My Bird Performs

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 on Wednesday, August 02, 2006 at 9:03 PM | Permalink