Pitchfork Festival

The official inaugural Pitchfork Festival was blazing hot, both in temperature and in terms of a successful turnout, having sold out both days. It was the second of two anticipated festivals in Union Park the last two months, preceded by Intonation Festival, whose attendance numbers did not reach that of Pitchfork. The two factions were one last summer. As separate entities, the two fests worked well apart, with Pitchfork’s tastemaker influence resulting in an indie-rock haven for two days and Intonation flavored primarily by indie hip-hop and other solid underground acts.

Day One:

Pitchfork hosted two main stages and a Biz3 DJ tent; a total of 40 acts graced the three stages. Saturday kicked off with a pair of local acts, the first was the garage-tipped trio Hot Machines, whose singers comprise The Ponys’ Jered Gummere and Alex White. White’s vocal had an almost drunken slur about it, which fit well with the music. Meanwhile Chin Up, Chin Up’s indie-pop had an artful vibe with some whirlwind melodies.

Continuing on the local tip, and one of the highlights on Saturday, the DJ tent was bumping early with a set from DJ/producer duo Flosstradamus. Comprising Josh Young (J2K) and Curt Cameruci (Autobot), their set pumped Daft Punk to the Jackson 5, and many styles in between, refreshingly more concerned with getting the crowd moving than sticking to any one genre. Guests stopped in to add to the mix. Chicago rapper Vyle kicked some rhymes. J2K’s Kid Sister (her MC name) aka Melissa performed her grooving single, “Let Me Bang,” a song that Spank Rock’s XXXchange worked on; later Spank Rock invited her onstage to guest as well. Damon Locks, who sing-speaks atop the ever-intriguing rhythmic-vibed The Eternals, aptly sing-rapped “Everyday I’m a hustler”—it was a nice surprise; his flow was on. A six-girl step team from Rich South high school added to the stomping set. As a frenzy of undulating bodies bumped to the beats, I watched an ox of a man crumple to the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head from the excruciating heat (radiating even hotter from the scores of people dancing). Since his friends were paying him no mind, I prodded a concerned foot at him,when he arose to say, “Why are you kicking me?” Fortunately, he got up and smiled. Scary Situation Number One averted.

Back in the indie-rock world, Band of Horses was plodding along, without much prance—a decidedly sleepy set compared to the jumping DJ tent. The same could be said of Mountain Goats, save for John Darnielle’s sick sense of humor, audience participation during possibly the first ever “acoustic pogoing” song and his humorous banter.

Destroyer is something it seems you love or hate; I fall in the former category. Dan Bejar’s voice is certainly an acquired taste, lying somewhere between a bratty Bowie and a poet hopped up on some phrase-altering drug. Forget fully understanding what he’s singing about, his turns of phrase can be poignant or downright confounded, often within the same song. His songwriting contributions for his other band, The New Pornographers, are easily distinguishable from that of Carl Newman’s: more angular, more obtuse, but they still add to the breath of fresh air that band offers. His recent release, Destroyer’s Rubies, offers artfully painted pop songs colored with pretty key flourishes and acoustic romps. The gorgeous “European Oils” and the moody “Painter in Your Pocket” were standouts during this set.

Art Brut was the highlight of day one. Frontman Eddie Argos deliverd his lyrics like he was sharing secrets with each audience member individually. Standing at the edge of the stage, he intimated detailed stories, like when he introduced a song written prior to him having sex, followed by a tune written after he had done the deed. He’s funny, charismatic and the guy next door. What’s not to love? The band itself exuded ferocious enthusiasm through their instruments, inciting sing-alongs to “Formed a Band” and “Bang Bang Rock & Roll,” its title song from the band’s stellar debut.

Back in the DJ tent Spank Rock was inciting a party of its own. Mobs of fans spilled out of the tent confines to ride the beats. DJ Devin and Darko hit the turntables while producer XXXchange and Spank Rock MC’d its sexually explicit material.

Next up was Ted Leo + Pharmacists. Ted Leo has soul. Musically, his set varied from punk and pop to ballad, and he tested out a new rocking tune. Vocally acrobatic, he cartwheels from quiet to blistering, falsetto to midrange. The thing he has in spades is great songwriting, and now that his former label, Lookout!, has folded, we can look forward to his next record on Chicago’s own Touch and Go.

The Walkmen followed with a somewhat uneven set. Some songs incorporated a frenetic, speedy pacing, while others offered keyboard-driven dreamy sonicscapes, and it never felt fully cohesive. I’ve seen them much better than this.

Much better were The Futureheads, whose ping-pong vocals and head-bobbing tunes may sound frantic, but in its fervent delivery the band is on-point precise – with all the band harmonizing and round-robin singing through its material. This is a band that is as much fun to watch as the band itself seems to have onstage.

Rounding out the night was Kanye West’s DJ, A-Trak, whose fervent scratching entertained the crowd. Silver Jews, led by David Berman, closed out the night with a rare performance. The lilting set was an apt way to cap off the night, especially when a heat exhaustion headache has taken grip. Scary Situation Number Two in full effect.

Day Two:

Yeah, I know, poor music journalist, whining about a heat headache. But yes, I still had one the next morning, and after losing my companions from Day One (one who puked the night away, the other two fell into heat-induced coma-like sleep states), I braved the heat, and it was worth it. Mission of Burma and Os Mutantes together were worth far more than the small price of admission ($20 a day), though the fest offered plenty of great acts throughout the day.

The National’s Matt Berninger weaves often desolate tales passionately into the band’s moody, dramatic sound. Their set was augmented beautifully by a keyboardist/violinist. My headache was slowly dissipating. It was a great way to start the day. Liars attempted to bring the headache back with their dual drum assault and drone/feedback/noise-rock attack, but to no avail. I was all ears and my headache was nothing but a dullish afterthought. Go ahead, bring on the noise.

In the DJ tent, rapper Cage asked the audience if they’d come from abusive upbringings. The crowd mostly remained silent, which seemed to be a surprise to Cage, who has suffered at the hands of his drug-abusing father and then later from his stepfather. His raps were seething and shocking, but deeply personal. Though the crowd may not have been able to relate personally, they gave him props as he launched into the caustic and vivid “Stripes,” a song detailing a terrible childhood with his father. It only got heavier when “The Subtle Art of the Breakup” commenced.

While one Definitive Jux artist exposed his painful past on one stage, fellow Jukies Aesop Rock and Mr. Lif flowed off one another’s rhymes, as smooth as 4:20 PM can get in 100+ heat index weather.

It’s more than a quarter of a century since Mission of Burma formed and yet the dedicated front row of fans comprised of 16-year olds who were singing along to every lyric. How many times do we need to say it, kids? It’s about writing great songs, ‘cause that’s the shit that Aside from it being my first time seeing them live and being unable to wipe the grin off my face, I was kicked out of the photo pit after the appropriate three songs to witness A-Trak and another artist playfully wrestling to “Academy Fight Song.” Would they also—pretty please—play "That's When I Reached for My Revolver?” Hell yeah. I was in heaven, and so were the rest of the attendees judging from the sea of smiling faces across the park bobbing their heads intensely in unison.

The much-hyped Devendra Banhart followed, and the hippie, freaky folk group preached love and peace, shared Maker’s Mark from a flask and, judging from the kind bud wafts filtering around the crowd, some other tenets were shared, too. The band fit in with the community vibe the fest seemed to embrace and the group invited one audience member to come up and rock out one of his own tunes. The song was middling, but the geeked-out crowd happily gave encouragement.

Yo La Tengo presented new material with old and balanced pretty keyboard-driven pop with string-breaking, revved-up guitar dirges—wonderfully noisy and always a joy to watch. For its part, Spoon’s set grew bigger and better with each song. I’ve yet to see this band not deliver a solid set, though I do prefer them in more intimate confines than this setting. I ventured to catch a little of Diplo before Os Mutantes took the stage. Diplo was mixing “Rock the Casbah” into some dance grooves and it was heating up the place.

The finale was a big one. It has been 30 years since Os Mutantes played live and this was their first North American appearance. While the first vocal strains were rusty, the group found the Tropicalia groove it helped shape and added the perfect flavor for the night. The Brazilian 10-piece group sent the fest over the top, providing sultry rhythms to go along with the humid, tropical weather. While founding member Rita Lee was not on board, founding brothers Sergio Dias and Arnaldo Baptista were. Taking the reigns in Lee’s absence was Zelia Duncan, who beamed with pride, and though she didn’t sound like Lee, she did a fine job. As a band whom lived outside the mainstream during its short hey day in the ‘60s psychedelic era, Os Mutantes was a fitting closer for a fest that happily proved independent rock and idealisms are alive and thriving in 2006.
– Althea Legaspi

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