11:45am: The parking at the Gorge supposedly has a system, but damned if I can figure it out. Bored attendants wave us into symmetrical rows without rhyme or reason, right in the middle of the tall grass—which I mow down with the giant Escalade the rental car company gave me (the magic of the free upgrade!). I look around desperately for some sort of landmark, and some guy—noticing my frustration—says, "This is C3," pointing at a broken sign laying flat on the ground near the base of a light pole. Great.
11:55am: After an incredibly lax security check of my bag ("Uh, any weapons in there?"), I make my way through the onslaught of swag merchants trying to get me to rock the vote or petition this or drink that. The biggest phalanx of pushermen approaches waving bandanas that simply say, "Rocker"—the first of many plugs I'll see today for the upcoming Rainn Wilson movie (more on that later). It's hard to resist a free bandana, and more than half of the crowd is already decorated in them—some more creatively than others.
12:01pm: It's just the first of many steep climbs today—and it's also the most rewarding. Cresting over the top of the hill is some of that purple mountain's majesty I've heard so much about, with the Columbia River snaking across the horizon. For a Texas boy born in the brush—or, at least, the flat-as-fuck suburbs—it's genuinely breathtaking.
All that splendor is the perfect backdrop to the bucolic, baroque hymns of Fleet Foxes, currently making the aural equivalent of amber waves of grain on the main stage. The band plays seated, adding to its round-the-campfire vibe, the only movement the rippling of the members' long hair in the breeze (those beard-y hippies!). They're also flanked by huge ads for Rock Band—funny, since despite the slightly Who-like, anthemic build of "English House," I certainly wouldn't classify them as "rocking." They are, however, an excellent choice to kick off a festival that's as much about atmosphere as music.
12:13pm: "I'm rarely ever up before noon on a Saturday," singer Robin Pecknold says, before humbly, repeatedly thanking everyone for being "awesome." Throughout its set, the band sounds confident and unhurried, obviously at home here in the natural setting where it spends so much time lyrically. Pecknold's solo take on the round robin that opens "White Winter Hymnal" gets some surprising cheers of recognition, nearly drowning out the gentle harmonies that follow; it's obviously the crowd favorite, but my own tastes run more towards its follow-up, the minor chord spaghetti western gallop of "Your Protector." I think it's only a matter of time before some enterprising music supervisor scoops these guys for some soundtrack work. I grabbed Pecknold for a quick interview after his set.
AVC: How was it being the first band to play?
Robin Pecknold:It was cool. I was worried that no one would be here yet. But it was fine. People were here.
AVC: This sort of setting seems tailor-made for your kind of music.
RP: [Laughs.] Yeah, yeah. I love it out here. I've been to a bunch of shows here. There's no place like it—maybe Red Rocks. But this is the first festival we've played. Just getting in here was a huge nightmare. There were so many gigantic tour buses and stuff.
AVC: How'd you like being flanked by giant ads for Rock Band?
RP: That stuff's always kind of weird, but I guess they have to pay for it somehow. At least it wasn't on the microphone. But whatever. Someday we'll get a song on there.
AVC: Oh yeah?
RP: [Laughs.] No.
AVC: Who are you looking forward to this weekend?
RP: We're leaving for Europe on Monday, actually, so I might need to go home tonight to get packed and ready for that. I did see half of Beirut and half of Throw Me The Statue, and they were both really good. But I mostly just plan on going home. I got no sleep last night. I had really crazy insomnia. It was really weird. We stayed at this place—like the kind of place a frat would rent out and go party. So when we rolled in there was this huge frat party going on.
AVC: I have the same problem at my hotel. My whole floor is apparently a college baseball team, plus me. Do you wish you were camping instead?
RP: Compared to that, yes. But camping here isn't really camping. It's still kind of a party. I think it would be even harder to go to sleep. I saw Radiohead here when they put out Kid A, and it was crazy.
AVC: If you had to share a tent with anyone playing here this weekend, who would it be?
RP: Dengue Fever. That girl has a nice voice. She's pretty. Do you mean, like, one of those mansion tents? Or a regular tent? Maybe Throw Me The Statue, because they're buddies.
AVC: If this were Woodstock, who would you be?
RP: Maybe John Sebastian. You've seen that movie, right? He's the most annoying dude. His banter was so terrible. You know, I just assume we're the most annoying band here.
12:20pm: "This is some awesome grass," a guy behind me says. Until now, I've been wondering where all the drugs are. The view, the vibes—this place should be ablaze with a thousand joints. "Yeah," a female voice answers. "It's real nice and cushy." Oh…They're actually talking about the grass. A few minutes later I overhear another conversation: "Man, that chick was rolling like crazy." Ah, you crazy kids and your ecstasy. "I know," his friend says. "This hill is so steep, rolling down it like that is really dangerous." Oh…they're actually talking about rolling. This is like an episode of Three's Company.
12:55pm: There's a total clusterfuck going on at the Comedy Tent where the Upright Citizens Brigade is due to go on. The security guard at one side directs a mass of hopefuls to the other side of the fence—which means trudging back down the hill and up it again—and her partner on the other side says the main entrance is back where we came from, and he doesn't know why she told us to come over here. The total lack of communication between these folks in Live Nation shirts will be a running theme today, as no one seems to be on the same page about anything, or have any idea of what's happening when or where things are. (Those walkie-talkies dangling from their belts are apparently just for fun.) When I get back to the side I started at, the line stretches back up the trail towards the ridiculous MLB Road Show batting cages, and now that same security guard is explaining how everything is at capacity and no one else can come in. I spy Matt Besser through the fence and do something I swear I don't do very often: Drop my Onion affiliation to see if he can get me in. Surprise—it works. He comes around the gate and personally escorts me inside the tent, which, while holding a good 100 people or so, shouldn't really count as "capacity" at a festival this size. Part of the problem are these metal folding chairs, not to mention the dozens of giant backpacks half the guys are carrying.
1:05pm: Matt Walsh comes out on stage, acting as host for this performance. He bitches about his intro music, saying that it should be something more upbeat—it's a rock festival, for God's sake. Matt Besser pops up behind the DJ booth, and they have a funny back-and-forth as Besser repeatedly puts on stuff like "Piano Man" ("Who doesn't love 'Piano Man'?") and a maudlin selection from the Lion King soundtrack before Walsh gives up. It's a funny bit, but hindered by the fact that Walsh's microphone keeps cutting out. Frustrated, Walsh says, "This is a really good opening bit, where no one can hear what I'm saying."
1:08pm: Walsh introduces Jerry Minor (Mr. Show, Lucky Louie) as "the guy who does all those great sound effects from the Police Academy movies—Michael Winslow!" Minor proceeds to do a routine as Winslow, recounting the Jasper hate crime against James Byrd Jr. and punching it up with lame sound effects. It gets more stunned silence than laughter. When he gets to the part about how, when Byrd died, his bowels released—punctuating it with a long, drawn-out fart noise (usually comedy gold)—it becomes obvious that most people here are uncomfortable. "I see some of you are laughing, but this is a very serious story!" Minor says. "We're not laughing," someone calls out.
1:10pm: Walsh and Besser come back out and get the crowd back on their side with some funny bits about all of the things that are for sale after the show, including T-shirts and "Wet And Wild Teen Cunt downloads." Besser reminds everyone that by entering they've agreed to have their image used in the UCB video they're taping, and that "we can also Photoshop a donkey dick in your mouth." He then does a funny bit about the various hats you can and cannot wear, including, "No ironic sombreros. If you're Mexican and it's your siesta time, it's okay, but we don't want to see you wearing a sombrero just because you won some stupid margarita contest or something." Again, a funny routine hampered by the fact that the microphones keep cutting out every 10 seconds or so. Everyone's eyes keep turning to meet the soundman, who's shrugging and texting someone on his iPhone.
1:15pm: Poor Sean Conroy is the hardest hit by the sound problems: The mic seems to cut out right on the punchline of every joke, forcing him to repeat it once it cuts back in. It's absolutely killing his timing, and his frustration is obvious. Finally, he just starts screaming his jokes without a microphone, which adds a funny Sam Kinison vibe—although his routine is mostly of the "skewed observation" variety, focused on his little niece and nephew and the things they say, such as his nephew's tendency to talk in hip-hop slang despite being white and incredibly nerdy. ("Yo kid, I gots a bassoooon lesson.")His struggle wins him the sympathy of the crowd, though, and he's finally getting the laughs that Minor's act presumed he would be getting.
1:20pm: Walsh introduces the next act as a veteran of Last Comic Standing—a comedian who overcame the adversity of being deaf and blind and having no arms to win. Besser comes on stage, his arms tied behind his back, speaking in a voice that someone familiar with the show (is anyone?) would probably read as a dig at fourth season winner Josh Blue. It's a little bit wrong, but jokes like, "What has two thumbs and likes to eat pussy? Not this guy" are so, so right.
1:30pm: Walsh introduces Tim Meadows in his "Leon Phelps, The Ladies Man" character, who gets huge whoops and applause as he enters draped in a toga, explaining that he's late because he was "taking care of M.I.A. She's a feisty little number" and that "The Breeders are next—because they're breeders." The gags are pretty stale—not surprising for a character that was played out over a decade ago—and the Q&A session with the audience is about as obvious and uninspired as you'd expect, with people asking Phelps if he "likes to do it in the butt" and what his favorite position is. The one slightly funny moment comes when Walsh asks if Phelps likes to "toss salad," to which Phelps says, "I don't know. I've eaten salad. I also like licking ass, if that's what you mean." Hey, can we get Opera Man in here next?
1:45pm: Lots of people clear out after Meadows, and even more walk out during Rich Fulcher's set, which seems entirely based on stuff that he and Besser (a former roommate) found funny while stoned at 4 a.m., including a bizarre, joke-less riff on how he has moles growing in the shape of a Starbucks and a Subway, and a Taco Bell growing out of his ass. Huh? He does a semi-funny riff on the Austrian incest dad ("If that were my house, my mom would be screaming at me down in the basement, 'What are you doing down there? Do you have a secret family where you're raping your daughter?"), and Besser calls out from the audience and asks him to do his impression of Dr. Smith from Lost In Space. "Mmmmm, stop rrrraping me!" Pulcher says, for his second rape-related gag in a row, then takes it one step further by doing an impression of Smith as the Austrian incest dad. Besser is cracking up, but, uh, I guess you had to be there? Pulcher wraps up his half-baked set with some all-too-obvious "fake porn titles based on real movies" gags, better examples of which I've seen here in the comment boards. ("Juno? How about, um, Spooge-o?") Hi-larious.
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