Pitchfork Fest 2007 @ Union Park, Chicago Show Review by Guest Contributor
It seems like Pitchfork is getting pretty good at these fest things. I guess after you, as a company, attend and criticize enough of them, the onus is on you to make sought after improvements. After penning a thoughtful look at last year's edition, Allie Greenberg is back with a review (and photos) of this year's throwdown. Thanks Allie! - Jordan
Friday, July 13th, 2007
With the sun still high in the early evening, the after-work crowd slowly trickled in, buzzing with excitement. The Pitchfork Music Festival planners, together with British promotional company All Tomorrow’s Parties, decided add another day to the festival. The twist? Three well-respected groups would each perform their most-acclaimed album in its entirety. SLINT was set to perform Spiderland, GZA would rap his way through Liquid Swords, and SONIC YOUTH would, for the first time on U.S. soil, play Daydream Nation from start to finish.
I headed in, eager to see if the festival was as well executed as it was last year. Once again, they handed me a map of all of the vendors, stages, and a list of the set times. So far, so good.
I went into the photo pit for Slint, eager to see how they handled the acoustic-style tracks in the middle of Spiderland. The opening songs were even more loyal to the recording’s sound than I had hoped. The show was not visually entertaining, and the crowd was not nearly as large as it would be as the evening wore on, but Slint clearly put every bit of themselves into this performance. When it came time for my favorite tracks, they floored me with their perfect performance, bringing out an additional guitarist with a six-string acoustic and stripping the rest of the band down to just one guitarist. Perfect.
GZA (of Wu-Tang Clan fame) was setting up over on the Aluminum stage. Honestly, I did not know what to expect, as I am not a rap fan, and had not really heard of Wu-Tang Clan until about a year ago. GZA, however, was enough of a well-seasoned performer to make me forget the fact that I do not generally classify rap as music.
The crowd became largest when SONIC YOUTH came onstage. Kim Gordon’s dancing and antics kept me thoroughly entertained, and the quality of the music was relatively good. The light show that they had added, which alternated between red and yellow very quickly, made it a photographer’s nightmare. After the opening track, the group went into a five-minute experimental-type freestyle bit, which I didn’t get at all (sounded like someone drawing a violin bow across a compressed electric guitar with an erratic beat underneath it). Unfortunately, this was supposed to count as a song, and, as press members were only allowed in the photo pit for three songs, I was asked to leave the pit after the next song. I felt that I had only really gotten to stay in there for two real tracks, and most of the photographers I spoke to said the same. The rest of the set, while loyal to the album, had the same disjointed feel as the first three tracks. Enjoyable, but unsettling.
Saturday, July 14th, 2007
It was clear to me when I initially got tickets to Pitchfork this year that Saturday would be the day to be there. Sure enough, it sold out more quickly than the other two days. Entering the grounds, though, I was disappointed to learn that the organizers had decided to sell twice as many tickets per day as they did last year. The sardine-like arrangement of fans around stages combined with the heat made the early afternoon rather uncomfortable. Thank goodness they were wise enough to stick to selling water bottles for one dollar a piece! (This year they also had a program where you could get free CDs in return for bringing 12 plastic bottles over to a booth near the food area. Good deal!)
The first group I caught that day was VOXTROT. I had very high hopes for their performance, and they did not disappoint. By far the most energetic group I had seen yet, they were able to get even the coolest scenesters dancing, and got a sing-a-long going at one point. The perfect blend of indie and punk rock flowed from the speakers during their time onstage. Their set was altogether too short for my liking, and so I remedied this fact by buying the CD for a mere ten dollars.
After grabbing a bite to eat, I headed over to the Boost Mobile tent for the supposed “meet-and-greet” with the band, only to find out that the “meet-and-greet” was a not a traditional signing. It was more “use our sample cell phones and call and talk to one member of the band for a few minutes.” Boo. (At the end of the day, James Hepplewhite and I ran into a fellow festivalgoer who had located the band and gotten a signed poster. As the guy did not feel terribly enamored by the group, he was kind enough to give us the poster. Whoever you are, if you are reading this, thank you!)
Disappointed, I went over to the smallest stage in the park to see FUJIYA and MIYAGI, a group that has gained intense popularity among dance-music-lovin’ college students. To give those who have not heard of this group an idea of the sound and performance, I will try and do the group justice. Picture three British men on guitar, bass, and synths all singing in faux-Japanese accents “We are only pretending to be Japanese.” Their lyrics were simple, catchy, and amusing, and their music brought an energy to the crowd that I had not seen that day. I had been a bit skeptical about Fujiya and Miyagi, what with their seemingly gimmicky front, but I admit that I fell head over heels for them, and my bad mood was instantly remedied. Little did I know that Fujiya and Miyagi had just kicked off the afternoon-long dance party at the Balance stage.
IRON AND WINE took one of the main stages a short while later. I enjoyed them, but it was not the type of music that Fujiya and Miyagi had left me prepped for. In my book, Iron and Wine’s music is music to study to, not sing-a-long-at-the-top-of-your-lungs energetic, which is what I was looking for. All in all, though, a solid set, with nice vocals and calming, gently soaring guitars.
Luckily for me, 15 minutes into Iron and Wine’s set, PROFESSOR MURDER began to play on another stage. I had heard of Professor Murder, but I had never actually heard their work. While it did not exactly hit home with me emotionally, it satisfied my desire for energetic dance-hall music, and picked up right where Fujiya and Miyagi had left me. The lead singer was barely visible behind his set-up of drums, cymbals, tambourines, glockenspiels, and cowbells, which somewhat added to the magic of their performance. It was also the first time that day since Voxtrot that I had seen the performers exude an energy that clearly said “I’m enjoying myself, you should too!”
Finally, at six in the evening, the odd-band-out thundered onto one mainstage: MASTODON. I like their albums well enough, but seeing them live was enough to make me switch over from passive listener to active fan. As one of my fellow female photographers put it, “That just made my nonexistent testosterone levels go over the top.” Goatees and hair were flying every which way. Tattoos became a massive, inky blur as the musicians jumped around for the crowd. I could hardly feel my body in space as the subwoofers right in front of me screamed. Then I saw what I thought I would never see at Pitchfork: a mosh pit. Thank you, Mastodon!
Soon after, I ran over to another stage to catch DAN DEACON, a middle-aged man wearing a touristy turquoise ensemble and huge 80’s-style glasses. He looked like he had just stepped out of Office Space. I was interested in seeing how the festival-planners handled the odd catch in Deacon’s contract. Sure enough, they caved to his request not to perform on a stage, but to be in the crowd, on the same level, performing with no barrier around him. The kids pushed in closer and closer to him, and the increased security around Deacon had quite a time keeping things under control. I found myself helping the sound techs pass compressors and DI boxes over to Deacon, threading the cords through the fence that separated the press pit from Mr. Deacon and the crowd. I had expected most of this, but then Dan shouted “Hey, can you get me my iPod shuffle? It’s taped to a banana!” A few seconds later, I found myself passing a plastic toy banana with the tiny shuffle to Mr. Deacon. As if this wasn’t enough, Deacon then proceeded to make me laugh so hard that I had to use the Port-a-Potty soon after:
“I want you guys to get ready to party. Like, really party. Like you just got a new pack of Marvel trading cards, and you got a Silver Surfer foil, which you didn’t even know existed, and you got an extra Spiderman foil, so now you can trade for something really awesome!”
The rest of Dan Deacon’s set had to be seen to be believed. I will certainly try to see him again!
The next set that I wanted to catch was CAT POWER and the DIRTY DELTA BLUES. Cat Power was incredible. I do not think that anyone hated that set. Her beautiful, strong, soothing vocals and her graceful movements and performance were just stunning. And, for the first time all day, I saw the lead singer of a group interact—really interact—with her fellow group members. The thing that impressed me most was that Cat’s lack of the expected I’m-too-cool air about her. She seemed genuine in her emotions and passion for her music.
As the sun was setting, the person that so many turned out to see strutted on stage. Some in our generation only know her name, while others may know her as the woman who broke up the Beatles. (In my family, we used her name in place of “Marco Polo” at the pool).
Yes, I am speaking of the famous (and infamous) YOKO ONO.
A bit of backstory is necessary before I attempt to describe the painful experience that was Yoko Ono’s set. Upon entering the fairgrounds, every Saturday attendee was given a keychain flashlight with the words “OnoChord” and the date on it. Accompanying this trinket was a postcard that explained that one should flash the light to convey the following message: one flash = “I,” two flashes = “love,” three flashes = “you.” This, ladies and gentlemen, is Yoko Ono’s way of trying to bring about world peace. Through a flashlight. Nobody tells this lady “no,” apparently.
Her set opened late, with a 10 minute video shown on the screens of her flashing flashlights with various people around the world and her explaining over and over and over, in the voice of a dying Furby, “I… love… you…” The diehard Yoko fans were in front, shouting and flashing their little lights, while the rest of the crowd hurled the flashlights toward the stage (and missed, hitting all of us poor photographers instead).
Then Yoko came out and began making guttural sounds and suggestive noises and movements. She “sang” a song she wrote “just hour before show.” Then she reenacted a scene of a man raping a woman, and then a man divorcing a woman. She played all of the parts.
I called it a night at that.
Sunday, July 15th, 2007
I’m not going to lie. All of this artsy crap really wore me out. The advantage of being a press person at Pitchfork is that you can leave and come back. So, exhausted, I headed over to catch DEERHUNTER and THE PONYS, and subsequently had to deal with even more artsy crap.
Deerhunter is — bizarre. I could not figure out what to make of the lead singer. A tall, gaunt, thin young man came out wearing several dresses all at once. Most people were trying to figure out what why he looked like he did (Marfan’s syndrome explains his stature, but the dresses…) He had one turquoise glove on his right hand, with a tiny skeleton dolls dangling off of a string attached to each finger. All of the other band members were wearing sunglasses. Deerhunter’s frontman proceeded to walk over to each band member and wiggle his fingers, making the dolls dance. The bulk of the band’s set was beyond my comprehension. The singer put the entire microphone head in his mouth and moaned repeatedly and pressed buttons, looping the moans. He stripped down to shorter and shorter gauzy dresses. The other band members were unfazed by this behavior, and just kept playing and, to quote SAY ANYTHING, being “so-post modern.”
I gave up on trying to understand that, and headed over to catch the Ponys. I enjoyed their set, but there was nothing that really struck me as extraordinary about their music. Just a good time, a good set. The thing that apparently was such a big deal about them, according to my fellow photographers, was the fact that they had such a highly skilled female bassist. She was very good, but the fact that—oh my gosh—they had a female bassist did was not enough for me to run over and grab the album.
After returning home to air-conditioning for a bit, I decided that I really wanted to see the NEW PORNOGRAPHERS. And thank goodness I went back, because they sure as hell didn’t disappoint. Most people were disappointed that NEKO CASE was not there, but I was just happy to be singing along and enjoying myself again. Finally, something accessible that I could really get into.
After tolerating some of DE LA SOUL’s set (hip-hop is just not my cup of tea, folks), I headed toward the gates. I waited for my ride while I chatted with a photographer from Playboy, and thought of how much better this year’s festival was than last year, the only negative being the overcrowding. Thank you, Pitchfork, for once again showing us that festivals can be both reasonably priced, enjoyable, and have a wonderful community feeling.
The crowd became largest when SONIC YOUTH came onstage. Kim Gordon’s dancing and antics kept me thoroughly entertained, and the quality of the music was relatively good. The light show that they had added, which alternated between red and yellow very quickly, made it a photographer’s nightmare. After the opening track, the group went into a five-minute experimental-type freestyle bit, which I didn’t get at all (sounded like someone drawing a violin bow across a compressed electric guitar with an erratic beat underneath it). Unfortunately, this was supposed to count as a song, and, as press members were only allowed in the photo pit for three songs, I was asked to leave the pit after the next song. I felt that I had only really gotten to stay in there for two real tracks, and most of the photographers I spoke to said the same. The rest of the set, while loyal to the album, had the same disjointed feel as the first three tracks. Enjoyable, but unsettling. 
The first group I caught that day was VOXTROT. I had very high hopes for their performance, and they did not disappoint. By far the most energetic group I had seen yet, they were able to get even the coolest scenesters dancing, and got a sing-a-long going at one point. The perfect blend of indie and punk rock flowed from the speakers during their time onstage. Their set was altogether too short for my liking, and so I remedied this fact by buying the CD for a mere ten dollars. 
Finally, at six in the evening, the odd-band-out thundered onto one mainstage: MASTODON. I like their albums well enough, but seeing them live was enough to make me switch over from passive listener to active fan. As one of my fellow female photographers put it, “That just made my nonexistent testosterone levels go over the top.” Goatees and hair were flying every which way. Tattoos became a massive, inky blur as the musicians jumped around for the crowd. I could hardly feel my body in space as the subwoofers right in front of me screamed. Then I saw what I thought I would never see at Pitchfork: a mosh pit. Thank you, Mastodon! 
Deerhunter is — bizarre. I could not figure out what to make of the lead singer. A tall, gaunt, thin young man came out wearing several dresses all at once. Most people were trying to figure out what why he looked like he did (Marfan’s syndrome explains his stature, but the dresses…) He had one turquoise glove on his right hand, with a tiny skeleton dolls dangling off of a string attached to each finger. All of the other band members were wearing sunglasses. Deerhunter’s frontman proceeded to walk over to each band member and wiggle his fingers, making the dolls dance. The bulk of the band’s set was beyond my comprehension. The singer put the entire microphone head in his mouth and moaned repeatedly and pressed buttons, looping the moans. He stripped down to shorter and shorter gauzy dresses. The other band members were unfazed by this behavior, and just kept playing and, to quote SAY ANYTHING, being “so-post modern.” 
