Crowded night at the Rickshaw Stop, the people bottlenecking at the bar between the door and the bathroom. Not that I’m a safety nerd or anything but if there was a fire, well I would just jump behind the bar and drink all the over priced booze I could before being consumed by flames, cause there’s no way your making it out of the one door. Double whiskey shot and a Budweiser lifted the surly, shipwrecked mood I was in and made it to the front of the stage.
The Splinters from Berkeley are a four piece. They have that polite garage rock ruckus, sans bass with duel female vocals. Although they were the opening band they really went for it, their energy and constant smiling between each other rubbed off on you. Their rich vocals danced along the choppy quick guitar riffs and kept steady with an even drumming. That poor tambourine, ruined for rock and roll, hammered against a thigh and palm, relentlessly.

Next up was Free Energy a five piece from Philadelphia. The opening song was a solid three-chord “Louie Louie” styled progression with simple octave chords played along with the vocals. They are very active on stage, lots of head bobs and jumps but they had a synthetic vibe to them that made it cliché instead of endearing. Yeah, I know that they have that DFA thing going for them but all connections aside they sounded generic and boring. The hooks were predictable, their chord changes expected and stage presence standard. If I was to say that they sounded like Thin Lizzy and Cheap Trick (like all the reviews say) than, okay it makes some sense but I would have still expected them to not sound like a cover band. I guess I was looking for a less polished sound, some more twang and feedback. I was just waiting for Ross and Monica to come out from the background and start in on the yuppie sitcom humor, cause they sounded like a theme song band. Some reviews will say that’s a good thing but not me. Buena Suerte.

The Fresh and Onlys take the stage with a black cape attitude, taking over with an old confidence that you only get when you know something that the audience doesn’t. Their blitzkrieg dark pop sound came out at a ready steady go pace. The deep smoldering vocals take paths with the lead guitar lines creating that psyche-surf sound their known for. The energy was sustained with rumbling drums that beat with a steady depth and rhythm. They are tight and succinct with their forceful and yet subtle pop song writing method. They opened with “Invisible forces” a track from their Woodsist release “Grey Eyed Girl”. With a lineup of San Francisco All Star musicians, one could easily come to entertain their mere sighting. For me the show had finally started. The audience dancing drinks spilling, fervor mesmerized and induced by the driving hysteria of the Fresh and Onlys. Their set ended and the textures of their sounds and rhythms left you wanting.

Foreign Born closed the night with reverb dripping vocals and a strong eccentric drumbeat that has garnered a few tags such as “afro-pop”. The songs layered with thick melodies that fogged the songs over like a monsoon. Other bands that played made use of guitars and leads, where as Foreign Born used the strengths of the vocals, keys and drums, it really set them apart form the rest of the performers. They had an energetic stage presence, a tense yet…dare I say, spiritual effect. The night ended with the vocals ending in reverb, rolling over the drunken heads and swaying bodies, beading in salt sweat and gasping for breath. I said thanks to the bar, talked briefly to The Fresh and Onlys about their travel plans, heading down the coast until SXSX, then broke into the walk home.

Letting Up Despite Great Faults

LA-based openers Letting Up Despite Great Faults stumbled a bit adapting their sound to fit the venue.  The night was filled wide-spectrum synth rocking from all acts who took the stage, but these guys took a little bit of time matching their hushed lead vocals and delicate arrangements with much louder drum and guitar sounds.  Thankfully, by the time they reached “In Steps”, a bass-driven New Order throwback in the best kind of way, everything fell into place as if they were messing with us the entire time.  The audience was fully on board, and Letting Up didn’t let go until the very end of their set.

Birds and Batteries
You know that cliche scene in old children’s movies where someone is shown 2 roads — one friendly and the other a scary, jagged nightmare?  If Letting Up is the safe path, Birds and Batteries is the temptress leading listeners down the darker path to ruin.  Witness the off-kilter synth rhythms and minor-key, chorusless song structures — meandering, but enticing.  Everything about these guys was slightly unsettling, but highly enjoyable.  Songs such as “The Villain” and “Sneaky Times” called to mind the great pop experimentation of the late 70s (and for some reason, for this particular listener at least, memories of Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer”).  Very good stuff.

Loquat
Arguably the most experienced and expertly-played set of the night, Loquat came fully prepared to dazzle the audience with a long list of material.  Unfortunately, they seemed like the odd band out in a lineup catered more toward a synthpop/electronic audience.  Whereas the other bands seemed to embrace their gizmos with zealous fervor, Loquat straddled a line between standard rock structure and the occasional foray into outer space.  A fine set, but something I’d like to see elsewhere next time.

Memory Tapes
Internet superstar, Memory Tapes, is a bit of a mysterious live commodity, since his music is a.) probably on your ipod because of internet outreach and b.) primarily electronic.  So the question was: could the guy bring it in a live show?  Main man Dayve Hawk proved that he could.  Though his setup was sparse, featuring Hawk on guitar and paired with a drummer and backing track, he made the most of it, turning his debut album into a bizarre, danceable megamix that merged tracks into one another until they became almost unrecognizable.  By the time he reached his closer, “Bicycle”, all bets were off as he dove into an entirely different song when it came time ride into that song’s cathartic finish.  This turned out to be a major tease, however, when he subsequently jumped back to that songs triumphant guitar solo — and rode it for approx 15 minutes of glorious instrumental beatdown.  Hawk obviously knows this song’s the jam and he was not afraid to show it, so when he started combing his fingers up the fretboard like a madman on a mission, the audience followed suit.  It was glorious — which makes the criminally short length of the set that much more painful.  But you’d be a fool not to check him out the next time he rolls by our fair city.

By Charlie Rohrer

When a band pulls their name from Bush language subtitles, you know it’s going to be weird. Matching the frenzy of last year’s Les Savy Fav show, the NYC by way of Sacramento dance punk phenoms put on a hell of a show. Lead singer Nic Offer strutted around the stage like Mick Jagger, spitting out frenetic lyrics and diving in and out of the crowd. The whole night was about letting loose—Offer poured someone’s beer over his head, the crowd dripped sweat, shirts half ripped off, as they moshed and crowd surfed. Unlike the rest of the week, where fans politely took in the music with a tapping of a toe, this music commands your full attention and bodily surrender.

The set offered up a mix of freak out favorites from Myth Takes: “Must Be the Moon,” “Yadnus” and “Heart of Hearts.” Shannon Funchess served as a twisted sidekick, running around the stage armed with a mic and a tambourine, singing so fast that she was practically beat boxing. Guitarist Mario Andreoni cut through madness with an irresistible groove that got the crowd throwing their bodies around with abandon, even storming the stage mid-set.

I’ve rarely seen an audience whipped into a fever pitch like that evening. After the encore “All My Heroes are Weirdos,” the audience refused to believe the night was over. Stomping, banging on the stage, screaming at the top of their lungs, the crowd stood defiantly for almost twenty minutes, begging for more. Funchess briefly obliged by sprinting around the stage, growling “chkchkchkchkchkkkkkk” until we were left to reluctantly pull ourselves back together after an unparalleled cardio club catharsis. –Jenna Glass

Photo Credit: Sam Heller

A grungy minimalist who packs a punch, Scout Niblett took the stage on her own. Blistering guitar and yawping and sneering vocals laid emotions on the table. The audience begged her to pummel the drums, but she reserved that role for her tour mate. When the drummer took the stage, the intensity reached an explosive level. He provided a driving beat to the discordant caterwauling of Niblett. I was worried that it would overshadow her vulnerable delivery, but it enhanced the entire thing, providing a beating, wrenching heartbeat to drive her songs. Things quieted down on “Kiss,” her most well known single with Bonnie Prince Billy, but while it was one of the more restrained moments, it was also the most affecting- inducing introspection in the hushed audience. Heir to the spirit of Nirvana and P.J. Harvey, the primal drums and raw, menacing vocals cut to the core.

By the end of the set, the audience was ready for a pick me up. When Citay took the stage to celebrate the release of Dream Get Together, the difference was apparent at first look—seven jovial members took the stage, shaking tambourines and hips, sporting sunglasses and stoned smiles.

Citay shamelessly revels in 1970s classic rock nostalgia—Fleetwood Mac, Allman Brothers, ELO were all apparent favorites in Ezra Feinberg & Co.’s libraries. Vamping guitars, not one, but two tambourines, and a couple of songstresses may seem excessive, but they toed the line of camp through careful song structuring—a  fast and loose jam band they are not. Just when you start to wince at the cheeseball harmonies of the back up vocals, the drums kick in and take it all to another level. It’s throwback rock fantasia delivered with a wink. By the end of the set no one can deny the fun of three shredding guitars, Flying V included. Seeing them after Free Energy the night before, it seems there’s an undeniable wave of optimism emerging in indie rock. Snarky cerebral types may balk at the shameless, sunny nostalgia, but Citay and the Cafe Du Nord audience were having a damn good time.–Jenna Glass

It’s been awhile since I’ve seen an audience as responsive as the dancing masses at Great American Music Hall. The sold out crowd for headliner Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros was game for Fool’s Gold, shaking along with the band when they opened with Ethiopian soul jam, “Nadine.” Lead singer, Luke Top, crooned in Hebrew and English– to much relief it’s less a multilingual gimmick than an instinctual fit to the band’s all-encompassing international sound. With 8+ band members who all carry well-worn passports, Fool’s Gold canvasses the globe for the ultimate world dance party. On this rain-drenched night, the space seemed to transform into the ultimate, sunny LA party we all secretly fantasize about as we trudge through rain and fog. “Surprise Hotel,” undeniably upbeat, marked the apex of the dance party. The blistering Afro-Pop guitar shredding of Lewis Pesacov (Foreign Born) garnered its own Ghanian street cred.

Throughout the set, everyone on stage switched between instruments, but the most popular was definitely the hand percussion, ranging from shell gourds to rattles  and Djembe drums to giant tambourines. Salvador Placencia providing the life pulse on a giant drum. I regretted leaving my rhythm egg at home.

I once read that a band member, beset by pre-show nerves, vows to himself that he’s not going to dance; however, every single night they play, he finds himself in a trance-like frenzy of booty-shaking. You can feel the communion of the band mates, all finding the moment together as they luxuriate in indulgent, drawn out jams. Each of their dance moves was unique, from the head bob to the jazz hand, but the spirit was the same—shimmy to see the light, essentially. Open, unlimited, traversing multiple continents in each song, it’s a rare thing to see a band so large connect and free open a song to make it of that moment and that moment only.

The connection extended to the crowd when everyone joined in singing “Ooooh oooh oh oh oh” on closer “The World is All There Is.” As they marched off the stage, instruments still blazing away, the crowd could not have been more primed for Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros.

Days later, Fool’s Gold has continued to resonate with me, inspiring a spiraling internet search of Tuareg bands and Malian pop stars. Music that draws you deeper to the source is no fool’s gold, it’s the real thing.

Photo Credit: Sophie Trauberman

J. Tillman | Courtesy of Western Vinyl

J. Tillman first came on my radar when he joined the ranks of Fleet Foxes, despite the fact that his 2009 tour is in support of his sixth release as a solo artist. While his day job may be drumming, on A Year in the Kingdom his voice and guitars take center stage. Like FF, it’s a pastoral folk fest, but far more restrained and vulnerable. On record, the music is quiet and personal. You can almost feel the Seattle rain seeping in to comfort and depress you all at once. I was nervous to see the live incarnation, since the recordings are such subdued gems and the audience was all lounging on the floor like it was their own bedrooms. However, when he and his live band played with abandon, the songs took on new life. Expansive, impassioned and brimming with energy, it was less reminiscent of Nick Drake, rocking up to the ranks of Neil Young and Crazyhorse.

“Though I Have Wronged You” provided a nice jam session complete with hand claps and harmonizing. “Earthly Bodies,” the song that stole my heart when I initially discovered J. Tillman was my highlight of the night for its delicate warmth and clarity.

7:39PM - I am at the Pixies concert, taking notes.

7:47PM - I am not having a drink so that I will have full control of my senses for the onslaught that will be No Age.

8:26PM - No Age half hour performance…WEAK!!! Okay acoustics…can’t tell what they ended with because reverb muddled everything. (Such a shame, really, for a talented band like No Age to have come out with a less than stellar live performance. Should they fire their soundboard dude?)

8:27PM - ZOMG…thought I just saw Stephen Malkmus…almost died! ZOMG!

8:28PM - Sounds like a combination of Wolf Parade, Mission of Burma, and Panda Bear with pop stylings (co-opted from friend’s comment…quizzical looks were given).

9:04PM - Stage dims…large inflated butane molecule starts to glow on top of stage…someone walked on stage…then disappeared

9:05 - Un Chien Andalou appeared on a large LED display

9:05:20 - Face melted

That’s where my Rorschach-type entries ended because I was so frakking psyched that the Pixies were about to come out that I started screaming like a tween at a Jonas Brothers concert. After a significant portion of time spent watching this surrealist creation of Salvador Dali and Luis Buñel, the five or so smoke machines on stage started bellowing out plumes and the four patron saints of American alternative rock casually walked onto stage.

Back-lit by yellow lights, the Pixies opened up with Dancing the Manta Ray, a B-side from their 1989 single Monkey Gone to Heaven, all the while shining bright floodlights at the audience. The band continued on with the other B-sides of the single and threw in Bailey’s Walk from the Here Comes Your Man single.

After the B-side set, the screen changed to display the word “DOOLITTLE”, and the crowd erupted in thunderous applause in anticipation of Debaser. They were rewarded and the slew of 20-somethings to 40-somethings threw up their hands in response to the album’s opening lyrics.

I knew what was up next and was shaking with excitement. As soon as I heard Kim Deal’s bass line kick in, my neighbors and I were jumping up and down all throughout Tame, shouting at the top of our lungs in symphony with Black Francis’ voice. For a more thought-provoking band, this concert roused up the front rows into a jostling frenzy. Even the blown up butane molecule seemed to get into a colorful agitation as it lunged down to the stage and shifted erratically.

The stage was stained red and the LED display started to broadcast a slowly dripping blood animation for I Bleed. Later, the melodic recounting of environmental tragedies and our place in The Universe in Monkey Gone to Heaven felt a little empty without some violinists and cellists to accompany it, but was lovely nonetheless. The live album concluded with the seething Biblical violence of Gouge Away, which left us feeling like we were on the brink of a musical epiphany, but it wasn’t quite enough to push us over the edge. The band bowed out in an elaborate display to indicate that the show was at its end, which no one actually believed.

The crowd knew that an encore was soon coming, but was also aware that they had to work for it. After much stomping, clapping, and hollering, the Pixies came back out to deliver a few more B-sides with the more subdued UK Surf version of Wave of Mutilation and the hypnotic Into the White.

Once again pretending to be done, the Pixies exited the stage and crowd raved with mad applause. The cacophony continued, and the stomping somehow was louder than the invocation for the first encore. After about five minutes, which felt like five centuries, the Pixies strutted back out for the second encore of the evening. Opening up with the never forgettable Where is My Mind? and closing with the naughty all-time favorite Gigantic.

The Pixies drew an eclectic group of people who all revere the band as rock Gods. Their worldwide tour is, no doubt, a refreshing reminder about what made American alternative rock the best of its genre. Even though I was in preschool when the Pixies garnered initial fame (sadly, not nearly as much as they deserved), their music has always appealed to me. Judging by the number of mid-20 somethings in the crowd, their music undoubtedly influenced millions of other people in my generation. More than anything, the show of support for the Pixies seeks to reinforce that good music is timeless and that this band is immortal.

Set List

Dancing The Manta Ray

Weird at My School

Bailey’s Walk

Manta Ray

Debaser

Tame

Wave of Mutilation

I Bleed

Here Comes Your Man

Dead

Monkey Gone to Heaven

Mr. Grieves

Crackity Jones

La La Love You

No. 13 Baby

There Goes My Gun

Hey

Silver

Gouge Away

Encore One:

Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf)

Into the White

Encore Two:

Where Is My Mind?

Nimrod’s Son

Vamos

Gigantic

-Sai

Album: Never Cry Another Tear

Band: Bad Lieutenant

Date Released: 10/05/2009

As many New Order fans may have already realized, the Internet is rife with heavy-handed criticisms of this album. Some are downright mean; however, honesty is the best policy even when the truth hurts. My query is: does the Joy Division franchise deserve a more gentle treatment, being pillars of a musical generation? Unfortunately, I don’t know the answer to that question, but I know that I have absolutely no interest (vested or otherwise) to come off as a bleating sycophant. The best I can do for any reader is offer up an honest opinion of Never Cry Another Tear.

None of the songs made want to hurriedly skip to the next track. Never Cry Another Tear contains lots of the electro-synth monologues that New Order fans are used to, but there is also a fair amount of guitar shredding to impress instrumentalists; this technicality is fitting, given the Phil Cunningham and Jake Evans guitar duo. The melodies are pretty and generally pleasing, which feeds into a major negative (see below), but I’ll steer clear of that for the time being. The arpeggio guitar work on certain tracks, especially Head Into Tomorrow (Track 12), comes off as warm and familiar rather than kitschy or folksy. Poisonous Intent (Track 7) most intensely reminds me of the classic New Order that its fans are searching for. Speaking of searching for the classics, Twist Of Fate (Track 2) will ring well these fans, and Bernard Sumner’s singing takes us back to the New Order sound of the 1990s. My favorite tracks, by far, are Poisonous Intent, These Changes (Track 8), and Head Into Tomorrow (Track 12). Although of these, only Poisonous Intent is led by Bernard’s voice, and none (save for Track 7) particularly recalls the true New Order sound, but they had a more sophisticated touch compared to the other songs on the album. Jake Evans voice is also quite lovely, particularly as he leads on These Changes and Head Into Tomorrow, and successfully establishes an even and calm tone.

Unfortunately, the soothing nature of Never Cry Another Tear gives rise to the main criticism of the album’s tameness. I have to bandwagon with other reviewers and say that this album did not evoke any particular emotion. Also, the strong bass that framed previous New Order melodies is sorely lacking from Never Cry Another Tear debut album. I can’t criticize Bad Lieutenant for being synthesizer-heavy, but I can criticize the band for not picking someone to contribute stronger bass lines (we miss you Hook). Additionally, not that Sumner’s lyrics were ever particularly poignant, Never Cry Another Tear’s lyrics seem to find a new level of banality. Furthermore, while Poisonous Intent is one of my favorite tracks on the album (mostly due to its New Order-ish feel), the song could very well be the background music for a commercial.

As previously stated, I didn’t go through the rollercoaster of emotions that a few reviewers have reported for Never Cry Another Tear, simply because I felt nothing when I listened to this album. As soon as an awesome synthesizer opera started gearing up (à la True Faith), any anticipation that I felt was immediately quelled by a hilarious hip-hop beat from the mid 1990s or an anti-climactic chorus.

Perhaps these criticisms (including my own) reflect the frustration we all feel in getting older and listening to the sounds of our youth simply becoming a thing of the past (no, the uninspired hipster-electro-wave groups of present day do not count). While Joy Division and New Order certainly helped shape musical trends, it is unfair for fans to expect a band to carry one particular flag for the rest of its career. Does that excuse New Order’s huge leap into adult contemporary? No, it does not. Blondie, De La Soul, The Cure, and many others have been able to age with dignity. This, however, unveils another question: should we hold Bad Lieutenant to the New Order genre? Perhaps in today’s world of soft rock, Bad Lieutenant is the new front runner. In the end, we can only speculate what the next album will have in store for us, every single one of us.

-Sai

After another grueling journey requiring no less than two busses to get to the shuttle’s from AT&T park’s Lot A, I made it back to Treasure Island for Sunday’s more rock-oriented lineup.

Making my way through the meadow, Thao took the stage with her band the Get Down Stay Down debuting the “The Clap” and “Cool Yourself” - tracks one and two off her new album Know Better Learn Faster, which was set for release the following Tuesday. I was pleasantly surprised by how many diehards had showed up early to hear Thao’s set, but it’s really no surprise: her mixture of folk and pop is absolutely infectious while her voice and stage presence are much bigger than her little frame lets on. It was almost as if the girl on the big screen was doing the singing and the one at the mic was a marionette, but she filled out the big Bridge stage and songs like “Bag of Hammers” from her previous album were singalong favorites with the mostly local crowd. Her pleasant stage banter introduced a couple new songs, like the title track “Know Better”, which she described as “a song for when we have to leave San Francisco.”

Spiral Stairs - he of Pavement and Preston School of Industry fame, née Scott Kannberg, and a California native himself - took to the Tunnel stage asking “who’s here from Stockton?” The crowd seemed as though they weren’t sure what to expect from a Spiral Stairs solo show, especially with some recent announcements of an impending Pavement tour in 2010, but Kannberg and his backing band plowed through a mix of new songs and tracks from Preston School of Industry before closing out with his track “Kennel District” from Pavement’s Wowee Zowee.

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros took over the Bridge stage with a rag-tag band looking like they just climbed out of an old school bus that one of them drove down from Ukiah. Frontman Alex Ebert (aka Edward Sharpe) leads a dozen people onstage with a rich voice that you wouldn’t expect from someone under the age of 55. There’s clapping, a horn section, ukeleles, an accordion, a whirling lead man, and every single person on stage seems like they’re having the time of their lives. The warmth on stage as Alex and his counterpart Jade sang back-and-forth on “Home” jumpstarted the cold crowd for what was my hands-down favorite set of the day.

Local folkers Vetiver entertained the crowd making their to sneak in a bathroom break before Grizzly Bear with a set that kept everyone rapt and included a cover of Michael Hurley’s Blue Driver.

Meanwhile, the crowd was packing in for Grizzly Bear to make the transition from afternoon to nighttime. The band came out sounding strong - with all the vocals turned up and Chris Bear’s kick drum beating loud. During “Knife” I began thinking about what cuts me like a knife - this wind coming off the water. At the start of “Two Weeks”, someone in the crowd started tossing confetti, which blew away romantically on the wind. By the time they were ready to close out they brought the sun back for an encore with the carnival keyboards and drifting harmonies on ”Ready, Able”.

Beirut’s horn section sounded great despite the bitter cold that rolled in and at this point Gulag-rock seemed appropriate for the temperature. Midway through a set of mostly material from 2007’s The Flying Club Cub, Zach Condon tuned his ukelele while asking for “shitty pirate jokes” from the crowd. The end of the set brought out some newer tracks and ended on the twinkly, electronic “My Night with the Prostitute from Marseille” from this year’s March of the Zapotec/Realpeople Holland album.

Like Beirut’s baroque mixture, The Walkmen are hard to connect to a geographic location. Frontman Hamilton Leithauser sounds like he could be fronting a punk band from East London and the band looks appropriately like they were just cast in a Guy Ritchie movie. Leithauser’s vocals, which sound like he’s pushing his voice to the limit as it is, sounded clean in the mix of their trademark jangling guitars and splashing cymbals. The band even brought out “the most attractive horn section in the Bay Area” at a couple points to add another element to their set of old and recent material which included a song they tested for the island crowd.

Heading back to the Bridge stage, The Decemberists won the award for best use of the jumbotron which played an abstract, artsy animation that seemed to sync perfectly with each song as they played through their most recent rock opera concept album The Hazards of Love. Although he was fighting off a cold, lead Decemberist Colin Meloy ably powered through his vocals, but let the real shining be done by his two female vocalists Becky Stark (from Lavender Diamond) and Shara Worden (of My Brightest Diamond). Worden’s opera training shone through on the grinding “Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid” while Stark’s ethereal vocals float throughout the album, coming to the fore on power ballands like “Won’t Want for Love (Margaret in the Taiga)”. Sadly, the pre-packaged show that is The Hazards of Love clocks in at exactly the length of their scheduled set for the festival, so there was no time for the band to dig into older tracks or even San Francisco favorites like “Grace Cathedral Hill”.

Yo La Tengo by far had the most dedicated crowd who camped out at the Tunnel stage to get a close-up look at their favorite drone rockers. The Flaming Lips soundchecking on the main stage stole a little bit of YLT’s thunder, but it was immediately apparent that the people who showed up to see Yo La Tengo weren’t going anywhere during their set.

And speaking of the Flaming Lips - they were the only set to not go on exactly as scheduled, which I guess you can get away with when you’re a band beloved for their live show like the Flaming Lips are. Frontman Wayne Coyne emerged from an cartoon vagina on the big screen in his trademark bubble and proceeded to roll down the stage and out into the crowd. Once back in the safety of the stage, the Lips pulled out some classic material: “Race for the Prize” off of 1999’s The Soft Bulletin.

Coyne seemed chatty between songs, regaling the crowd with stories about how everyone used to assume they were from San Francisco and telling all “you motherfuckers” to get excited because it wasn’t too cold for a freakout before launching into crowd-movers like the anti-Bush “Yeah Yeah Yeah Song” and “Fight Test”. With sprays of confetti and giant balloons thrown out into the crowd and a dozen dancers looking like leftovers from LoveFest on stage it was hard to not get excited as they moved through tracks from the more recent album War of the Mystics before closing out with their classic “She Don’t Use Jelly” and bringing out the soaring “Do You Realize?” to carry all the festival goers out to the buses.

—–

All in all, the appeal of this festival comes from the fact that you don’t have to miss any of the sets if you don’t want to. One could even conceivably hang out in the same spot all day and catch every band. Also, the common dilemma of  ”which day should I go?” was easily solved by deciding which way your musical tastes skewed: If you’re looking for a dance party, then Saturday’s lineup probably had exactly what you needed to keep your ass shaking all day. If you’re more into the bands pushing rock music forward then you would be right at home amongst the flannel shirts and scarves in the crowd on Sunday. If you’re a music nerd who’s looking to catch every band and maybe be surprised by something new, then it’s a great set up. The shuttle system, on the other hand, is a nearly unavoidable buzzkill and at the end of the night it certainly doesn’t encourage everyone to stay for the encore - something those music nerds are known to do.

As I walked through the festival gates during the last couple songs in the Murs set, I was greeted by some warm sun and lots of white people out picnicking and listening to Hip Hop. Which set the tone for the early part of day one on Treasure Island. Walking past the tunnel stage, Federico Aubele seemed to have a big crowd lined up already. Which made sense because his Spanish tunes seemed a little more appropriate for a picnic on an island. (Or maybe all those people were just really early for Dan Deacon’s gonzo DJ set.) One of the nice things about the festival is that with only two stages - the sets go on pretty much exactly on time. Less than a minute after Murs closed out, Aubele was already strumming away.

By the time Passion Pit took to the Bridge stage, the crowd had filled in and the band was reaching the late-comers back at the gates with a nice loud sound. At points the levels seemed off and lead singer Michael Angelakos’ vocals seemed to get lost in the mix. Or maybe he’s was getting a little hoarse from the falsetto - it was hard to tell, but the movers and shakers in the crowd didn’t seem to care at all. The real dancers though, were starting to get their swing out in the fringes of the crowd. Passion Pit closed out with a few of their power jams that left some fans echoing with impromptu singalongs while the crowd drifted to Dan Deacon who was most likely starting up an extra generator to power all the electronics he brought to the Tunnel Stage.

From a distance, Dan Deacon sounded like the slot machine floor at a casino in Reno. I think a bunch of kids in tights won a cup full of nickels. With about a dozen percussionists backing up his tweaked-out woody woodpecker samples, Deacon led the crowd in a “group interpretive dance” after rallying the crowd to try and match the glory of a Norwegian Death Metal Festival. If cute chicks in tights and glitter love Passion Pit, then your engineering school friends who used to play D&D love Dan Deacon. This festival is kind of like college, is what I’m saying. Although, I did see a couple tye-dyed hippies jamming to it, so he’s definitely got a broader appeal than I would have though. Some of the diehard Deacon fans seemed a little bummed that he had to play on the stage and not out in the crowd, as he’s been known to do in the past.

I guess the set times were going over a little bit because The Streets didn’t even give anyone time to walk back to the main stage before kicking it off. The cameraman for the jumbotron apparently couldn’t believe that a white dude could rap because he was focusing on Mike Skinner’s rasta-backup man. Skinner did manage to compliment the crowd on how good they looked though, and let us know that we San Franciscans would do well across the pond. It was kind of hard to understand his lengthy stage banter with that cockney accent, but I’m pretty sure he called the city “SanFranDisco” before launching into a track off of his breakout self-titled album. He closed with “thanks for letting me shout words at you for the past hour and ten minutes,” asked everyone who “came to have a good time” to get down (!!) and then pointed out that only the ugly people were still standing and that we were no longer in Sacramento. OK, man, sounds good.

After everybody got moving through Passion Pit, Dan Deacon and the Streets - DJ Krush seemed like a good chance to take a breather. I’m not a huge fan of House music at festivals or House music before dark as a general rule. It’s good stuff in clubs because they’re dark and you forget that you’re in a room with a ton of sweaty people in it. But outside at a festival there’s too much visual stimuli and you start to wander off. Like I did, back to the main stage as Sabina Sciubba of Brazilian Girls came on dressed for Halloween a little early.

Anecdotally, Brazilian Girls are really catchy. Their euro-clubby sound fit in with all the DJ sets of the night, but they play it all live on real instruments. It sounded good, but really it’s better music to dance to than to watch because aside from Sciubba’s ridiculous bullseye-heart costume, there wasn’t really much of interest on the stage.

LTJ Bukem and MC Conrad followed Brazilian Girls with a thumping Drum and Bass set, which kept the crowd moving and provided an interesting backdrop for MC Conrad to lay his lyrics over. The techno + hip hop combo seemed like a gimmick at first, but it’s actually a convincing combo. They had a large crowd that jumped with every thump and shouted back whenever Conrad asked. MSTRKRFT’s intro cut of LTJ Bukem though, so we migrated through the fringe dancers in the middle of the meadow - the kind of people who like to have a little extra room for their flashy light twirling dance. After dark the House music thing really starts to work. With all the flashing lights and the huge crowd on a rare warm night, Treasure Island felt more like an island in the Mediterranean than the middle of the Bay.

Towards the end of MSTRKRFT’s set they fired the crowd up with a couple heavy-hitting crowd pleasers that even techno-skeptics like myself could get into. Justice’s “D.A.N.C.E.” came on with the singalong sample and a crunchy bass-line that makes it impossible to stand still. The cameraman for the jumbotron was again getting experimental and pulling some real 1990’s MTV camera tricks out of his bag. “D.A.N.C.E.” drifted into some late 90’s Orbital to match the cinematography. After the rib-shaking bass that was pounding me at the front of the crowd for MSTRKRFT, I really have no complaints about the sound. You can get away with a lot of decibels when you’re out in the middle of the Bay, and they were certainly taking advantage of that fact. After another incredibly recognizable house song that I don’t know the name of (I think I heard it on a Scion commercial or something) they really closed it with Bohemian Rhapsody - the ultimate big-crowd jam, great for simultaneously getting chilled out and fired up.

By now, walking back to the Tunnel stage to catch Girl Talk it became apparent that there were not nearly enough trash cans around, since I was stepping over piles of garbage and discarded liquor bottles. For shame! Girl Talk’s set made me forget that though as Gregg Gillis threw in a couple new or re-worked mashups. He snuck in Phoenix’s “1901″, for example and as usual, there was a great assortment of carefree dancers pulled from the crowd up on stage - mullets and fedoras and tights and feather boas! And some lucky people got stuck at the perfect spot on the ferris wheel to see throng on people below.

The organizers may have slightly underestimated the drawing power of the Keystone state because the crowd was packed deep. I thought I was pretty far back in the crowd for Girl Talk, but when I turned around the sea of people went on behind me for at least 50 yards. I had to fight my way out of a crowd of really short girls to a mashup of, appropriately enough, “Get Low Girl” and “Move, Bitch”. Aside from crowd troubles, you could see why they all packed in. The set was solid and it obviously doesn’t seem hard for Gillis to throw in new material. His trademark leafblowers TP’d the crowd and a giant black pillow-looking thing floated out on the sea of people.

The real highlight though was his closer - the mashup of Biggie’s “Juicy” and “Tiny Dancer” is one of my favorites from his album mixes, but then HOLY FUCK FIREWORKS. Out of nowhere and perfectly timed with, fireworks erupted from behind the stage and Gillis was visibly excited as they lit up the sky above him and the unsuspecting crowd. The great draw of Girl Talk, more than his mashup sets, is how much fun the crowd has during his sets. The atmosphere is less like trying to recreate a clubbing experience and more like trying to recreate that really rad house party where some wasted girl was streaming rolls of toilet paper through your friend’s apartment and someone was putting M-80s in a pot on the stove. Seeing the DJ have as much fun as everyone in the crowd is infinitely more exciting than a guy in a booth bobbing his head.

Girl Talk fading out under the ashes of the exploding fireworks was the high point of my Saturday, for sure. So much I hadn’t noticed that MGMT had already started their everybody-knows-it hit “Time to Pretend”. Apparently some people in the middle of the meadow got trampled by some overzealous Girl Talk-MGMT crossover fans trying to switch stages. MGMT seemed a little flat as they played Oracular Spectacular straight through. The only problem with this approach was that it meant their three hits were over about 5 songs into their set and everyone started making an exodus to the buses home as track 6, “4th Dimension Transition” drifted off across the Bay.

-Andrew Dalton