Spring Break
A Rock Pilgrimage
Grant Snider
Issue date: 8/18/08 Section: Culture
The Fleet Foxes, hailing from the flannel-infested Pacific Northwest, proved to be a well-deserved target of Pitchfork's hype. Playing sunny, mysterious folk songs, their multi-layered harmonies were as convincing as their beards. A few more years of touring and they'll manage to avoid the long between-song pauses that sucked some momentum from their set.
Vampire Weekend, a group of Ivy Leaguers infatuated with Paul Simon's worldbeat tendencies, were less deserving of the instant critical adoration. Their live show failed to deliver the chill island vibes found on their catchy debut album. Of course, thousands of not-quite-so-cynical college kids disagreed. Maybe I'm turned off by scarves, sweater-vests, and silver spoons.
As the overcast July day grew longer, the bands grew relatively more popular and experienced. I maneuvered through the sea of hipster-lined blankets, edging slowly upstream like a spawning salmon. Rather than laying my eggs or getting picked off by a grizzly bear, I settled near the stage to catch my favorite indie rock band: The Hold Steady.
The Hold Steady is the culmination of a few proven elements of rock music: a nasal-voiced singer (a la Bob Dylan), bombastic street-poet anthems (a la Bruce Springsteen), and bar-honed guitar riffs (a la The Replacements). Pumping my fist in unison with hundreds of dudes in Minnesota Twins caps, I felt the communal energy achieved only through rock 'n' roll, religious fervor, or some combination of the two.
Animal Collective, the day's headliner, took the stage just after dusk. Given their set time, the experimental noise-rock trio was the only band who could make use of a light show. Flashing lights and teeming crowd pulsated in unison to the band's bizarre sound constructions. Weaving electronic and organic sounds, Animal Collective produced song sequences that alternated between haunting melody and frustrating dissonance. Only fundamental rhythm kept each song from self-destructing.
The band left the stage abruptly at 10 p.m.. Probably half the crowd was delighted the avant-garde hazing was finished. The other half furiously demanded an encore. I was somewhere between the two. Festival organizers came onstage to apologize: there would be no encore; the festival had to respect the noise curfew of the surrounding neighborhood. It was a harsh revelation most of the concertgoers hadn't had an imposed curfew for at least a year or two. But the fans understood - the desire for loud music can be squelched only by the threat of noise complaints. Couples retreated to parking lots, ears still ringing. Single dudes ambled out of the park toward the nearest Wal-Mart.
gsnider@unews.com
Vampire Weekend, a group of Ivy Leaguers infatuated with Paul Simon's worldbeat tendencies, were less deserving of the instant critical adoration. Their live show failed to deliver the chill island vibes found on their catchy debut album. Of course, thousands of not-quite-so-cynical college kids disagreed. Maybe I'm turned off by scarves, sweater-vests, and silver spoons.
As the overcast July day grew longer, the bands grew relatively more popular and experienced. I maneuvered through the sea of hipster-lined blankets, edging slowly upstream like a spawning salmon. Rather than laying my eggs or getting picked off by a grizzly bear, I settled near the stage to catch my favorite indie rock band: The Hold Steady.
The Hold Steady is the culmination of a few proven elements of rock music: a nasal-voiced singer (a la Bob Dylan), bombastic street-poet anthems (a la Bruce Springsteen), and bar-honed guitar riffs (a la The Replacements). Pumping my fist in unison with hundreds of dudes in Minnesota Twins caps, I felt the communal energy achieved only through rock 'n' roll, religious fervor, or some combination of the two.
Animal Collective, the day's headliner, took the stage just after dusk. Given their set time, the experimental noise-rock trio was the only band who could make use of a light show. Flashing lights and teeming crowd pulsated in unison to the band's bizarre sound constructions. Weaving electronic and organic sounds, Animal Collective produced song sequences that alternated between haunting melody and frustrating dissonance. Only fundamental rhythm kept each song from self-destructing.
The band left the stage abruptly at 10 p.m.. Probably half the crowd was delighted the avant-garde hazing was finished. The other half furiously demanded an encore. I was somewhere between the two. Festival organizers came onstage to apologize: there would be no encore; the festival had to respect the noise curfew of the surrounding neighborhood. It was a harsh revelation most of the concertgoers hadn't had an imposed curfew for at least a year or two. But the fans understood - the desire for loud music can be squelched only by the threat of noise complaints. Couples retreated to parking lots, ears still ringing. Single dudes ambled out of the park toward the nearest Wal-Mart.
gsnider@unews.com
Be the first to comment on this story