While ubiquitous layers of synth and effects could easily characterize the fest, Pitchfork had a ton of great song crafters throughout. Surfer Blood warmth carried the rest of their set, as John Paul Pitts’ singing along with his mates’ harmonies lent to a garage Beach Boys feel.
As St. Vincent’s weird popscapes gave way for grinding guitars, I wandered the bazaar tent in search of, well, nothing in particular. At music fests it’s easy to forget that there’s a lot more than just bands playing and Pitchfork is no exception. Tables upon crates upon rows of LPs, 45s, cassettes and yes even some CDs were jammed onto a winding path of tables, among random DIY paintings, sculptures and jewelry.
Back to the loud main area, Major Lazer was just getting started. A bastard baby of house beats and dance hall echos, Major Lazer relied more on spectacle than music exploration. But for the Jamaica-inspired project of DJs Diplo and Switch, why not? Haven’t we seen and heard enough dark, emotional outpouring for one weekend? With Chinese lion dancers, ballerinas and a ladder used for acrobat humping, Major Lazer was the giggle set of the weekend. No minds blown, just, “Ha, look what they did!” And they mostly were a blond mohawked, Hennesey-schwilling hype man who yelled out the group’s name so many times, he could be related to Michael Franti. He and a female dancer jumped off ladders and landed on each other for some dry humping. It was an odd sight for a bit, but as a festival goer named Joel pointed out, “They did all their best stuff in the first 15 minutes, and just kept repeating it. You can’t start with the ladder.”
But no matter what Major Lazer’s circus pulled out, they and Big Boi were outshined by breaking dancing kids. The more straight beats and rap half of OutKast kept the crowd lively through classic cuts from the Atlanta duo, mainly from albums Aquemini and Stankonia, but for those lucky enough to have heard his new solo effort Sir Lucious Left Foot, the real gems were the freshest of his repertoire. Armed with a full band, back up singers and DJ Big Boi spat his rhymes as fast as during early OutKast days, showing no sign of fatigue.
All eyes were on the rapper and producer, until Chicago’s Finest Breakers took the stage. Three boys and one girl, all no older than 10, spun on their heads and performed other floor break dancing acrobatics to the cheers of the crowd, stealing the show from both Big Boi and Major Lazer. But Big Boi didn’t seem to mind as he smiled and cheered them on. One of the boys was bold enough at the end to call out, “Who wants my t-shirt?”
The return of Pavement held its own in the most-anticipated set debate. In the Pitchfork tradition of reunions, with Os Mutantes at the first Pitchfork fest up to Jesus Lizard last year, Pavement sounded as if it was only few weeks after their last show in the 90s. The band’s sound was clear and vibrant even during the slower numbers. Even after a mis-start at the very beginning of their big single singalong Cut Your Hair, Pavement managed to pull together their focus to keep a wearied crowd going through their closing set. It was the umpteenth time during the festival where I couldn’t help but notice that so many people really looked like they were having fun. Stephen Malkmus and crew were a fine example of our dire need for bands with two drummers that can write great yet simple, energetic yet steady, rock songs.
The best sum up for the fest goes to Chicagoist’s Jim Kopeny a.k.a. Tankboy when he wrote via Twitter, “If this Pitchfork Music Festival does nothing more it proves American crowds are finally ready to lose their shit en masse to dance acts.” Pitchfork 2010 perhaps delved less into experimental, but it tapped into having fun at a festival. Now if we can just get the glowstick throwers banned from this one…
