Oh, the go-for-broke ’90s: when major labels treated their independent counterparts like a minor-league farm system. Flush with money and an unshakeable hubris that they always would be, they promised bands fat recording budgets, better distribution, and maybe stardom with this alternative-rock thing.
The final night of Matador’s “Lost Weekend” offered a fitting epilogue to that story, with a celebration of the identity the label fostered in its artists, even the ones who left, like Sunday night performers Liz Phair and Guided By Voices. “We left them for a while because we thought we were hot shit,” said GBV frontman Robert Pollard during his band’s set, effectively summing up the mindset of every band who made the same move. “But we came crawling back for another three records.” Phair, whose departure from the label was more contentious (and whose subsequent albums alienated old fans), was all smiles too. “I’m totally glad to be back at the college reunion we’re having this weekend,” she said during her short five-song set.
Sunday night offered the same balance of nostalgia and thinking ahead that characterized the other days of Matador At 21. Granted, the nostalgia was at peak potency: Robert Pollard had reunited the “classic” lineup of his revolving-door band, which produced indie-rock landmarks Alien Lanes, Bee Thousand, and Under The Bushes, Under The Stars. Guided By Voices played its ostensible final shows in Chicago six years and roughly three dozen Pollard solo albums ago, but it made sense to get the band back together for a weekend celebrating Matador. Along with Pavement, it was the label’s biggest ambassador.
The day began with a three-band matinee show in the Pearl Ballroom featuring Kurt Vile, Times New Viking, and The Clean. The last drew a particularly large and enthusiastic crowd—The Clean enjoyed a “don’t miss them” buzz Sunday—which greeted the trio like it belonged on the main stage in the ballroom. Ira Kaplan and Georgia Hubley of Yo La Tengo joined on guitar and percussion, respectively, for one song. The ballroom presented the only real logistical problem of the weekend: Two small elevators offered the only entrance and exit. A security guard blocked the one set of stairs that offered egress, and instead directed the crowd out another set of stairs that led nowhere. For a good 10 minutes after The Clean’s set, packs of confused people wandered dead-end hallways trying to find a way out.
In the main room a couple hours later, Shearwater kicked off the night after an introduction from Scharpling & Wurster, the hilarious comedy duo of radio host Tom Scharpling and Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster. Scharpling plays the straight man to Wurster’s colorful palette of miscreants and blowhards, which Sunday night included a condescending blogger, Gene Simmons, and recurring character Philly Boy Roy. In short, Scharpling & Wurster should host every festival, everywhere.
One of the newer additions to the Matador roster, Ted Leo And The Pharmacists, took the second spot on the bill and threw down a formidable gauntlet for the bands that followed. Leo’s dependably great albums and frequent touring make it easy to take him for granted, but his blistering set provided a powerful warning against such complacence—Leo’s just too damn good to overlook. Every song, from opener “Where Have All The Rude Boys Gone” to closer “The Ballad Of The Sin Eater” sounded a little fast and reckless, but Leo and his three bandmates kept each song wound tightly. When he ditched his guitar for the “The Ballad Of The Sin Eater,” a completely blown-out rendition propelled by a heavily distorted bass, he gripped the mic hard and skulked the stage like he was the singer of a hardcore band. To close the set, Leo and company played a cover of Nick Lowe’s ironic “I Love My Label” (with an assist from Carl Newman of The New Pornographers), but made it completely heartfelt. As the band broke the song down at the end, Leo told a story of going to see his high-school classmate Matt Sweeney’s pre-Chavez band in 1989, and having Sweeney tell him he had to check out the opener, H.P. Zinker. Leo would closely follow Matador in the years that followed, and seemed genuinely honored to be part of it now. “I’ve been on a lot of labels, and the thing they all have in common with this particular label is that they fucking love music,” he said.
Up next were The New Pornographers, the only other band besides Belle & Sebastian that actually used up most of the Pearl Theater’s giant stage. The band was eight strong for this show, including Neko Case, frequent holdout Dan Bejar, and an extra multi-instrumentalist who alternated between cello and saxophone. With the show running behind again and only a 45 minute set, the band blew through a string of hits, opening with “My Slow Descent” and including “Sing Me Spanish Techno,” “Use It,” “Letter From An Occupant,” and closer “The Bleeding Heart Show.” Sprinkled in were a few Bejar songs and, as always, the ace stage banter between Newman and Case. As a band, the New Pornos have an even closer relationship to the Matador than their peers: Newman met his future wife because she worked at the label. “People always think my lyrics are bullshit, but this song is about me meeting my wife,” Newman said before “Challengers.” “Carl, we don’t think you’re bullshit,” responded drummer Kurt Dahle. The crowd laughed, and Newman replied, “I wish I could hear you, Kurt,” referencing the monitor issues that plagued bands all weekend.
On the weekend’s schedule, Liz Phair’s 20-minute set stuck out. No one else was playing such an abbreviated show, and considering Phair has performed Exile In Guyville in its entirety on tour, it was odd to see her play such a diminished role in the weekend’s festivities. Maybe bad blood still lingers all these years (and subpar albums) later. But when she took the stage along with a guitarist Sunday night, she was greeted like a conquering hero. And with such a short set, she could easily focus on the hits: “Supernova,” “Divorce Song,” “Stratford-On-Guy,” “Nashville,” and “Fuck And Run” (featuring Ted Leo on backups). Of all the Matador alumni, Phair has had the toughest time recreating the magic of those early records. Though she arguably wasn’t trying to do that; her output over the past decade has focused on mainstream adult pop, like Sheryl Crow with an edge, a style that would fall on deaf ears in the Pearl Theater. But Sunday night, it was all about the Liz Phair, the hot-shit smartass singer from Wicker Park. It would’ve been nice to have heard more from her.