pitchfork festival roundup

Sadly, Pharaohe Monch did not come onstage looking like this

…or all the stuff that Joe didn’t mention, or that he already covered and I am chiming in with my two cents’ worth regardless.

Like I said, this was my first Pfork festival, and I (rather predictably) had a blast. I agree with Joe, however, that there were lots of really good shows and zero oh-my-god revelations. Which is sort of a churlish observation, considering that it is still the most immaculately run, vibrantly curated festivals in the country — that’s just the way things played out. Wayne Coyne, in one of his many “now-I-will-address-my-disciples” monologues from the stage (with his graying temples, enormous shock of hair, and white suit, dude is seriously getting deep into his Captain Eno/Rasputin phase) marveled aloud at just great everything at Pfork is. “I mean, even the goddamn food is top-notch, and food is always terrible at festivals,” he said. (He’s right –I’ve never had satay chicken skewers and cucumber salad or a beef brisket sandwich at a rock festival before.)

Pharoah Monche was incredible, as was The National — probably the two highlights of the festival for me, mostly because they both went for it. As a friend remarked, you’ve never lived until you’ve seen a sea of slightly fratty dudes pump their fists and holler “Squalor Victoria!!!” Pharoah, likewise, got all the music critics awkwardly but enthusiastically waving their hands in the air. It’s pretty much impossible to be in the same room as “Simon Says” and not get amped.

The one big headliner Joe left out, as ptolemy noted, was Grizzly Bear, and I have to say, I was more excited than I ever thought I would be to see them live. Their new songs have a fire to them that I never suspected Droste and co. had in them, and I was looking forward to hearing them recreated live. And they were, technically speaking, perfect. The harmonies were all there, shimmering and full-bodied, and every instrumental line of filigree pealed out cleanly into the evening air. And yet, it was still somehow completely unstirring. Part of it was set list that lingered in their languid, draggy mood pieces, and the rest of it was just a lack of energy. I couldn’t help but think, as I watched them bounce their way politely through “Two Weeks,” that these boys could have stood to have availed themselves of some of the free Sparks that was flowing freely around the park.

Wavves, whose name I find tossed around as a punchline these days more often than not, were one of the possible wild cards. After Nathan’s onstage meltdown in Barcelona, and his shattered wrist, there was a lot of skepticism — and morbid curiosity — about what would happen in Chicago. There were lots of not-so-charitable jokes being thrown around in the crowd beforehand (hell, I made a couple), but when they came out, they disappointed all of the buzzards, playing an effervescent, fun and totally together set. Kids moshed and crowd surfed and knew EVERY WORD in the audience. It was heartwarming, in a small way.