Treasure Island Festival
By: Phil Roveto |
Thursday September 20, 2007 |
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San Francisco, CA |
| The palm trees cut their lush leaves and rugged trunks into the cool orange evening, peacefully defining their shape in black. The winds that had blown continuously all weekend had slowed to a halt, giving the festival goers of Treasure Island one more favor, one more piece of sweet enjoyment to balance on top of the pile. Despite Spoon's best efforts to gruffle out some Rough and Swagger with "Don't Make Me a Target," their guitar notes were safe and soft enough to drop 20,000 eyelids. I polished off a Cape Codder, reclined against some metal bleacher seats, and allowed a careless smile of general goodwill to cover the entire island. And this is how we live. Just east of San Francisco, a land equally flooded with and bereft of personal responsibility, Treasure Island displayed the essence of the Bay Area with a fantastic two day festival. It featured some honest musical passion, some nearly unbelievable artistic pretension, and, of course, some popular music for young people and aging hipsters alike. If you missed it, shame. It was a beautiful weekend to enjoy your life, to see folks of all kinds feel free to act as they chose, for better or for worse. September 15th, 2007 Cruising around the old Navy base that was once the sole owner of Treasure Island, I saw the first sign of festival hilarity arced high over chain linked fencing. The ferris wheel revolved just over the Tunnel Stage, where up-and-coming acts would do their best to lure fans from their encampments by the expansive Established Bridge Stage. In one of those 1950s covered gondolas, you could see the entire spread. The pirate motif was in full force, with black and white flags waving in every direction and stage decorations consisting of rope ladders, blue jibs, and main sails. I was rather surprised not to see a single "walkin' plank", and to my knowledge, no peg-legs, eye-patches, or prosthetic parrots were sold. Walking among the throng of stripe-wearing, icon-obsessed teenies, I couldn't help but wonder how this marketing opportunity was ignored. No matter, as the festival was happy to take outrageous sums for other services. In true California fashion, Sushi and smoothies were plentiful. "Curry!" was bellowed out during intervals and no B-12 deficient vegan was left wanting. As many as 10 California wines were offered, and in their luscious beer garden there was the outstanding choice of Heineken...and... Heineken Light. When I realized this horror, I nearly spun on my heel and bolted. The promise of SoJu cocktails even infuriated me further. What the hell did these organizers think they were doing!? To choose not only one of the nastiest beers to sell exclusively to a music-loving outdoor crowd, but a beer that serves as the poster child for 1980s rail-blowing stock-traders? Fuck's sake! I made a lightning quick note to smuggle appropriate whiskey upon returning. After finding a Very-Important-Person cocktail bar (yes, they recognized me and they STILL charged full gouge), I finally turned to Ghostland Observatory, who perked up my spirits with a manic performance. Aaron Behrens ran around the stage, all discombobulated with heroin shake-n-jerks and deadly whirling dread-tails while Thomas Turner stood stolid, spun synthetic beats adorned in a bright blue Cap'n Crunch cape. Featuring songs from their album Paparazzi Lightning, including "Dance with Your Lover" and "Sad Sad City," these Austin, TX dancehall monkeys got some early comers nodding their heads. >From high up on the bleachers, I caught a slight amount of Kid Beyond's set on the far end of the grounds. I could feel a real jolt of energy as he played "Mothership" and for the rest of the weekend, my punishment for not getting closer was hearing significant buzz about him and his sets around the Bay Area. But at the time, I was most interested in the surrounding area. The linked chains encasing the festival were also keeping us apart from shady looking dorm-style apartments. Always noticeable in California, the thin boundaries between affluent, fun-money-spenders and significant poverty were even more obvious here. When I first got to SF and saw a sign pointing to Treasure Island, I had a subconscious heel-click. Yes! Monkey Butlers! When I told a friend about the mystical land, he grinned, "Yeah, fantastic. Low-rent housing!" Jumping down the stairs, I caught the refugee M.I.A. feeding into the feelings of national separation. "Bucky Done Gun," with its power trumpet choruses officially started dancing season on the island. With Jungle Book's Mowgli and Baloo dancing to "The Bear Necessities" on the stage screen, M.I.A. pulled the crowd from electronic quick beat frenzy to slow dub swaying with her Clash-like hit "Paper Planes." She prowled around the stage all sultry and crawled up a rope ladder, firing a pretend hand-pistol into the air. Hearing M.I.A. close with her classic "Galang," I started to have serious misgivings of the performance timing of Electronic/Dance Saturday. Seeing a great show is nothing to sniff at, but it's a little harder to appreciate at 4 PM. An M.I.A. show really needs to start at twilight with her soft and angry reggae/dub followed with crazy dancing deep into the thick night. Same with DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist. Seeing these masters crack out their skills during daylight hours takes something away from the entire experience. They were tremendous, however, opening with a clever and excitement-building videologue on the history of vinyl and scratching, which culminated in the two old turntable bards walking to their stations with the slow determined gaits of Old Western outlaws. They flew around the musical sphere sliding easily from 50s soul to De La Soul. From Outkast at 4 times the speed to "Break on Through" by The Doors, and even to Blur's "We've Got a File on You!" Fast Metallica Power Chords were even scratched out, causing the loudest roar. Some grumbled at the break, wanting to have heard an extended classic. But hearing original cuts was so much better, completely fresh. These guys were absolutely the peak of Saturday. Afterwards, the night descended into annoying imitation (Flosstradamus, who seemed to be slow on his mixes due to a faulty eject tray on his CD player) and faux-intellectual mysticism (The Gotan Project, who must have taken a wrong turn on their way to some rich prick's New Age Sonoma wedding) before settling into an easy salsa ambient jam ably provided by the soothing Thievery Corporation. Sunday, September 16th Sunday fared MUCH better, mostly due to the bootlegged whiskey and sandwiches in tow. Security was California Light and I was soon surrounded by rolling clouds of THC, bright sunshine, and smiling kids. The crowd was far less pretentious on the festival's second day. Far fewer Banana Republics and Abercrombie douchemouths. Two Gallants started things off quite well with their amazing historical-motif-laden lyrics and gritty guitars. Their Doogie Howser-ish lead singer laid out a sombre style on such hits as "Las Cruces Jail" and "Steady Rollin'." "I shot my wife today / dropped her off in the Frisco Bay," they crowed and somewhere, you just knew the Man in Black was smiling. M. Ward really surprised me with his talent and his serious intensity. I had him pegged as an overly soft, second-rate mish-mash of Elliott Smith and Bob Dylan. And yes, I heard more than a couple whispers of "Heyyyy, Bob Dylan hair... and glasses!" and "...totally similar stage presence." But, was this a bad thing? I didn't think so. He threw himself into the set, hunched over his piano, jamming on his guitar,whipping up songs of windy excitement like his extended "To Go Home" and calming the crowd to a whisper with his brilliant "Post-War." The air was absolutely still, nearly every person silently shackled, completely awed. Built to Spill played a fantastic set, featuring many of their classic favorites as well as two of their best songs from their latest, "You in Reverse." The Idahoans, as usual, played in front of their buddy's artwork, displayed on the stage screen. Those familiar phallic and vaginal-themed drawings rotated as Built to Spill cracked out the indie favorite "Car," the haunting rollercoaster "Strange" and a long, building version of "Time Trap." Each song ended with Doug Martsch's overly quick and modest "thanks" and they even managed to squeeze in a Brian Eno cover, ferchrissakes! "Liar" was sang and played sweet as fuck and they closed with fantastic, lively "Conventional Wisdom." "You in Reverse" was a long time coming, but we can only hope it rejuvenates this band, because they are truly special and honest. Spoon played an adequate and safe set, tossing out numerous songs from the critically acclaimed album "Ga ga ga etc etc etc chk chk chk." We heard album-sounding versions of "Don't Make Me a Target," "Don't You Eva," and "You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb." But hey, they're a popular band, and some members of the crowd really appreciated the familiarity. Same went for Modest Mouse, the popular headliner of Sunday. More than half of their songs came straight from their last two albums, Good News for People... and We Were Dead... I'm sure it infuriated all of the "real" Modest Maus fans to hear such a skew towards the masses and record sales, but this is what they've become. Right before their set, I saw a young group called "Earlimart" featured on the small bridge stage, gazing at giants like Spoon and Mouse playing on either side of them. They played a loud, crazy set, full of jump, piss, vinegar, all that. But check back in 3,4,5 years. They could be where these "sellout" super indie bands are now. Modest Mouse is reveling in their success, and that's for no one to judge. I was, however, disinterested enough to leave their show early. Going through the motions, etc etc. Mostly, I had to catch an early bus. After all, there was dub-hip-hop to be had across the Bay Bridge and I couldn't miss it. Festivals show the lifespans of bands, and really, of modern artistic passion. All of music's rises, falls, and depressing plateaus were on display for twenty full hours. So, I don't care if it was only for one weekend. Treasure Island proved itself worthy of its magical name. Photo by Josh Withers |
