Day three. Sunday. In my unqualified opinion, always the most enjoyable day of the festival, regardless of the lineup. Everyone’s tired and therefore a little more mellow; no one has anything to prove. Some poor saps even have to go to work the next day. And the sun is finally out, beating down on the mud and dust of Union Park.
Granted, the Porta-Potties are looking a bit ragged, and there’s garbage strewn everywhere. I talk to more than one person who’s brought their own toilet paper. People griping about the rain yesterday are now griping about the heat. The early afternoon is given over to some unlikely acts: the Japanese experimental noise trio Boris rocks the crowd with double-necked guitars and double kick drums only to cut their set short, apologizing in broken English before leaving the stage. The crowd chants “BORIS! BORIS!” for several minutes before giving up, while the Apples in Stereo tune on the stage across the field.
Les Savy Fav plays their usual tight, fierce set, with frontman and aspiring hairstylist Tim Harrington at his scantily-dressed, unselfconscious best, flailing about and descending into the crowd with reckless abandon.
The Dodos are next, playing an extremely percussive set with every member striking something at some point, be it a marimba, toms, snare, gong, tambourine, or body part. Both they and M. Ward seem to suffer, however, from the acoustic sprawl of the festival set-up: while M. Ward’s music is perfect for a sunny Sunday afternoon, his nuanced sound doesn’t translate extremely well to the outdoor setting. I also can’t help but wonder how many people here are hoping Zooey Deschanel will make a surprise appearance.
Sunday in the park with M. Ward
As the afternoon wears on I drift toward the Balance stage in the far corner of the park, where Ghostface Killah and Raekwon are playing their rescheduled set. Meanwhile, Spiritualized begins its set on the Aluminum stage, but it’s still light out and their loud space-rock would be better suited to an indoor light show.
Which doesn’t mean I can’t still appreciate my favorite J. Spaceman creations. Around 7:30, I’m standing just to the side of the stage where Bon Iver is getting ready to perform, listening to “Come Together,” a song I will always associate with my junior year of college, come thundering across the field, threatening to drawn out the first song by Bon Iver, whose line-up today includes my old childhood friend and former bandmate on drums. It’s the kind of surreal moment I don’t really know what to do with.
Bon Iver’s set continues despite serious sonic competition from Spiritualized and then Dinosaur Jr. Justin Vernon and company fight the good fight, and gain some ground when they begin a slow-burning cover of “I Believe In You” by Talk Talk. The Mark Hollis fans in the crowd—and trust me, there are a few—hoot, and one energetic man runs up the trunk of a crooked tree to get a better view. The dominant bass and Vernon’s Hammond organ have a sort of cleansing effect, sweeping aside the incessant chatter of the audience members around me and the decibels generated by J. Mascis, several hundred yards away.
Spoon’s set is the evening’s last, roughly concurrent with Cut Copy’s back on the Balance stage. Britt Daniel and the band kick things off with “Small Stakes” and then “My Mathematical Mind.” The band doesn’t waste a second between songs, going straight into “Stay Don’t Go.” The crowd goes apeshit as the group is joined by horn players and Daniel’s voice is occasionally embellished with campy tremolo and Jim Eno punishes his drums. So maybe Sunday isn’t so mellow after all, during the last hour of this long, long weekend.
I turn my camera on, at a distance: Spoon winds the weekend down just right
And still, there’s a mass pilgrimage across the field to the Balance stage when Cut Copy starts playing. Thousands of people peel away from the masses watching Spoon to cheer on the other band. It’s an encouraging sight and an uplifting end to the weekend: two hugely popular indie bands at the tops of their games, each drawing thousands of exhausted but satisfied music fans to the center of the country in the middle of the summer.
!!!’s set is one long rave-up and elicits the most passionate audience dancing I’ve seen so far this weekend. The bass is overwhelming, as it should be; the band’s momentum builds steadily until it explodes in “Heart of Hearts”, the final number. Mohawked frontwoman Shannon Funchess and frontman Nic Offer make irresistable ringleaders. The yellow-and-black 312 beachballs are out, and the weather has reached a muggy equilibrium.
But as it turns out, we ain’t seen nothing yet. At the main stage the Hold Steady is getting ready to rock out in front of several thousand devoted disciples. Beginning with “Constructive Summer” off their recent Stay Positive and segueing directly into “Hot Soft Light,” the band hits the high points off all four of their albums. Craig Finn is ecstatic as ever, mincing and two-stepping as if possessed when not at the mic spreading the gospel. Keyboardist Franz Nicolay has shaved his head bald but still wears the black vest and red tie; Tad Kulber is cool as ever as he lays down one scorching guitar solo after another, and breaks out his double-necked Gibson SG for “Lord, I’m Discouraged,” Stay Positive’s signature ballad. “This song is so sad, I need twelve strings,” he explains.
The sun is unburdened by clouds at this point, and setting, and the members of the crowd have their hands in the air almost constantly. There’s even some crowd-surfing. This is what a summer music festival should be like.
From where I’m standing, to the side of the stage, I can see the crowd better than I can the band’s members, of whom I catch occasional glimpses between speaker cabinets. This seems eminently appropriate: a Hold Steady show is almost more about the crowd than the band. They encore with “Killer Parties” and, per tradition, Finn spends the song’s opening vamp thanking the audience. “I know I say this every time, but that’s because it’s true. There is so much joy up here, in what we do!” Whatever magic formula this band has discovered that prevents their music and their fans from succumbing to post-millenial irony and cynicism is precisely the same aesthetic that sends chills down my spine when Finn gets to the word “joy,” despite the fact that I’ve seen and heard him deliver this same line about six times before.
Craig Finn and his mirror image
For my money, today’s program peaked with the Hold Steady, but Jarvis Cocker provides a nice complement: more drinking songs delivered by an awkward Regular Guy, from the other side of the pond this time. His sound is something akin to AM Gold, a friend remarks, presumably meaning that in a good way. Cocker lies down on the stage and prances about and dispenses trivia about the city of Chicago he freely admits to learning from Wikipedia.
Jarvis Cocker, larger than life
I’m in the press tent now, and I’m exhausted. It’s finally, truly nighttime, and Animal Collective is sending throbbing, otherwordly drones across the muddy field, loop-based walls of sublime noise. While I’m biased toward letting the Hold Steady play last (and play for, like, an additional two hours) I can see why the festival organizers chose Animal Collective’s spectral sound collages to end the day. The sold-out crowd is enraptured.
There are rumors that Jay Reatard is playing another set at the Bottom Lounge. There are rumors that Julia Stiles is on the premises. There are rumors that No Age is playing an after-hours show in someone’s basement. There are rumors that the Hold Steady will be drinking at a bar whose identity is yet to be determined. (This last one isn’t so much a rumor as a logical assumption.) I’m tempted to try and pursue one or all of these rumors, but I also know are another nineteen bands playing tomorrow, and I’ll be lucky if I manage to take in even half of them. I’m deep in the throes of festival fatigue, and I love it.
Saturday begins with rain, and it occurs to me that, as far as I know, this is the first year the festival has had to deal with inclement weather. The drizzle continues through the first several sets—Titus Andronicus, Jay Reatard, Caribou, among others—finally letting up during Fuck Buttons’ set on the Balance Stage tucked away in the southwest corner of Union Park.
A crafty hipster makes good use of the mud
By the time Dizzee Rascal launches into his first song on the Connector Stage, the sun is out and starting to burn fiercely. Dizzee tells the crowd that “This ain’t no fucking picnic!” Not to be contrarian, Dizzee, but from where I’m standing, it looks like a picnic.
“Don’t make me go old school!” Dizzee bellows. This is clearly reverse psychology, because he then proceeds to go old school. The crowd roars approvingly.
In a purely subjective, unscientific assessment, the crowd this afternoon seems immensely larger than last year’s. Vampire Weekend is up next on the main (Aluminum) stage, and the audience swells for their set.
Vampire Weekend performs with the Sears Tower in the background
I never quite caught Vampire Weekend Fever when it was going around earlier this year, but what I’m hearing now is undeniably enjoyable and infectuous—the perfect accompaniment to the brightening weather.
The dirt on the ball diamonds has turned to mud, and the lines at the Porta-Potties are only getting longer, but there’s no sign of this jovial crowd going pulling a Woodstock ‘99. Meanwhile, !!! is setting up on the Connector Stage and there are clouds closing in over the park again. Let’s hope the rain, if it comes, isn’t enough to dampen the spirits sure to be lifted by !!!, the Hold Steady, Jarvis Cocker, and the Animal Collective.
More photos:
Tim Harrington from Les Savy Fav makes some money on the side giving haircuts
