virgin mobile freefest 2010

I'm torn as to how to approach writing about Virgin Fest this year. It was a lot of things--good and bad, great and horrific, life-changing and soul-crushing, often simultaneously. I guess I'll just start from the beginning.

I had been to Virgin Fest in 2007 and 2008, both at the Pimlico Race Track, a large, open venue with plenty of free space to move around and tons of room for all the vendors, stages, and tents they felt like putting up. Since 2009, the year I was too late to get tickets, Virgin Fest has been at Merriweather Post Pavilion, a venue I know very well at this point. I was there for the last HFStival in 2006, I went to several Warped Tours, and saw R.E.M., Modest Mouse, and the National a few years ago. I'm probably missing a few, but you get the point--I've been there a lot. I remember laughing out loud when I heard Animal Collective had named an album after it.

This place is not festival material. It's just not. For a single concert, it's fantastic. Between the pit, pavilion seating, and elevated lawn seating, there's not a bad seat to be had. But for a constantly shifting audience, numerous headlining acts, and multiple stages, it's a disaster area. The place was congested everywhere you went by 1 pm. The wooded area offered some respite from the crowds, but even there it was a madhouse by the late afternoon. Just too much. It's hard to call that kind of environment a festival--it was just a really big concert.

The pit was a disaster area. We arrived early, met up with some friends, and came up with a traditional festival plan: we would get up front early for the opening band (Brite Lite Brite--they need to stop making music immediately), stay for Jimmy Eat World, who we kinda wanted to see, and snag great spots for Edward Sharpe. Right after the opening band came off, however, the pit was emptied by a crew of security guards, and a new batch of people were allowed to go in.

So imagine this scene: You've just sat through a horrendous DJ/female vocalist duo waiting for the next band. They leave, and you're suddenly told to go back up the stairs, filing past a line of people who got to the pit after you did, and get in line behind them. Two minutes later, the line is allowed back into the pit, and you're ten feet behind your original position. I don't think I've been more frustrated in my entire life.

I was pissed. Here's what I furiously sent in to Twitter at the time:

"The crowd setup at Merriweather for Virgin Fest is truly scary. This has disaster written all over it."

"30k people and they're trying to clear the pit after every set, without letting people out through the pavilion seating."

"Meanwhile people are already lining up for the next band. People running to get into the pit while an entire crowd is being pushed out."

"This is Who seating on steroids."

Obviously I was overstating with that last part, but it very easily could have turned bad. I definitely ended up trampling somebody on my way to grabbing a spot for Pavement, but to the best of my knowledge no one was seriously injured as a result of the system. Still, it was fucking ridiculous and completely against the nature of music festivals. It's common practice to wait in line at the opening gates, sprint to the main stage as fast as you can, and stand there the entire day waiting for your favorite band to play. Hell, it's a tradition as old as music festivals themselves. If you don't get there early enough to see your favorite band upfront, too bad. Plan further ahead next time.

As a result, people were frequently lining up hours ahead of performances to get good spots. We were in line for about two hours to see Pavement, and even then, we were a good 20-30 people back in line. For people who didn't understand the system or didn't see it early enough to plan ahead, they were screwed. Oh well. Go to a real festival next time.

The entire venue was saturated in advertisements. It was disgusting, especially after going to a festival like Whartscape, where they didn't even sell brand name beverages, let alone have advertiser-funded vendor stands at every corner. There were some cool elements to it, like the Ferris wheel, or the beds and tents set up in the forest (the tee-pees were hotboxed instantly, no doubt), but even then it was THE KYOCERA MOBILE DANCE FOREST or whatever they were calling it. And yeah, I know the whole thing was free, I'm not that naïve, I know there's going to be advertising to pay for it, but I still ended up spending $70 on food and beer, so forgive me if paying $8 for a Shock Top distracted me from the kindness of Virgin Mobile for paying attention to my needs at a time of economic hardship, or whatever bullshit they were selling us.

And then there's the fact that the show wasn't even entirely free. Merriweather roped off the better part of the pavilion seats and charged $50 for them, but a bare fraction of them were sold, leaving them empty for the vast majority of the festival. During LCD Soundsystem's set, the last of the day, James Murphy said something to the likes of "it's the end of the day, so thank you to the organizers for letting the kids come into the pavilion seats." What he didn't realize was that people had been allowed to sit in the upper pavilion seats all day, and that they were still stopping people from coming down from the lawn. Why, I have no idea. There was no money left to be made, there was only an hour or so left in the festival, why not let them come down? It was just disgusting to watch, honestly.

In the end though, it's hard to complain. I paid a shit-ton of money on beer, but I got to see some great bands. Mainly I got to see Pavement. Like the Pavement. The real reunited line-up and everything. It was tremendous. The only downside was the horrible scheduling between the two main stages, meaning I had to miss Yeasayer, M.I.A., Ludacris, Sleigh Bells, and a ton of other Dance Forest bands I would've loved to check out. But that's just classic Virgin Fest right there--I had to miss out on TV on the Radio, Bob Dylan, Stone Temple Pilots, the Black Keys, Kanye West, and a lot of other acts because of similar problems. but let's get to the bands I did see.

8. Brite Lite Brite - Good fucking lord were they awful. It was a DJ and a female vocalist. Apparently a lot of people voted for them. No one I know did. He was a pretty great DJ, all things considered. I was digging the beats. But she was completely tone-deaf. It was hard to sit through. And since we had to leave our spots after their set, it was all for nothing.

7. Matt & Kim - This is a tricky one. I love "Daylight," but I absolutely hate every other song they have. We forced to sit through them during our wait for Pavement, and when they played their original music, it was truly painful to watch. But as a live band, they're pretty damn good. They know their audience--energetic tweens who love that crunkcore ironic bullshit--and they gave them what they wanted to see. They took the stage to "Where Brooklyn At" by Biggie, jumping around the stage and hyping themselves up. I even got a little excited for them, I'll admit, but then they started playing their own god-awful shitty hookless synth music and I was lost. They frequently stand on their instruments, lead the audience in fist-pumping sessions, etc., etc., all corny attempts at getting the crowd into it that completely worked. They were the most energetic crowd their. It was astonishing. When they played a short instrumental cover of "Let Me Clear My Throat," the place went absolutely insane. And I'll admit it--when they played parts of "Just a Friend," I got into it. They got me.

6. Neon Indian - This is a very solid sixth place. There was nothing wrong with them at all. They were mesmerizing to watch live, really. We just didn't stay very long for them. If you get a chance to see them live, do it.

5. Thievery Corporation - I'm one of the countless people who only know this band from the Garden State soundtrack. I'll admit it. But their performance made me want to really get into them. They have a bassist, guitarist/sitarist (I'm almost 100% it was the same guy who played sitar with Edward Sharpe at this show), two DJs, a saxophone, trumpet, and percussion player, who created a steady stream of flawless funk/jazz/dub/reggae/rock as guest vocalists came in and out between songs. It was fantastic festival music, stuff you could enjoy from half a mile away with a beer in hand. Which I did.

4. Jimmy Eat World - They were great, in the sense that they played lots of great songs with a great band sound, but man do they lack in stage presence. Lead singer/guitarist Jim Adkins sends every ounce of angst riveting through your body as he performs, but the other guys just do nothing. But they played a bunch of songs I love, and I had a blast seeing them. Side note though: the crowd was atrocious. There was a mosh pit running during the opening of "23." "23." Quite possibly the most depressing song in their catalog. That was a real buzzkill to watch from afar.

3. LCD Soundsystem - They might've gotten bumped up to #2, but several factors came into play about half an hour into their set. 1) I was drunk. 2) My companion/D-D was very, very sober. 3) We still wanted to party when we got back on campus. 4) They played "All My Friends," which was the song we both desperately wanted to see. So we left early. Their stage setup was simply incredible, creating a multi-tiered setup of 7 musicians surrounding James Murphy, who guided them through each song. They were tight as hell, never missing a beat, and the songs were catchy and fun as always. I'd love to see them again.

2. Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros - I'm not going to top what I wrote about them here, so I won't try. They were great, again. The crowd was terrible though, and I missed a great deal of Alex's wonderful monologues because of the endless screaming of the pre-pubescent girls who wouldn't know what to do with Alex even if they got him. He was delightful as always, walking on the crowd barrier, getting as close to the audience as (I'm guessing) Merriweather would allow him to. Jade was subdued, which was disappointing, but the rest of the band was a vibrant as ever. This time around, however, I came to the conclusion that I really don't like any of their songs beyond "Home." They're still incredible live though.

1. Pavement - Not the greatest show I've ever seen, but definitely one of the most memorable. I mean it was fucking Pavement. Stephen Malkmus was everything I ever thought he would be live. The band was just as sloppy as I had dreamed they would be. I knew every song they played, and I knew at least the choruses of 90% of them. They played "Summer Babe [Winter Version]," "Cut Your Hair," "Two States," "Stereo," "Grounded," "Gold Soundz," "Shady Lane," and so many more amazing songs. It was a brilliant greatest hits show. Knock this one off of my bucket list. I can die a little happier.

arab on radar - #1 9-12-98

After a few beers, I listened to this song on repeat a couple times and posted this on the song's Last.fm shoutbox. I'm fairly proud of it, all things considered.

the only real way to listen to this song is drunk, wearing headphones, volumes cranked up way above healthy levels, hands moving in a constant, frantic fashion that's one part air guitar, one part masturbatory homage to the evening you saw them play at whartscape, when they opened with this song, when you heard those first ringing, screaming, crying notes of polarizing noise moving through the air, and you yelled out as loudly as you could with a pure, unadulterated acknowledgment of the fruitless noise they were about to make, the sonic abomination you love and desire with every fiber in your body, and when those drums kick in and the second guitar chimes in on beat and the vocals taunt you with a sound that's half-menace, half-three-stooges-hysterics, you stare up at the entire scene and take it in, mouth wide-open, eyes unblinking, your body pushed effortlessly from body to sweaty body, eyes taking in every last movement before you. that's how you listen to this song.

flipper - sex bomb baby

I love shitty music. I really, truly do. You throw a bunch of chimpanzees in a room with a dozen bottles of banana rum, some live guitars hooked up to Marshall stacks, and a few microphones, I'll buy their album.

Chances are that album would sound something like Sex Bomb Baby by Flipper, only with less attitude and slightly worse lyrics.

The only thing stopping the chimpanzees is that whole language barrier, which is a shame really. As great as primitive screeches and howls would sound on record, it just wouldn't be able to match the poetic genius of a chorus like "Sex bomb baby, yeah"--which also happens to be the only lyric in the entire song, repeated over and over until the song finally craps out five minutes later.

This is advanced stuff right here. Hell, even the Stooges wrote verses and bridges, and they became the blueprint for everything once the world finally caught up. But in the wake of Flipper, that shit just sounds overproduced.

Thankfully, we weren't forced to wait another dozen years for the rock world to pick up on their genius. Unlike Iggy and his crew, these guys were instantly realized for the living legends they were, and within a few years they had an entire army of like-minded savants carrying on their vision, demolishing everything in their path and making every other band in the world sound like the insignificant pieces of shit they really were.

Sex bomb baby. Yeah.

kings of leon - youth and young manhood

If I ever realize my far-off dream of becoming a respected, influential music writer, my first order of business will be to completely rewrite the critical interpretation of the Kings of Leon.

For some reason, rock critics love to hate this band. Sure, they look like they came straight out of a 70s arena rock wet dream, and their music isn't exactly innovative, groundbreaking stuff, but goddammit, this is good music. Even publications like Allmusic, which celebrate the redeeming quality of mindless pop music (a stance I defend for the most part, but not to the point of giving Paris Hilton's album a 4-1/2 star review), still refuses to acknowledge that this band holds any merit.

I suppose it's understandable on some level. If you grew up listening to bands like Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones, bands who became superstars by absolutely pillaging American blues and playing it a little heavier and a lot whiter, you might object to hearing a group of 20-somethings rip off second-generation blues-rock bands to similar effect. Kings of Leon never come close to what those guys did to Robert Johnson or Chuck Berry, but hey--I'll bite. Wolfmother gets a similar rap for recycling Sabbath riffs, which leads me to believe this is a real, widespread response to these bands.

I get it. It's bullshit, but I get it. I'll admit to having comparable reactions to the neverending wave of teeny-bopper punk-pop assholes trying to be blink-182, even though in the back of my mind I fear I'm being just as irrationally dismissive of a real musical movement.

I just can't hate this music. In fact, I can't help but completely love it. It's catchy as hell, it's got attitude absolutely seeping from every note and downbeat, and fuck you, rock writers--the lead singer is an irresistible hunk of pure rock 'n roll bravado. You guys helped build up that pedestal, don't cry now that it's reaching its final conclusion.

The ultimate sadness in this story is that after three (okay, two and a half) albums of fantastic Southern blues-rock, they stopped doing coke and resigned themselves to becoming the next Coldplay. Place any song on this album (which, admittedly, is vastly inferior to Aha Shake Heartbreak, and maybe even Because of the Times, but still) next to "Sex on Fire" or "Use Somebody," those pseudo-rock chart-toppers that blanketed every media form in existence for years on end, and it's hard to believe they're the same band. I mean for fuck's sake, "Use Somebody" is just plain awful. There's nothing fun about it, there's nothing good about it, just the same shitty chords on repeat with a few angsty repeated bullshit lines about being lonely and a cheap two-note stadium vocal melody that gave every music editor in the world a collective orgasm and had every movie, TV show, sporting event, and celebrity death punctuated by the same echoing call of false emotion and plastic sentimentality that permeated our culture like a fucking virus and will probably follow me to my grave. The funeral driver will have that song playing in the front seat of my hearse as he leads a procession of friends and family down whatever cheap hellhole of a city I'll have decided to lay my sorry ass down for the rest of my days, no doubt spent prattling on endlessly about how Kings of Leon used to be something real and true, and how John Darnielle was a better songwriter than Bob Dylan. Which would be just fine by me. As long as I get a few kids to give Aha Shake Heartbreak a listen, it'll all be worth it.

drive-by truckers - decoration day

What is this netherworld that the Drive-By Truckers inhabit?

These are guys (and gal) who play unapologetic three-guitar Southern rock that worships Lynyrd Skynyrd while somehow managing to pay more homage to grimy, down-home country than any bar band their rocker image suggests. And while Van Zant and company were busy slighting Neil Young or churning out stadium anthems, the Truckers have been writing a decade's worth of music that captures the real American South better than any quintessential "Southern" band ever could.

There's no better document of this than their fourth LP, the ambitious concept album Southern Rock Opera, which finds the band filtering the Lynyrd Skynyrd legend through the razor sharp wire screen of daily Southern life in the 1970s, emerging with a record that's ultimately just as much about racial turmoil as it is rock 'n roll. But for an album that truly highlights the group's stunning abilities as Southern folk songwriters, Decoration Day is king.

The Truckers tip-toe the fine line between honky-tonk charm and redneck overkill with impressive finesse. Songs like "My Sweet Annette," which tells the story of a factory worker leaving his wife at the altar for her bride of honor, should by all accounts be far, far across that line, yet guitarist Patterson Hood manages to do the exact opposite, dragging us deep into this seemingly alien conflict and even making the listener feel sorry for the wayward groom. Similarly, "Outfit" takes the voice of a father lamenting over a life that could've went beyond painting houses for his old man, as he lists off advice for his own son, including the most brilliant description of the Southern ego I've ever heard: "Don't tell them you're bigger than Jesus / Don't give it away."

The majority of the album follows similar themes of regret, loss, and pain. It's a dark album to be sure, one that gets truly hard to listen to once you let the lyrics and images fully sink in. From the opening track's tale of consensual incest to stories of divorce, suicide, and being stuck in a nameless shithole town, nobody escapes this album unscathed, and you find yourself with plenty of strange bedfellows along the way.

Somewhere into the second half of this album, it dawned on me what this album and the Drive-By Truckers were really about. They aren't a Southern band, nor is this a Southern album. They're an American rock band, pure and simple. Every song on this album could've been placed in any town, city, dirt road, or asphalt slab in the country, and it would've still rang just as true. Don't let the steel guitars and Georgia accents fool you. These aren't Southern stories: these are American stories.