Two Days Of Sweltering Heat, Bloated Crowds & Over-Hyped Acts - Pt. I
By: David Fox |
Sunday August 13, 2006 |
| We gathered around our raconteur (David Berman of Silver Jews) and held our breath at every song change hoping that the next would be one of our favorites. |
Photos By Patrick Sinco
Pitchfork Music Festival Day 1:
On this weekend, indie hipsters of the world united for a hot weekend of their favorite music, warm beer and to celebrate all that is wonderful and hip about indie. Thousands gathered in Chicago's Union Park toughing out sweltering heat with little shade to see their favorite bands. Although at times the heat was unbearable, there was enough talent playing the festival to make it all worth it; plus there were enough boring bands to give us a reason to go stand in the shade. We (we being me and my posse) walked into Union Park just as Man Man was taking the stage. The posse wanted to see Man Man who has been causing quit a stir on the live circuit as of late and the early arrival was well worth it. MM stormed the stage wearing raggedy, all-white clothes with white war paint on their faces. They were banging on instruments I didn't know existed and sang like drunken pirates who landed in New Orleans and started hanging out with Tom Waits. I must say that it was truly awesome. The posse was very fortunate to have seen Man Man and I will never forget standing in that heat, body next to sweaty body, watching this band of weirdos in absolute awe. It looked like it was going to be one hell of a festival despite the bullshit heat. The posse very much wanted to see Band of Horses and The Mountain Goats play, but we also knew that no poor bastards could follow that up. So, since we were about to fall over dead from heat exhaustion, we set out to find a patch of shade which was very difficult due to the large number of people doing the same thing at the same time as us. Luckily, the water was respectively cheap and many concertgoers chose to drink it rather than the beer. The problem with the beer is that you had to drink it fast or it would be ninety degrees before long. At four dollars a beer, not only does this get expensive, but it also means you get real drunk real fast. Sweating and pissing away more than you're bringing in can cause problems for those who are inexperienced with drinking in this kind of weather and I do not condone trying it. But I'm from Texas, and have plenty experience doing so in these types of environments and although I admit to feeling it very early, I assure you I was okay. After observing Destroyer from afar, the posse made it's way over to the east stage for Art Brut. Sometimes, at large musical over-indulgences like this, bands tend to half-ass their way through five or six songs. That was not the case with Art Brut. Singer Eddie Argos and guitarist Ian Catskilikin carried themselves on stage with Sex Pistol bravado and Rolling Stones charm. The set ended with a playful shout out to several other bands at the festival that, in a very charming British accent, went something like this: "Art Brut, top of the pops, Tapes 'n Tapes top of the pops, Danielson top of the pops), and so on. It was kind of a bummer that Ted Leo and the Pharmacists had to follow that fantastic set by Art Brut. I have been a big fan of Ted Leo for a long time and it should be an honor to see them live. Well, I suppose it was. Perhaps I just feel bad for not really feeling it all that much. We decided to listen to The Walkman set from the food section, which was packed line to line at dinnertime. So we said to hell with it, and continued drinking beer. As the sun finally began to ease on our merely human skin, The Futureheads took the stage. With all of their awkward hooks and progressions and "oh oh" Weezer-ish background vocals, I never thought they could possibly pull it off, but they did. The Futureheads played, arguably, one of the best sets of the day. And finally, it was time for the band of the night: the elusive Silver Jews. The thing about Silver Jews is that they've been making music for quite some time, but are rarely seen playing live and you kind of have to be a nineties indie dork to know that. Silver Jews are actually David Berman and a constantly rotating cast of musician buddies that includes his wife and ex-Pavement frontman Stephen Malkmus. Berman, who is also an acclaimed poet, almost died a couple of years ago on a drug overdose/suicide attempt and came out of the ordeal with a whole now outlook on life. After releasing a new album last year, Tanglewood Numbers, he has gone and taken his show on the road. I imagine that this was probably one of, if not the largest crowd Berman has every played in front of. Every single body in Union Park had crawled out of the shade and porta potty section to gather around the east stage at sun set. Music aficionados all know what to expect out of a Jews show and a perfect performance is not something in which we are there to see. Rather, we gather to see David Berman, this mad nineties poet pour his soul out onstage for us. We show up to support him and thank him for his kindness. There is also a bit of a strange connection we Pavement lovers feel towards the band. The Silver Jews are a relic from a lost and obscure culture of cynics and pranksters. It was truly a blessing to witness it. Especially in the purple sky of the setting sun, with the hot air finally thrown back into the shadows of night. Like disciples of a mysterious underground elder, we gathered around our raconteur and held our breath at every song change hoping that the next would be one of our favorites. Of course the next song was a favorite, as was the next, and the one after that and the one after that. Continue reading David Fox's account of the Pitchfork Music Festival's Day 2 events... |
