1 Fucked Up's Damian Abraham performs with a half-eaten beach ball on his head
Image by Kirstie Shanley
Hits and misses came in Wavves, and things got a little Fucked Up on Day Two of the 2009 Pitchfork Music Festival
By Selena Fragassi & Leah Urbom
Published: July 19th, 2009 | 10:00am
Pitchfork Day Two started with new kids on the block, Cymbals Eat Guitars, an experimental year-old group from New York. “We’re really happy to be here … there’s a lot of people,” said the meek frontman, Joseph D’Agostino (who couldn’t be more than 20 years old), before he ripped off his sheep’s clothing to unveil growling guitar arrangements that you could sink your teeth into.
Although the name of the band may be Cymbals Eat Guitars, at this set, D’Agostino’s guitar devoured any percussion with long, wailing interludes that mimicked his passionate screaming. His radiating energy was enough to make you forget about not only the drums, but also the keyboards and bass behind him — and made D’Agostino have to catch his breath after fits of coughing. Although the band’s sound could mature beyond their tired teen angst formula, at least they’ve moved beyond their Guitar Hero days.
Seattle’s the Dutchess & the Duke relied more on a philosophy of simplicity to steal their side-stage show. Singer-guitarists Kimberly Morrison and Jesse Lortz relaxed in their T-shirt and jeans style, accessorized by sunglasses and pretty guitars. Now supported by a touring band, the Dutchess & the Dukes’ chic "California alt-country meets cowboy hipster" sound was sleepy yet polished on tracks like “Back To Me” from 2008’s She’s the Dutchess, He’s the Duke (Hardly Art).
Known for baptizing the crowd with blood, sweat, tears, and other mysterious bodily fluids, Fucked Up singer Damian “Pink Eye” Abraham was more subdued on the Pitchfork Aluminum Stage. The larger-than-life character started the set by crushing a Pepsi can on his forehead before he paced the stage, causing outright suspense for the crowd who awaited a horror show from the GG Allin wannabe.
The most he gave was a short feast on beach balls, which he ripped apart like an animal and spit back at the crowd before stuffing sunflowers in his shorts. Fucked Up was the first to really rip it open for Day Two (much like the Jesus Lizard on Day One) and the crowd once again gave their love back with overwhelming cheers and a raft of support for the obese Abraham, who proceeded to park it among the crowd for the rest of the set.
Although “Pink Eye” wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes, his move was disappointing, as it left only a few rows with a full-on view while the rest of us had to watch the less charismatic band left on stage. One exception was bassist Sandy Miranda, who played her instrument with precision and confidence amid the entourage of big ol’ sweaty men. The problem with Fucked Up is that, although “Pink Eye” is a bonafide performer, the sound has absolutely nothing to grab on to: a barren land of noise, void of rhythm and melody, leaving many to plead, “Just show me the blood already!”
In a quick mood change, the rain began to pour, and the masses moved toward The Pains Of Being Pure at Heart, whose fuzz pop sound was a welcome breather from the mayhem. “We got advice from ‘Pink Eye’ today,” said lead singer Kip Berman, “he said we should sound more like Weezer if we can … I agree.”
The band, whose adorable look could be pulled straight out of a John Hughes movie or Ralph Lauren ad, were enjoyable enough for a Saturday afternoon that finally felt more like summer. But the charm that oozes from their club dates was missing in the larger, outdoor setting, and keyboardist Peggy Wang-East seemed off-key, which is an unlikely occurrence for her. Halfway into their set, the temptation of the Bowerbirds won over many, who then traversed the grass over to the Balance Stage to catch the North Carolina duo's folk-infused set.
Real-life couple Beth Tacular and Phil Moore were engaging, if not heartwarming, on tracks like “Upper Air” and “Northern Lights,” which combined a Fleet Foxes-type, woodsy folk style with the dramatic chemistry of the Swell Season. Since many of their songs are inspired by the natural landscape of their home setting, the urban background was an interesting change of pace for Bowerbirds, even if it wasn’t always a successful medium for delivering their melodic poetry. Tacular, on accordion, was breathtaking — prompting one to wonder why this underrated instrument is not used more in today’s guitar-and-keyboard-heavy indie genre.
If Bowerbirds felt like a peaceful nature walk, then followers Ponytail were an exotic tour of the wild rainforest. The experimental Baltimore quartet reeked of art house, which is appropriate considering the group was rumored to have begun as an art project by a local poet. Fronted by the pint-sized, neon fabric–draped vocalist Molly Siegel — who had some of the strangest O-faces of the day — who was clearly having a ball delivering her chaotic growls, howls, and screeches as guitarist Dustin Wong chimed in, making the band sound like a pack of wild dogs. Although Ponytail hasn’t made much of a dent prior to Pitchfork, this set no doubt put them on the map with considerable indie cred, showered by fans that pushed the barricades so far that Siegel had to prompt them to make a peace circle instead. — Selena Fragassi
Over on the Connector Stage, Brooklyn’s Yeasayer rocked and wowed the large field crowds with sass and favorites like “Tightrope,” from this year’s hit compilation album, Dark Was the Night (4ad Records), as well as songs from the group’s 2007 release, All Hour Cymbals (We Are Free/ Secretly Canadian).
Meanwhile, back at the Balance Stage (and absorbing the negative effects of the broken barricade situation) San Diego lo-fi rock band Wavves' set was pushed back considerably. As fans stood waiting, the sky opened up and showered the late afternoon crowd, prompting many to head for the hills. Once onstage, Wavves' muted and distorted sound didn't carry well over the noisy throng that was tucked into the enchanted forest surrounding the stage. Rather than a relaxed afternoon in the park with a lo-fi aesthetic, it sounded more like listening to your upstairs neighbor play the CD through your ceiling.
Following the set, an inebriated attendee managed to get himself lodged up a large tree near the stage. Luckily, after a bit of audience participation and a lot of coaxing, he was able to slide safely down to a round of applause. Right at that celebratory moment, Norway’s Lindstrøm began the first few notes of his set, bringing with him brightened skies and mellow beats as the crowd bopped and swayed to his electronic goodness. In contrast, over at the Aluminum Stage, DOOM donned a feather suit and a variety of masks, riling up the crowd as one of Pitchfork 2009’s only rap acts. — Leah Urbom
Saturday evening was a full-on production, kicking off with the orchestral beauty of New Mexico’s traveling band, Beirut, whose performance could be likened to a border-bending foreign affair. The nearly 10-man strong band was at full power with a lavish horn section of salutary trumpets, an accordion, drums, harmonicas, upright bass, xylophone, and other random accessory pieces that brought out the band’s “American gypsy meets European polka” sound. Reminiscent of DeVotchKa’s grandiose delivery, the difference in Beirut is brainchild Zach Condon, whose 23 years underestimate his lush Morrissey-style vocal chops and slick arrangements. Holding a gladiola stalk in between his teeth, the dreamy Condon looked ready to tango during “Postcards From Italy” and later, on “Nantes,” and there was nary a girl (or boy) in the crowd who didn’t want to take his hand.
The high-spirited revelry continued with Brooklyn’s the National, whose set might as well have been a part of Friday’s “Write the Night” feature as songs like “Start a War” and “Mistaken For Strangers” prompted mass sing-a-longs in pockets all around the park. Like Built To Spill the night before, the National brought the day to a close with a tempered set of soft hymns, but did so with girth and polish, which worked to flatter their nearly decade-long catalogue. Throughout a spastically light show, singer Matt Berninger gracefully floated across stage, his airy vocals spoon-fed with rich piano flavor on tracks like “Secret Meeting” and “29 Years.” A dance party was calling, though, on the other side of the park as the Black Lips took to the stage late and proved that they had saved the best for last.
The Atlanta band gave the crowd much-needed energy shots as they ripped through a set ripe with poppy, ‘50s doo-wop and bluesy rockabilly notes that inspired quite a few beers and people to fly over fences just to get closer to the celebration. Many of the songs were introduced by samples, including a ghostly track that added a spooky feel to the dark of the night. The audience was hosted by this cast of bandits who rebelled against the peaceful mores set by the other closing bands of the fest. “We’re all trying to be friends here,” chimed lead singer Cole Alexander, commenting on the overwhelming smell of weed filling the air. And he was right — by the end of a successful Day Two, you could feel the love around the park as people went home satisfied and excited to wake up for the final day. — Selena Fragassi
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For more photos from Pitchfork Day 2, visit Venus Zine’s Flickr page
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