The Pitchfork Music Festival, held annually since 2006 by Internet publication Pitchfork Media, occurs within the modest grounds of Union Park in Chicago, Illinois. This park, an undistinguished facility in contrast to the incessant flocks of fashionable concertgoers sauntering its baseball field and basketball courts, withstood approximately 45,000 ticket holders this year.The Pitchfork Music Festival, held annually since 2006 by Internet publication Pitchfork Media, occurs within the modest grounds of Union Park in Chicago, Illinois. This park, an undistinguished facility in contrast to the incessant flocks of fashionable concertgoers sauntering its baseball field and basketball courts, withstood approximately 45,000 ticket holders this year. Spread out over three nights and two days, the attendance grew each day despite fours hours of rain early Saturday that left mud patches for the remainder of the festival (like at any festival, this was serendipitous for a few). An uncommon curfew of 10 p.m. saw audiences begging for “one more song,” without any avail, demonstrating the mandate therein Editor-in-chief Ryan Schreiber’s contract with the park.
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Friday
Friday night saw an extension of the London based concert series Don’t Look Back where a band plays the entirety of one of its classic albums. This year included Vs. by Mission of Burma, Bubble and Scrape by Sebadoh, and It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back by Public Enemy. Pitchfork has made several venerable contributions to the canonization of bands via lists, including a Top 100 albums of the 80’s, in which Missions of Burma and Public Enemy’s aforementioned albums rank respectively 49th and 9th (from said list, Nation of Millions is the second highest ever to play the festival; 1st place, Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation exhibited last year); so it was a good year by Fork standards. The concept of (the ironically titled) Don’t Look Back suits an audience with a histrionical relationship to music, where judgment of the latest band usually correlates with its resemblance to some classic group. The Series also places more rights into the hands of the audience, who are entitled to a specific performance rather than a set devised by the band.
That entitlement in mind, Public Enemy’s Nation of Millions set was made most interesting by an appealing conflict: Flavor Flav’s unlikeness to his 1988 self. Despite the group’s uncanny reproduction of an 80’s live show including Professor Griff and the Bomb Squad, not to mention an edifying performance by Chuck D as the band’s chief, there was the time Flav thanked the audience “for making [him] the biggest star in reality TV” and plugged his new show. This audacious antic received steady boos from the members of the audience working within a paradigm that saw Flav wearing just clocks and no bling and who have perhaps chosen to ignore (or do not have regular access to) Flav’s VH1 exploits. Flav cracked back, calling the audience some “fake-ass ghosts” (get it? booo). Further, Flav declared “f*** you” to anyone not wishing him success, ending his tirade compellingly: “Public Enemy is my first love and my last love.” After which Flav pranced around stage with wild swagger and reciprocated love for his main man Chuck D; it was a devoted performance. Somehow I feel like he would have simply gone through the motions had he not been defied.
Saturday
Dizzee Rascall continued the rap from Friday, converting it to grime: a version of rap which is all British accents and dub action. Rascall, like Flav, also possesses a penchant for the f-word, but in a positive way (such as “let’s get this f***ing party started”). A few songs into it, Rascall’s value gradually depreciated as another import, New Zealand’s Ruby Suns set up across the park for a less-crowded set. Just a male and female sharing bass, percussion and synth-pushing duties, the Ruby Suns worked to recreate the enormities contained by their studio album Sea Lion, tackling island mariachi (“Tane Mahuta”) as well as newer sounding songs, resembling Magnetic Fields (on “There are Birds”) and Panda Bear (on “Palmitos Park”). Singer Ryan McPhun stood up while he sang and drummed, creating a loosey goosey dance resembling Andy Kaufman’s “Foreign Man.”
A monotonous and campy Vampire Weekend repeated their set of emotional boy Afro-pop, which folded directly into a tedious set by Brooklyn dance-punks !!!. Whereas Vampire Weekend seem oblivious to their waning significance, !!! reeked of party-starting assurance. Like Flav and Rascall before him, the singer of !!! Nic Offer tried to force the party but without any beats or authority; his band played like a fawning Red Hot Chili Peppers. Tim Harrington of Les Savy Fav would demonstrate the ballistics of party-starting on Sunday.
After these sets, the sun had begun its descent, leaving just enough light for Minneapolis average-Joe rockers the Hold Steady, whose live shows are reputed to transcend their otherwise Pabst Blue Ribbon demeanor. A mélange of brawny, easy to follow power chords, clean keyboards, drums that egg you on and Craig Finn’s animated talking-as-singing, the performance saw the festival’s first opposition to solipsism-an opportunity to actually meet your neighbor (or huddle and rock with your friends). As the final sun turned to twilight and the Hold Steady rolled out their last, Atlas Sound (side project of Deerhunter front man Bradford Cox) began his tremendously dissimilar set: echo-laden, drum machined and macabre ballads of loneliness and isolation; a pleasant soundtrack for absorbing one’s self.
Similar to My Morning Jacket’s status as kings of the all-nighter festival Bonarroo, Animal Collective pretty much sealed their fate as the quintessential Pitchfork player. Besides stunning the audience with a prismatic light show, it became, for attendees who wondered why so many people like this band, much clearer as to the reasons. Animal Collective operates via a system of delayed gratification where verses can sound sluggish and stubborn, and choruses imbalanced and sinister. Live however, against an electrifying light show and watching the band’s entranced enthusiasm, verses can seem creative, and choruses cathartic (the song “Peacebone” for example)
Sunday
Sunday belonged to Les Savy Fav, a post-punk band with a haggard, grotesque yet ebullient lead singer (Tim Harrigan) who wanders the stage impatiently in clothes that degrade his weight, hell-bent on pleasing and/or interacting with the audience. Crowd surfing in a trash can and getting in a screaming match with a five-year old all seemed profound amidst the band’s swell accompaniments; when they’re not playing hardcore, these guys, like the Pixies, find blissful strides through impressionistic surf rock.
It may or may not be surprising that Ghostface Killah attracted more of an audience than M. Ward (Ghostface’s show insisted on the necessary kinesthetics to stay awake at these grueling festivals, for instance making a “W” and waving one’s hands in the air, not to mention the beats). After which Jarvis Cocker gave a very classy performance with the stage presence of a true Brit (in the ballpark but not quite as good as Bowie or Morrissey). Next, another Brit and his posse-the band Spiritualized-blasted rock songs with lots of soul and lots of reverb/distortion/delay/you name it. For better or worse, it was a bit like Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon.
In the end, one had to choose between Cut/Copy (a Daft Punk via Urban Outfitters dance-rock outfit) and classic alt-rockers Dinosaur Jr. I chose Cut/Copy and, waiting for them to set up, noticed a Scottish fellow flattening plastic bottles in preparation, as not to turn an ankle; “best be careful when yur dancin'” he said. Cut/Copy was delayed and waiting for them obviously made me miss Dinosaur. In lieu of Cut/Copy, Cox (from the aforementioned Atlas Sound) and King Khan (another dude that played earlier) tried to appease the crowd (and the organizers?) with a plagiarized version of Bow Wow Wow’s “I Want Candy,” instead singing a chorus of “Jell-lee-Ro-oll” that sent half the crowd to go check out Spoon on the big stage.
Spoon was the official closer but lacked the serious opportunity to dance that Cut/Copy presented, which was the only act that could obscure the fact that the festival was about to terminate (and that it was Sunday). In the end, Cut/Copy arrived at 9:40 (they flew all the way from Australia), a mere 20 minutes to play, and stuck to mostly new songs off of their new album In Ghost Colours. “Lights and Music” saved the night with its catchy chorus worthy of Harold Faltermeyer (scorer of Beverly Hills Cop and Top Gun) and had the crowd hopping and reaching for the sky. Probably should have been planned this way all along.
