My Bird Performs

A few things of note before we get to the music.

- Happy Football Christmas! Me? I'm asking for world peace, an Irish National Championship, and this poster:


- On a related note, I'll be in Atlanta this weekend to cheer Notre Dame to victory over the Ramblin' Wreck of Georgia Tech, so Saturday's update may not happen. This goes double if we lose; then, I plan to a) drink myself blind on Peach Schnapps and paint thinner, b) weep into Irish beer and dream of what might've been, or c) waking up face-deep in the lap of some accomodating southern belle.

Prediction: QB Reggie Ball and WR Calvin Johnson give our defense fits initially, but the Irish secondary tightens in the second half behind three Brady Quinn touchdown passes. Final score: Notre Dame 31, Georgia Tech 21.

- So, any other Warcraft types out there praising the heavens for the new linked Battlegrounds system? I mean, I'd always dreamt of living in Alterac Valley someday, but now, that dream is a blood- and snow-covered reality. In short, I'm not coming out until I hit Exalted. At this rate, my wolf and I will see you next week.


Ever notice how most house musicians look more like substitute teachers than dance wizards?

Bent - Waiting for You. Yet another band from the "should've heard about 'em earlier but didn't" pile, the duo of Simon Mills and Nails Tolliday has been charting the course of off-the-wall house since my freshman year of high school. Bent's new album, the soon-to-be-released Intercept!, has all the groove of classic Daft Punk and all the neurotic vocal tension of LCD Soundsystem. Basically, this sound please fans of IDM and "The O.C." alike. Intercept! arrives this September, courtesy of Godlike and Electric Records.

You know the drill by now: satisfy all of your Bent-related needs at their website, then make friends over at the pair's MySpace page.

Posted by Tyler at 1:46 PM | Permalink | Comments

I'm not dead, only wounded. The "settling in" portion of the move to Bloomington is nearly complete, so expect regular updates to resume relatively soon (and yes, I know my track record on these promises is shoddy at best; I'm working on that.)

The Vetiver review and the rest of the Lollapalooza pics will be up... when I feel like it. I'll probably backdate the posts to preserve some semblance of continuity for future generations, but I'll make an announcement when they actually go up. After all, I like you guys.


So, in keeping with my new trend of being behind in just about everything, here's this: apparently, Vagenius is no more. Instead, they're now called Hello Stranger, and their long-awaited self-titled debut is finally in stores, courtesy of Aeronaut Records. Vagenius was one of my favorite blog finds of last year, and their new record can't arrive at my doorstep fast enough. So, to help pass my postal exile, here are some tracks from the original Vagenius self-release.

Vagenius - Which Side Is Mine. This track was rerecorded for the new record, but, after hearing a clip of the new version, I'm not sure if it's an improvement. The Hello Stranger version removes the detached, echo-laden vocals in favor of a bland, AAA-style stright recording. If I wanted Natalie Imbruglia, I'd go to Australia. Still, production quibbles aside, this track is a perfect example of why I'm not ashamed to love synthpop. Also, that lovely synthetic sound you hear there? Totally a keytar.

Vagenius - After All. This track didn't make the cut for the new album, so consider it a bonus. I certainly do. Once the keys kick into full effect around the 0:59 mark, I think you will, too.

Hello Stranger is on MySpace, and welcomes all new friends with a hearty hello.

Posted by Tyler at 10:15 PM | Permalink | Comments

Moving sucks. Be back later this week when I can actually use the internet without stealing my neighbor's wireless.

Posted by Tyler at 1:04 AM | Permalink | Comments

Hear ye, hear ye! New Decemberists track's a-comin'!

So, The Crane Wife has leaked. If you just can't wait until October, you probably know where to find it. If you just want a taste, read on.



If you've read any reports, you might've heard that the Decemberists have again tapped into the same prog-rock outlet that produced 2003's The Tain. For the most part, it's true. The Crane Wife certainly features no shortage of sweeping, important-sounding electric guitars, and two tracks top the 10+ minute mark. However, unlike the band's previous foray into rock opera territory, the moments of epic bombast are mixed with enough delicate melancholia and acoustic strummery to remind listeners that they didn't pop in Led Zepplin IV by mistake. For instance...

The Decemberists - Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then). ...this song, a duet featuring Colin Meloy and guest songstress Laura Veirs, weaves a story of despair and devotion over the backdrop of the American Civil War. Think Cold Mountain, only good.

My copy of "The Perfect Crime" is glitchy. Otherwise, I'd post it, too. If you're feeling intrepid, though, track it down. It's decidedly... dare I say?... funky!

The Crane Wife is set to drop on October 3rd, and is the Decemberists' first record on major label big-boy Capitol. Pre-orders are already being taken.

Posted by Tyler at 11:36 PM | Permalink | Comments

Here's Day Two. Quickly!


After missing the early train home the night before, we vowed to keep our travel affairs in better order for Saturday. This basically meant waking up at the seemingly inhuman hour of 9am and hopping the 10:30 Metra out of Downer's Grove. On the train, we consulted our schedules while trying to figure out how many of our fellow passengers were headed to the festival. Krystiana and Alex decided to make Nada Surf their first act of the day, so I was left to my own devices to start the day. When we arrived at Grant Park, I had some food and watched Sa-Ra do a relatively harmless "Parliament without the hair extension or rhythm section" impression.


Though their set was unimpressive, I have to give Sa-Ra some credit. After all, who else would have the balls to put Dumb Donald from Fat Albert on the mic?


Since I had some time to kill before seeing Cold War Kids, I stopped by the shade of the BMI stage just in time to catch St. James. I think I was one of maybe a dozen people in the audience, which must've been disheartening for the band. For the record, they weren't bad. A little singer-songwritery, but my head bopped a couple of times.


Unfortunately, the Cold War Kids were my first disappointment of the day. I don't think I had unreasonably high hopes; I didn't really have any hopes. I liked the tracks I heard back in January, and just wanted them to live up to 1/3 of the blog hype generated on their behalf. For whatever reason, though, their sound just didn't translate well from studio to stage.


This is Nathan Willet. He sings. He also looks like one of my neighbors from freshman year. His name was Kevin. On the first weekend of school, he got drunk and broke his hand by falling out of his loft. That story has nothing to do with Cold War Kids. I'm just stalling for time.


Aside from Willet, the rest of the band was hard to photograph. Most of the time, they appeared to be locked in combat with their instruments or, as is the case in this particular shot, taking bows. The photo-related frustration might've been half the reason I left so underwhelmed.


With my hipster debunking out of the way, I headed over to the Q101 stage for the Go! Team. They were introduced by Beatle Bob, consummate St. Louis scenewad and all-around snappy dresser. With his reputation as an inconsiderate spaz well-documented , it's good to see him being well compensated for his behavior.


The Go! Team brought the first real energy of the day, and I'm not sure the audience was ready for it. Though Ninja tried her best to light some fires in the crowd, no one seemed very interested in busting any moves. I did all I could, bringing out my patented "overweight white boy bob-and-sway", but I'm sad to say I just couldn't salvage things.


While the audience wasn't keen on participating, they did appear game for a rousing round of silent appreciation. Ninja probably thinks we're all totally lame.


Doing the Standing Still took some major energy, so I decided to have a lie down during Built to Spill. It was a good choice; Doug Marsch's songs had just enough sonic thickness to keep my attention, even when I was half asleep in the grass.


By the end of the set, fans started to clear out significantly. So, after working up the energy needed to hop up, I snaked through the now-sparse crowd until I found myself at the barrier just in time to catch the last couple of songs. Some write-ups I've read described Built to Spill's performance as "low energy" or "predictable". All I can say is that they must've been watching a different show.


Since I'd stumbled into such a prime spot, I decided to make the most of it. Sonic Youth was next on stage, and front row spots only meant skipping Calexico, performers to whom I felt no personal attachment. Here's where I get ambivalent, though: while I loved the chance to see Sonic Youth live and up close, I'm not sure I picked the best time/place to see them live for the first time. With an hour timeslot and a new album to push, the band's set skewed heavily towards the new stuff. The good news? Rather Ripped sounds like something I should buy, eventually. The bad news? No "Teenage Riot"! Or even "Dirty Boots"! I mean, I don't mean to sound like one of those "just the hits, ma'am" fans, but gimmie something I can scream along to! If the Flaming Lips can do "She Don't Use Jelly" for the eleventy billionth time without flinching (which, of course, they can), then anyone can.


Is it weird that I'd still totally sleep with Kim Gordon?


I left Sonic Youth's set disillusioned, in search of something to brighten my spirits. Fortunately, the prescription for my funk was warming up at the Q101 stage just as I began in that direction. The Smoking Popes' set had everything a great festival set should have: a small, but interested crowd, band members who're actually enjoying themselves, and a setlist that plays to the strengths of the occasion. I'm not sure how many people in the audience were diehard fan and how many were, like me, hearing the Popes for the first time. What I do know is that everyone who walked away from that performance on Saturday left as a Smoking Popes fan. I think I speak for the music community at large when I say, "Welcome back, boys. It's good to have you".


Matt Caterer was kind enough to mug for all the cameras on his side of the stage. The Popes are working on a new album, slated to come out on Victory Records some time in the not-too-distant future. Man... why'd it have to be Victory? Now I gotta break my geas about never buying anything remotely associated with Hawthorne Heights. Shucks.


My love for the Smoking Popes had it's price. By the time I returned from their set, the entire left side of the park was full of people who all seemed way to excited for their own good. Turns out, however, that their energy was warranted: the Flaming Lips' live set brought the house down. While the balloons and the streamers, the Santas and the spaceballs, are all standard when you're reading about them, actually experiencing them live is an entirely different story. Wayne Coyne surveyed the scene in his off-kilter ringmaster sort of way, and owned the crowd from the very beginning. I've never seen anything like the feelings of positive energy that seemed to enfold everyone around me. It was like everyone forgot about the heat and the dirt and the exhaustion and the $10 gyros and, for one hour of a dusky Saturday evening, just got together and had a meaningful collective experience.

Everyone except for that one bitch who had her boyfriend hoist her up so she could pop the giant balloons with the end of her Marlboro. After a couple of offences, she was literally booed away from her spot.

After nearly tearing up druing the "Do You Realize??" singalong, I figured that was my cue to pack things up. I left the park to the sounds of the New Pornographers in the distance, and the rumble of trains overhead. It was a good day to be in Chicago.

Day Three later today.

Posted by Tyler at 4:47 AM | Permalink | Comments

So, my Lollapalooza pictures are a week late, and my Vetiver review is pushing 10 days. Sue me. While you're doing that, check out these long-awaited shots from last Friday's opening day.


Arriving at Lollapalooza this year was an adventure in and of itself. I was staying out in the suburbs, and decided to take the El into the city as a means of avoiding the twin hassles of traffic and parking. This tactic was marginally successful, but also fraught with peril. The trip to the station alone took me through a wild, and accidental, side trip through O'Hare. Once I finally got settled on the train itself, I realized that, in addition to being mapless, I had no idea where I was going once the trip was over. Then, the wandering began. To make a long story short, I didn't get to Grant Park until around 2pm, so Eels was the first act I caught.


E. and his boys rocked out. Hard. For a while, I wasn't even sure I was watching the correct band, but then "I Like Birds" kicked in and I knew I was in the right place. During the set, Krazy Al here did his best to support the rock by looking like a lankier version of Zangief and busting out some sweet martial arts moves.


My travelmates were still subjecting themselves to Panic! At The Disco (a move that we all later agreed was the wrong one), so I moseyed over to check out Stars by myself. XRT's own Marty Lennartz handled their introduction.


The very nature of the summer festival setup tends to favor some types of bands while putting others at a decided disadvantage. Stars fell squarely in the latter category. Much like other bloggers noted last week, the lack of intimacy, coupled with the ADD pace of an eight-stage show, really robbed Stars' music of its power. Then again, have the terms "Canadian chamber pop" and "August afternoon" ever really gone hand in hand?


If you can't read it, lead singer Torquil Campbell's shirt says "I Miss Grant McLennan". I want.


Our neighbors to the north.


During Stars, Krystiana and Alex finally emerged from the other side of the park. A little older and scores wiser, we spent some time dissing Panic! and catching up on old times before heading over to Ryan Adams' set.


Aaaaaaand here's the day's first lull. I'm not terribly familiar with Ryan Adams' work, and his set at Lollapalooza did little to convince me that I should remedy the situation. Then again, I might've just resented the trifecta of heat, mud, and crappy position that was bearing down on me at the time. It doesn't matter. I snapped this surprisingly cool shot of the video screen before setting off in search of greener pastures.


My search for a better set led me to Mates of State. They played one of the side stages, which, in this particular case, was located strategically between the Virgin Megastore tent and half of the food vendors. The crowd was surprisingly substantial, and came prepared to swing.


I was both amazed and heartened by the number of people who actually sung along to the majority of the set. Somehow, I just didn't expect that kind of devotion from your average Lollapalooza attendee.


This is Kori Gardner's profile. This is also the closest I ever got to actually seeing her face during the performance.


Much like last year, Lollapalooza featured a multitude of text message-based scavenger hunts/flashmob contests. However, this year, organizers packed even more interactivity into the eccentric (and potentially lucrative) diversions. One contest had concertgoers collect special passwords from 50 different clowns (like these two) that would roam around the park. I'm not sure exactly what kind of prize was up for grabs, but people seemed keen on the idea of "catching them all", if you will.


After grabbing a late lunch, I stopped by the Q101 stage just in time to get knocked on my ass by a proverbial fist of sound known only as the Secret Machines. These guys were loud. Like, bowel-shaking loud. For a while, I felt like I was in a Maxell ad.


The Ranconteurs were preparing to go on next door, so I did what any sensible music fan would do: eschewed the crowds to catch a good spot for Jim James and My morning Jacket. Along the way, I caught the tail end of Iron and Wine's set, which, if my ears didn't deceive me, complimented the slow-simmering heat perfectly. In the lone picture I took, Sam Beam looks like a billboard advertisement for the crucifixion. I don't think that's terrible far off the mark.


This girl had a hula hoop. That's pretty much it.


My Morning Jacket was the perfect band to help usher in sunset over Grant Park. I spent most of their show on my back, examining the now-cloudless sky, but I sat up long enough to get this shot. For some reason, it reminds me of the cover of "Frampton Comes Alive!". Anybody else?


Watching Sleater-Kinney reminded me of reading The Grapes of Wrath for 11th-grade English; in both cases, I knew the material was supposed to be staggeringly important, but I simply couldn't make any kind of emotional or intellectual connection with it. Still, I guess history's history. I just hope the Violent Femmes had an off night. Otherwise, I'll have two reasons to be disappointed.


My lack of enthusiams was definitely the minority opinion in the crowd that night. Most of the people around me looked like they transcended simple fandom; for most, this was less about music and more about a way of life. Many of those in attendance didn't have wristbands, meaning that they were one-day ticket holders. I'll give you one guess about who they came to see.


While My Morning Jacket was still playing, I thought I was going to have a riot on my hands. Starting at the beginning of "One Big Holiday", rumbles of discontent went through the crowd gathered for Sleater-Kinney. If Jim James played one more song, most reasoned, drastic action would have to be taken. Pitchfork and fire drastic. So, at then end of the song, James acquiesed... for about two seconds. Then, he launched into the longest, jammiest version of "Mahgeetah" you've ever heard. Ignoring my rapidly declining sense of safety, I wooed anyway.


Braaaaaaaaains....


Before Death Cab For Cutie took the stage to close things out for the night, I snuck over to the Mindfield stage for a DJ set with Mark Palgy and Craig Pfunder of Louisville's own VHS or Beta. You've never seen so many awkward, sweaty white kids flail in unison to "Funky Town".


Two wizards.


By the time I got back to the land of the living for Death Cab's set, darkness had fallen and decent seating was in short supply. Instead of fighting my way through sorority girls for a decent spot, I plopped onto the grass, set my head skyward, and let some nostalgia wash over me. No matter how much I front, it's always going to be true: Death Cab For Cutie are one of my favorite bands. Ever. And there is nothing wrong with that. The skyline seemed beautiful on my way out, so I took this picture. Then, it was off to Union Station with Krystiana and Alex, and home to a strange house, a strange bed, and the best night's sleep I'd had in weeks.

Saturday should be up late tonight, assuming I can stay awake. Expect Sunday tomorrow or later, and Vetiver shortly thereafter. Then, and only then, will things get back to normal.

Posted by Tyler at 5:47 PM | Permalink | Comments

I think my legs are falling off. Day One of Lollapalooza 2006 is in the books, and Days Two and Three are fast approaching. I'll be back among the living on Monday with pictures, thoughts, and a head-to-head analysis of this week's festivals. Until then, peace in the Middle East. For reals this time.

Posted by Tyler at 1:45 AM | Permalink | Comments

Yes, I know: the Vetiver review is still on its way. But first, peep this: while putzing around on a few random message boards this evening, I came across new tracks from this little undiscovered band I've been following for a couple of years. They're called the Shins. You might've heard of 'em. Had a couple of song a few years back? Showed up on that Garden State thing? Real promising bunch of youngsters?

Anyway, these songs, performed during a live show at the Hollywood Bowl last month, made the blog rounds when they were first recorded, but I thought I'd use them to kick off the pre-Lollapalooza hype a little early.

The Shins - Circus Walk (Live at the Hollywood Bowl). "Do affections fade away?" wonders James Mercer in a moment of love-induced disillusionment. This song doesn't really provide an answer, but makes an art of coming up with more painful questions.

The Shins - Phantom (Live at the Hollywood Bowl). The Shins bring their concern with suburban entropy to the fore on this track, at the risk of sounding tired. However, led by Mercer's tautly melodic yelps, they manage to tread the well-worn path lightly enough to pass unscathed.

The Shins - Australia (Live at the Hollywood Bowl). This song comes dangerously close to actually making listeners feel good. The lyrics themselves are your basic treatise on mutablilty and frustration, so the solace here comes from the music. Arguably the loosest song of the three, this track finds the Shins trading their occasional dourness for a doowop swing and some tribal la-las that wouldn't be out of place on an Animal Collective B-side.

Makes you want those rumblings about a new album to be true, eh?

Posted by Tyler at 2:55 AM | Permalink | Comments

With only hours left until I leave for Lollapalooza, I figured now might be a good time to tie up some loose ends from this past weekend's Pitchfork Music Festival. So, behold! Photographs!


We arrived to the festival late on Saturday, getting through security just in time to catch the beginning of Man Man's set. In my preview, I said that I expected Man Man to change my mind, and I'm happy to report that they succeeded. I'm not sure I've ever seen that kind of on-stage energy from a band in a festival setting. The band also gets bonus points for their outfits, which appeared to be a cross between tribal war dress and John McEnroe costumes.


I skipped Band of Horses in favor of grabbing some lunch (vegetarian tamales from Goose Island Brewery), so the next act I caught ended up being the Mountain Goats. Much like Man Man, I wasn't completely sold on John Darnielle before seeing him perform live. However, as the raucous crowd that showed up for his set can attest, Darnielle's laureate-sized lyrics and blustery command of the acoustic guitar are enough to win over even the stoniest skeptics. Plus, he seemed genuinely happy to be on stage, and offered some of the most endearing crowd banter of the entire festival.


After the Mountain Goats finished up, I headed off in search of the rest of my party, who had opted out of Darnielle's set in favor of perusing the merch tent. As I made my way towards the back of the festival to begin my search, I ran across two familiar faces: Mr. Chris Ashbaker and Miss Jessica Madsen, fellow Bradley English majors and consummate music fans. We chatted for a bit, then I snapped this picture and resumed my walk.


My excursion took more time and money than expected (though I came away with a Ted Leo and the Pharmacists hoodie and discs from the Danielson Famile and the Dirty Projectors), so Art Brut was the next set that I caught. Also, this is the last picture that I took before realizing that the zoom on Janelle's camera actually went up to 10x zoom instead of just 3x. As you can imagine, the pictures get better from here.


A cool moment: At one point during Art Brut's set, while the band played "My Little Brother", I happened to glance over to my right and notice none other than John Darnielle rocking out not six feet from me.


During "Moving to L.A.", Art Brut frontman Eddie Argos struck a westward pose... and held it for about 90 seconds.


I had to skip the last third of Art Brut's set in order to take my spot with Janelle and co. for Ted Leo and the Pharmacists' set. This was my first time seeing Leo live, and I'd built up my expectations so high that, as he took the stage, a little man in the back of my head whispered "This ain't gonna live up, boyo". My little man doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about.


The set itself featured a mixture of songs old and new, as the Pharmacists burned through a selection of track that stretched from 2001's Tyranny of Distance to as-yet unreleased new material. For some reason, I wasn't connecting with the new songs as much as I'd hoped I would. At the time, I chalked it up to a lack of familiarity, and I'm sticking with that until I hear what happens on the next album.


Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the highlight of the festival: during the climax of his closer, the menacing "Ballad of the Sin Eater", Leo grabbed the microphone from its stand and began bashing away, Sandman-style, at his forehead. When the blood began to flow, my jaw dropped and my camera flew to the ready. It may sound goofy, but that moment may be the closest thing to a rock spectacle that I've ever seen.


As you can tell, our spot for the Futureheads was less than ideal, but that was about the only thing about their show that failed to satisfy. Talk about a tight performance. The band's showmanship was matched only by the crowd's willingness to play along, creating a nice rapport and an electricity that was impossible for the Silver Jews to match. We were worn out after bouncing along to the Futureheads, so we took in the Jews' set in reclined positions at the back. You'd be surprised by the number of stars you can see in the Chicago night sky if you actually concentrate.


This is the group, minus me, at the end of Saturday night. For some reason, [NAME REDACTED] looks stoned out of her mind in this shot.


The El rides to and from the show were interesting. Janelle and I dubbed the trains the Hipster Express, and found particular enjoyment in picking out which scene kids we'd like to push onto the tracks. We called our new game Anna Karenina. The best/worst indie t-shirt, you ask? Why, it had to be the one that said, in stark, plain text, "I'm so indie I make Daniel Smith look like John Darnielle".


We crashed immediately after arriving at the hotel, and woke up on Sunday feeling tired but cautiously optimistic. Everyone wanted front row spots for Jens Lekman, so we left earlier than we had the day before. While the girls waited for Jens, I took a moment to sneak up to the front of Danielson's set, which was enjoyable, if a little predictable. Much like Man Man the day before, Danielson spared no expense in the outfit department, with each member dressed in his/her own uniform that brought to mind stylized images of 1950s crossing guards.


I think I have a crush on Daniel Smith's sister/keyboard player Megan Slaboda.


The girls made good on their promise of choice spots for Jens, who put on a swinging show with the most attractive backing band I've ever seen. Six Swedish girls in white dresses? Count me in. The music was pretty good, too.


Once again, I parted ways with my companions in order to seek the greener pastures of the other stage. After another quick lunch break (fish tacos, once again from Goose Island Brewery), I slid up to the Constructor stage at the end of the National in order to get a prime view for Aesop Rock and Mr. Lif. The sun was at prime baking temperature at this point, so I alternated between drinking my water and pouring it over my head. It was rough going, but all was forgotten once the tables started humming.


Though I was previously unfamiliar with either man's work, Aesop Rock and Mr. Lif put on my favorite performance of Day Two. The crowd was on their side, as well. I've never seen so many hipsters get that amped for a hip hop set.


To the 6'4" linebacker meathead in front of me who insisted on throwing up the horns and gyrating back and forth wildly at the slightest provocation from the MCs: you just made my list.


Since I'd finally wormed my way to the front, I decided to skip the Liars and tough it out until Devendra Banhart took the stage. While I waited, I amused myself by taking some pictures of those around me. Recognize anyone?


Devendra Banhart's set suffered from the fact that it followed Aesop Rock and Mr. Lif. Though I normally enjoy Banhart's brand of feel-good freakout, his set at Pitchfork felt a bit flat. At its best, though, the music still got me swaying.


Devendra Banhart: modern-day preacher man.


When Banhart pulled young Victor B. Bicycle from the crowd to perform one of his very own songs, I had to groan. I'd just spent the last hour and a half listening to Vic make a tool of himself with his girlfriend (their conversation about T. Rex was precious). However, all of my ill feelings were assuaged once he got behind the guitar. As loath as I am to admit it, this kid's got some chops.


I don't remember exactly what this little pose was supposed to signify, but it seems like it must've been important at the time.


And here I am! While milling around the front of the stage between sets, I had the pleasure of meeting a few fellow bloggers, including Matt from You Ain't No Picasso. This picture will soon be featured as part of this year's Men of the Blogosphere calendar, a charity endeavor designed to raise money to buy headphones for impoverished hipsters across the nation.


Once again, the onrush of darkness prevented me from getting any decent pictures of the night's closers (in this case, Spoon). Instead, I settled for a shot of crowd gathered behind me. "Packed" doesn't even begin to describe it. Everyone was ready for Britt Daniel and his boys to take the stage, including me. However, their performance made me reconsider a point that I argued last year after Spoon's set at Lollapalooza. Then, people called their show boring, and I disagreed. This year, though, after seeing them play what amounts to the exact same set in a different venue, I'm beginning to wonder. Still, Spoon is Spoon, and they managed to get by on the strength of their material alone. My traveling companions had work in the morning, so we skipped Os Mutantes (an error, if you ask me), and headed on our way.

And so ends our coverage of the 2006 Pitchfork Music Festival. My assessment? $30 well spent. Stay tuned for my review of last night's Vetiver show, followed by the first of three Lollapalooza previews. Exciting times? Quite.

Posted by Tyler at 9:03 PM | Permalink | Comments