Fun Fun Fun Fest 2009
Daniel Perlaky, City On Fire
Les Savy Fav's Tim Harrington
“It’s raining in Austin—there must be a music festival” is close to becoming our unofficial motto around these parts, but while the talk of rain and mud dominated most of Sunday’s conversations at Fun Fun Fun Fest (followed only by, “I’m missing Mad Men for this?!”), it shouldn’t be the whole of the discussion. The way we see it, the final throes of Austin’s outdoor music festival season came to an appropriately chaotic climax with a bill heavy on noise and unpredictability—and what better companions in a storm? Here’s what else we were left talking about as we sought shelter from Waterloo Park.
Seriously? This again?
Offering definitive proof that outdoor festivals are a crime against nature—crimes which are finally being answered, Charles Bronson-style, in a series of vigilante downpours—this weekend’s weather was a virtual mirror image of ACL, with a beautiful first day giving way to soggy, muddy misery on the second. Some of you went so far as to blame it on little old us for our jokey promises of “No ’Dillo Dirt” in the official guide, to which we can only say: 1) Hey, we’re not the freaking weather service, and 2) all we ever promised you was a lack of reconstituted sewage. We were assured that the muck everyone was forced to ski through this time was composed of good old-fashioned, American mud, and we’re sticking to that story. (But next year we probably won’t joke about rain again.) And hey, if you want to blame it on someone, blame it on Danzig: During his set, he boldly proclaimed he’d “brought the Danzig Black Clouds of Rain” to help us ease out of our “drought.” Yeah, we needed that maybe three months ago, Glenn, but thanks for thinking of us.
Less likely cause of Sunday's rain
Of course, Danzig was just perpetuating the most oft-overheard joke of the weekend, which went—to paraphrase the members of James Husband—something like, "Good thing Danzig ordered these gloomy skies/this rain/the hellish sea of mud!" And even though in his own mind, Danzig’s stature (Danzig-is-short joke!) should be enough to whip up whatever awful weather tickles his twisted fancy, the Sunday skies were actually never clearer than when he took the stage, so that theory doesn’t totally hold water either. So who should shoulder the blame for the rain (aside from the forces of evaporation, condensation, precipitation—and us, of course)? We nominate San Marcos-based post-rock quartet This Will Destroy You, whose initial noodlings were accompanied by a steady drizzle which—in time with the epic rise of the band's instrumentals—grew to a downpour by the time Donovan Jones wrung the last bit of feedback out of his amp.
Further backhanded acknowledgment of our existence
While most took umbrage with our taunting whichever one of the Fates is responsible for fucking up people’s shoes, Atlas Sound frontman Bradford Cox publicly called "bullshit” on our "no jam bands" edict before playing for the crowd at the Orange Stage. Leaving behind his usual loops and pedals, Cox brought a full group of backing musicians along for a set that could have been described as “jammy,” we suppose, though not in the traditional sense that we meant it in. Theirs dodged both the “Zappa Zone” and Terrapin Station (despite being partially powered by an auxiliary percussionist playing djembe and conga with maracas) in favor of Krautrock-inspired song structure and Neil Young-esque, smeared soloing that, true, went way past the fabled “seven-minute mark.” But really, that’s the good kind of jamming—and hence no giant vaudevillian hook this time, Brad.
Grisliest, yet most oddly appropriate tribute
You didn’t have to be deep in the devil horn-tossing crowd to know that Danzig brought some serious diehards to Waterloo Park; we’re pretty sure the fervent sing-along to “Her Black Wings” reached the upper levels of Brackenridge, where it hopefully brought a smile to the face of a terminally ill child or something. But none were so dedicated as the lady who fought her way to the stage just as the final crush of “Mother” had faded and Danzig had scuttled off to his elf blood-driven mega-bus: Before anyone could react, she whipped out an urn and dumped her recently departed friend’s cremated ashes all over the spot where Danzig had just played, making a big, mournful mess. Apparently it was her friend's dying wish—although we're not sure said dying wish also included being swept up with a discarded set list, then deposited in some dude's Danzig III: How The Gods Kill LP, as was related to us by fest organizer James Moody this morning.
