn't without its high points, particularly the ragged garage-punk anthem “Young Hearts Spark Fire” and “The Boys Are Leaving Town,” which plays like the scuzzy flipside to Thin Lizzy's “The Boys Are Back in Town.” (AD)
6:02 p.m.: Unlike my colleague Andy Downing who’s out in the field watching Japandroids set, I’m perched next to the stage and loving it. It just goes to show, it’s all about perspective, especially with a sound system that isn’t first-rate. In any case, the King-Prowse heaviness is being felt from my vantage point, from the rough and ready guitar riffing to the pummeling drum fills. The sound is bigger than it should be for two guys, but what’s especially gratifying to watch is the obvious fun they’re having playing at each other. When King roars, “I don’t want to worry about dyin’ ” and punctuates it with a Naked Raygun-like “whoah-ohhh,” that’s worth a first punch or three. These hair-flailing true believers should have a rock-off with their partners in guitar-drums mayhem, Los Angeles-based duo No Age. Better yet, how about touring together?
6:34 p.m.: Sweetness prevails during M83’s set. “It’s just beautiful, just beautiful” observes leader Anthony Gonzalez, and he does everything to keep it that way. The French pop band’s lush atmospherics and wanderlust melodies are indeed the stuff of sunny days and zealous dreams. Pulsing dance beats balance the tempered gentility, but M83 primarily allows its space-rock to drift into a peaceful universe where helium vocals and gushing symphonics curry favor. Anyone hoping to hear the group’s guitar-driven shoegazer fare is out of luck. This is all about the allure of the synthesizer and resurrection of new-wave delights. Alas, the huge walls of sound M83 creates on record are nowhere to be found. (BG)
7:07 p.m.: The Vivian Girls put out one of my favorite albums of 2008, and their brief but hard-hitting set doesn’t disappoint. Big, melodic bass lines provide a foundation for innocent harmony vocals, a mix of tart and sweet that proves irresistible. Only disappointment, they didn’t play “Where Do You Run To.”
7:58 p.m.: Grizzly Bear gets nasty, quickening the pace and flexing its muscles for a thrilling finale to “Fine For Now.” It’s a rare occurrence during an otherwise low-key concert, which largely comes across as a choral ode to a higher power. Laden with breathy harmonies and nimble textures, the Brooklyn quartet’s ethereal pop is firmly wedded to slow, staggered tempos and graduated crescendos. Elegance and delicacy reign. Birthday boy drummer Christopher Bear delivers occasional ripples of percussive thunder, yet the rapturous “Two Weeks,” fluttering “Little Brother” and intimate “Cheerleader” are designed to make the senses swoon. Mission accomplished. (BG)
7:58 p.m.: Mew might be the best dressed band at Pitchfork; singer Jonas Bjerre sports an expensive-looking cardigan and tailored jeans, while his bandmates are wearing crisp oxford button-ups with the sleeves rolled just so. The Danish group's sound is equally dapper. Indeed, even the rockers are hopelessly lush—as though everything the band touches is forced to blossom (think King Midas meets Johnny Appleseed). This feel is abetted by Bjerre's lullaby of a voice, an effortlessly melodic instrument with watercolor-soft edges. Mew imbues a decadent “The Zookeeper's Boy” with enough romantic longing to make Jane Austen blush and turns “Special” into a velvet-smooth, disco-rock shuffle. Only two complaints: (1) at just 40 minutes the set is at least 20 minutes too short and (2) the crowd is on the small-ish side as everyone readies for the Flaming Lips performance in the opposite corner of the park. (AD)
8:37 p.m.: Security chases down a few gate-jumpers on the South side of Union Park that hope to get in for free and see the spectacle that is the Flaming Lips. (BG)
8:38 p.m.: The three core Lips band members cap what has been the festival’s best beginning-to-end day of music by emerging from the womb of a video vixen, accompanied by go-go dancers dressed as frogs and chipmunks. There’s confetti and those helium balloons we were telling you about earlier. And the music has barely started. Will the Lips dig deep as they promised, honoring a set list chosen by the fans? They open with “Race for the Prize,” a staple of their set list in recent years, then treat us to a new song with Wayne Coyne riding atop a roadie in a gorilla costume. Everybody’s smiling, and it appears very few people have left the park. This show is already shaping up as an Event, perhaps the best festival-closer in Pitchfork’s history.
9:22 p.m.: It’s hard not to feel sorry for The Very Best. Led by vocalist Esau Mwamwaya, the collective is up against stiff competition (the Flaming Lips) and draws only a few hundred people for a rare performance. Undaunted, Mwamwaya’s spirits are running high. A DJ, two dancers and a constant procession of African-rooted grooves spike a joyful fusion of hip-hop, reggae and dancehall. While Mwamwaya sings in his native Chichewa language, the lyrics don’t require any translation. Piping-hot steel-drum beats combine with hard-charging, elephant-herd rhythms to create the impression of having stumbled upon a tropical-flavored club that’s the best-keep secret in town. And on this night, that’s exactly what The Very Best is. (BG)
9:45 p.m.: The Lips dig out “Bad Days,” “Enthusiasm for Life (Defeats Internal, Existential Fear)” and the psych-rock blow-out “Mountainside” in addition to the usual suspects. Stephen Drozd plays his usual man-of-many-talents role on keyboards and guitars, and Michael Ivins lays down monster bass lines. Then there’s Coyne, the perpetually enthusiastic ringleader, cheerleader, circus barker, confetti shooter and feel-good preacher-instigator. “Do You Realize” is a predictable finale, but no one’s complaining – it sounds glorious booming out across Union Park amid even more confetti and balloons. A festive finale, the kind of moment that makes you feel glad to be alive, experiencing this moment in this city with this band.
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