July 22nd, 2008
The annual Pitchfork Music Festival has earned its place in Chicago in just a couple of years—no surprise given the far-reaching influence of the site that launched it, Pitchfork Media. This year's fest offered plenty of bands, from willfully obscure to nostalgia fodder. It also offered, as it has in years past, probably the best festival-going experience of the summer overall—mellow crowds of manageable size, easy access to all three stages, limited corporate intrusion, and a great setting, Union Park. A.V. Club staffers from around the country descended on the city to attend; here are their minute-by-minute observations.
FRIDAY JULY 18
6:05 pm, Sean: Perhaps it's merely a happy coincidence, but Mission Of Burma drummer Peter Prescott's outfit is perfectly color coordinated with his red and white drum set. More bands should do that. As my grandmother would say, it looks snappy, like you're really putting on a show.
6:10pm, Kyle: The same music snobs (like, uh, me) who turn up their noses at groups like REO Speedwagon, Styx, and a gaggle of shitty hair-metal bands for milking the nostalgia circuit mostly don't have a problem with the thoroughly nostalgic opening night of the Pitchfork Music Festival. Whereas hearing Speedwagon go through "Take It On The Run" for the 2,439,891st time is the wrong kind of nostalgia, watching legendary or semi-legendary bands from our scene play their seminal records start to finish is the right kind. What's the difference? Well, you can't buy a deep-fried Snickers on the Pitchfork fest grounds. The Chicago Tribune's M. David Nichols slammed this new phenomenon of playing albums start to finish, but I have to say I was thrilled by the possibility of seeing Public Enemy perform It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back. I was almost as thrilled to watch Mission Of Burma tackle Vs—and mostly indifferent to Sebadoh playing Bubble And Scrape—though Signals, Calls And Marches has my favorite jams. Still, when Roger Miller began playing the opening notes to "Secrets," my heart skipped a beat. Just before the song, drummer Peter Prescott bellowed, "Welcome to the Burmadome!"
6:17pm, Kyle: Happily, I notice a row of teenage boys at the very front of Burma, singing along to every line of the songs. And the band doesn't even have a song in Guitar Hero or Rock Band!
6:30pm, Genevieve: My plan for tonight was to spend Mission Of Burma and Sebadoh's sets standing in line for beer and drinking a lot of said beer before Public Enemy, as my knowledge/appreciation of the first two bands' music is pretty infinitesimal, while my knowledge/appreciation of drinking beer is immense. But my perfunctory stop over at the Connector stage to catch a glimpse of Mission Of Burma ends up lasting the entire set. I don't believe I've heard a note of anything by the band prior to tonight, but I find the set to be engaging and good-natured; the members all seemed humbly surprised and tickled pink to be playing for such a receptive crowd. I don't know if it was mind-blowing enough to warrant a conversion to Mission Of Burma fanship, but I'll definitely be checking out Vs. in the near future.
6:31pm, Steven: Because I've never heard this incredibly important and historic Mission Of Burma album before, the main thing that interests me is the fortysomething guitarist's passing resemblance to Chris Noth of Law & Order and Sex & The City fame. MOB does sound pretty great, though, and the only way its performance could be improved is with the addition of a Jerry Orbach doppelganger, or possibly Cynthia Nixon.
6:35pm, Sean: In the middle of "Learn How," Prescott slips in the "All I wanted was a Pepsi!" lyric from Suicidal Tendencies' "Institutionalized." Smug, knowing laughter ripples through the smarty-pants record collector crowd.
6:48pm, Scott: Mission Of Burma's Roger Miller and Peter Prescott almost start into the wrong tune before Clint Conley stops them. After they play the right song, Conley notes that getting the order of one's own album wrong "takes a certain ability." This is still the strongest of the night's three full-album sets: Miller's guitar spews out jagged, articulate excitement, and Conley sings like a nastier Mick Jones.
6:57pm, Kyle: Mission Of Burma closes its set, once again providing a lesson in how to age gracefully in rock 'n' roll. For them, the night doesn't feel like a rote recitation of past glory, but a celebration of a band that's still vital, unlike what would follow the rest of the night. For Sebadoh and Public Enemy, it was painfully obvious that the glory days have long since passed. With Mission Of Burma, it felt like they hadn't ended. And that's goddamn inspiring.
7:17pm, Scott: "I don't know why the fuck we're playing after Mission Of Burma," Sebadoh's Lou Barlow says. Yep.
7:18pm, Nathan: Sebadoh's shambling, rambling set—Bubble & Scrape performed front to back—was distinguished by the sheer quantity of Lou Barlow's onstage banter. There are stand-up comedians who talk less during their sets. Would it kill the guys to maybe put on a suit and tie? People paid good money to see professionals put on a tightly rehearsed show, not a bunch of slackazoids with shaggy hair.
7:19pm, Steven: I last saw Sebadoh in 1999 at First Avenue in Minneapolis. I remember standing very still in a room with other still, serious, young men while Lou Barlow sang a song called "Love Is Stronger Than The Truth." I stopped listening to Sebadoh soon after.
7:25pm, Sean: Backstage in the line for free Chipotle burritos, Spoon's Britt Daniel uses the old "Just wanted to say hi—not trying to cut the line!" trick on me to cut the line. He tells the Chipotle rep how he used to be a stockholder in the company, but sold it when it dropped below 80 points. "Oh, but we just closed at 89!" she says. "No, I'm pretty sure you closed at 72," he says, as they play an uncomfortable round of "respectfully disagree." Then he pulls out his Blackberry to check. This is perhaps the least rock 'n' roll thing I have ever witnessed.
7:31pm, David: After finishing "Soul And Fire," consummate showman Lou Barlow sheepishly announces, "All right, track two." Instead, there's just silence onstage due to an unannounced delay. Jason Loewenstein, Lou, and Eric Gaffney of Sebadoh all trade instruments. Barlow smooths another holdup over by making small talk: "Yeah, we switch around a lot." Whoops! Barlow tuned to the wrong song, but attempts to charm the crowd with a one-liner: "We're the same Old-adoh."
7:32pm, Scott: In the first instance of weird stage banter that'll only get worse between solid, if unexciting, renditions of Bubble & Scrape's songs, Barlow fills up an instrument-switching delay by belting out the chorus of Tom Petty's "The Waiting," ending with an unpleasant shriek. "That's my vocal range, motherfucker!" he says, in a failed attempt to laugh off the awkwardness.
7:37pm, Steven: So, Sebadoh is doing Bubble & Scrape because it was the last record Eric Gaffney played on, right? Nope, still not a good enough reason to not do Bakesale instead. And I'm not just saying that because I'm a shameless Bob Fay apologist.
7:45pm, Sean: A guy trying to meet up with his friend over cell phone says, "Just look for the only black person here." Now, now… Let's not resort to easy stereotypes. There are plenty of black people here. It's just that most of them are in Flavor Flav's entourage.
8pm, Genevieve: Two beers later, I've set up shop in front of the mixing board for the Aluminum stage, where Public Enemy is set to play It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back in its entirety. It's a good spot, dead center and not too far back; but as the crowd fills in, it's looking less and less likely that I'll be able to reclaim it after another trip to the beer line. Happily, Kyle magically appears with a free 312 he smuggled out of the VIP area for me. (We're not all VIPs in The A.V. Club; I have to pay for much of my food and drink throughout the weekend, though Kyle is a champ about sneaking beers.)
8:15pm, Steven: Lou Barlow looks perturbed that most of Sebadoh's audience has left to get a good spot for Public Enemy. "I'm not going to stop playing," he mutters. First J. Mascis ignores his songs, now this.
8:20pm, Genevieve: The Bomb Squad, which is warming up the crowd prior to PE's set, promises mad bass and delivers; I can feel my cheeks vibrating, as well as my beer-filled bladder. Meanwhile, the guy in front of me is freaking out because his earplug is stuck in his ear. His friend attempts to extract it with a set of keys, an endeavor that would surely otherwise hold my attention were PE not finally taking the stage.
8:32pm, Kyle: Public Enemy is scheduled to begin at 8:30, but here's Flavor Flav and entourage strolling idly down neighboring Randolph Street, which is closed to traffic.
8:40pm, Scott: After an ominously throbbing warm-up heavy on dub-inspired bass attacks, The Bomb Squad takes off. So is this a transition or an awkward mini-soundcheck before Public Enemy begins? Momentary suspension of grooves and awe...
8:40pm, Genevieve: I thought Chuck D was rapping into two mics at the same time during "Bring The Noise" because it looked cool; turns out it's because Flava Flav, who misses the opening number, has his mic—at least if I'm understanding their onstage bickering correctly. An inauspicious beginning. Even more troubling is the fact that I have to bail shortly after Flav arrives in order to run for the bathroom. As I weave through a solid mass that reaches halfway back to the porta-potty lineup, I kiss my chances of reclaiming my awesome spot goodbye.
8:41pm, Steven: Is that Professor Griff in the house? Isn't this only the 19th anniversary of the whole "Jews are responsible for the majority of the wickedness in the world" flap? I predict PE skips that classic cut.
8:50pm, Kyle: PE performs with a live band and DJ Lord filling in for the retired Terminator X, but "Bring The Noise" sounds off. Chuck D's vocals are significantly quieter than Flavor Flav's. From my vantage point, I can't see Flav anywhere, but his voice comes through perfectly—too perfectly, actually. Chuck D keeps switching microphones to find a better one, but nothing works. When the song finally ends, Chuck is frustrated. "Where the fuck is Flavor Flav?" he asks the crowd. Turns out Flav wasn't even on stage.
8:52pm, David: A really stoned white dude in blue plaid shorts knowingly remarks, "Everyone up there is dancing." During Public Enemy's set, a burly-looking man proudly says to his friend, "I played the shit out of this cassette."
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