Sasquatch! Reviewed

The audience at Sasquatch: Day One. Already looking tired and a bit drug-addled.

Since I should’ve but didn’t request a press pass to this past weekend’s Sasquatch Music Festival (mostly because of ethical qualms, right? Right?! Or did I just blow $140 for nothing…?) I’m going to keep this short and sweet. Just the highlight and the lowlights, ma’am. And a bunch of quick notes. [Day two into writing this blog post — written from home, mind you — I realize the above paragraph makes no sense at all, but I’m keeping it. — Chuck]

Read the entire post (and hear bootleg snippets and full songs) by CLICKING HERE.

Neither casts nor flasks will keep people from watching Beirut on the main stage.

Beirut • Lots of horns. Kept thinking “DeVotchKa does this thing better…” Thought the lead singer looked like a well-behaved Isaac Brock (of Modest Mouse). But overall a pleasing act to walk in on.

Beirut even has a clarinetist. How cute is that!

Ozomatli • After wowing over the crowd last year (and last fall at the McDonald), Ozomatli were a disappointment this year. A has-been group still singing the same songs of 2005 (kinda like Franti; more on that later).

Shoe gazing (and Chuck's) were in full force throughout the weekend.

Fleet Foxes • The National were late and so they took over the Wookie Stage (a smaller stage) later in the evening. To fill in their time slot, the Fleet Foxes performed their 2nd main stage act of the day. They looked tired and oblivious to how taxing their drones were wearing on the crowd. At one point, they all played sitting down. Are you fucking kidding me? You’re on the main stage at the Gorge-fucking-Amphitheater and you’re sitting down on stage?!! Anyway, musically they kept alternating between My Morning Jacket and Simon & Garfunkel, only sleepier. Fleet Foxes may be indie darlings now, that is…until the music critics have their cup of joe and wake the fuck up.

The New Pornographers • Yay! The entire band is here! Even a just woken up from a nap Neko Case! Well, Dan Bejar (of Destroyer) is over on the Yeti Stage and this makes people wonder if he’ll wander over to the main stage to complete the circle (the New Pornos are an eight-member operation and, to Neko and Dan, the band is a side-project). And then, like magic, Bejar appears for the 2nd song, then leaves the stage (presumably to consume more alcohol and smoke more cigarettes) before coming back to perform in songs #4 and #8, or something like that. Then, to end everything in a big ol’ shebang, they cover Electric Light Orchestra’s “Don’t Bring Me Down,” which is the last song I’d expect the New Pornos to cover, but whatevs—they nailed it!

Electric Light Orchestra - "Don't Bring Me Down"

M.I.A. on the monitor. M.I.A. t-shirt on the man (or woman?) with my future job.

M.I.A. • Made of awesome! M.I.A. takes the stage and teasingly first goes behind the keyboard while her backup singer and B-Boy go-go dancer (hey, where can I apply for his job?! I want it so so bad!) took the front stage. Eventually “Bamboo Banga” comes on and everything hits a level of intensity that matches the New Pornos’ ELO send-off. As for fashion, M.I.A. donned an olive drab coat (which was promptly tossed aside so M.I.A.’s bodyguard-cum-rabbi could snatch it up) along with a Sahara hat and the requisite large sunglasses and ass-tight green shiny jeans and Chuck Taylor’s. She got her hands on some sort of toy blow horn and periodically let it rip through the mic, to much amusement (but not to great sonic effect, unfortunately). M.I.A. then asked about 40 hooligans onto the stage to dance their hearts out while simultaneously taking cameraphone pics. Even the spoiled-rotten VIP hippie mama got off her roost in the backstage to get in front and show off her dance moves. It was a scene, but it distracted from the … you know … show and all. Eventually the hordes had to leave and it took ‘em about 15 minutes to get them all cleared off the stage. M.I.A. closed with “Paper Planes” and if there’s ever a time I enjoyed seeing people pretend to shoot handguns in the air, Saddam-Hussein-style, this was the moment.

My footage of "Sunshowers"

A fan who jumped onstage took some video.

Modest Mouse • Only caught a few songs of their set, having seen them before. What else can I say: Modest Mouse are now headliners at music festivals the world over. They still put out competent records. They no longer feel like the local band we all wanted to promote in high school with stickers and burned CDs. They feel like they’re walking a high rope, but without taking any risks. On the other hand, I was supremely satisfied they played “Truckers Atlas,” which I just put on Episode 6 of the Signal:Noise podcast.

The Breeders • If there’s a band worthy enough to miss half of Modest Mouse for, it’d be The Breeders. Kim and Kelly Deal (twins) have finally put out a brand new LP (Mountain Battles) to mixed reviews, but their live act is as solid as ever. Try to imagine your favorite dive bar mama … now picture her and her twin sister rocking out, having a good ol’ time up on stage at a music festival. This is the Breeders. Added bonus: Most of the Breeders songs sound eerily like Pixies songs (Kim Deal is a former member), so it’s all a good nostalgic trip. Heck, they even played their early ‘90s hit, “Cannonball,” to much applause and thankfulness in the crowd. But then they ended their set with a cover of the Beatles’ “Happiness is a Warm Gun,” and suddenly it felt like a nice echo of “Paper Planes.” Guns being the theme of Day One.

This scene constantly put the crowd into fears of previous year's hail and wind storms, but it only sprinkled and drizzled during The Breeders and R.E.M.

R.E.M. • I’ll admit I was a bit spoiled going into this one. Previously I saw R.E.M. play in 2003 during their Best Of… tour, so a show in which they mostly play from an album that hasn’t exactly made the rounds of people’s iPods (or portable hard-drives) yet is bound to be a disappointment to some (newbies), a delight to others (old-fogeys who’ve seen ‘em a million times already), or just an act of simple endurance (it’s 10pm and the rain is going sideways and it’s fucking cold). Michael Stipe is down onstage barefoot pretending to slip all over the stage. Peter Buck is doing air-kicks (at the tender age of Approaching Fifty) and the rest of the band are on target, energy-level-wise. But the sound is off. I think a speaker set blew a fuse in the rain, but R.E.M. are sounding more canned than usual. I leave about half-way through so I don’t get hypothermia and die.

Truckasaurus • Question asked by my friend: “How many band members is that lady sleeping with?” My friend is referencing this woman onstage in rather boring clothing who is giving away free T-shirts to spectators who flash the stage. She then snaps digital pics. It’s kinda icky, but hey, at least Truckasaurus is playing techno beats we can dance to. And hey! The sun is out (FINALLY) so everyone’s in a good mood. The band looked truly touched that so many people were gathered for their set at the tiny Yeti Stage.

What Made Milwaukee Famous • I sent friends ahead of me to scout this band out. On my way over I spotted them walking away from the Wookie Stage. “It’s shit,” they all said, and I paraphrase. I caught a few whiffs of their sound and truly, it did sound like shit. Pure bullshit.

Blue Scholars • Kind of blanked out in the grassy field while these guys were onstage. I think they need some go-go dancers or something. Sleepy hip hop.

Cold War Kids • Unattractive SoCal dudes perform poppy rock. They’re okay, but nothing to rush home and download.

Tegan & Sara • Again, it’s easy to focus the eyes on the larger picture, the panorama of the Gorge with the sun, the clouds, the crowds and one big-ass Memorial Day party going down on some small sandy beach on the Columbia River (I brought my binocs). Those binocs got me pervy comments from my friends, who thought I was zeroing in on the very-young electro-pup duo of Tegan & Sara. They were actually quite good. Nothing I’d pay more than $10 to see, but a nice addition to Sasquatch.

Rogue Wave • Seriously, this band needs to step into the current century. Still sporting ironic collared shirts with pink neckties won’t make you cooler, and it certainly won’t make your music (emo-rock Dude Pop/Baroque Rock for soccer moms) that much better. Rogue Wave would make a nice co-headliner with the Counting Crows.

The Presidents of the U.S.A. • New guitarist but same funky spazmatic sound from these Seattle has-been survivors of the “alternative rock” music scene of the ‘90s. Singing songs about kitties, froggies, lazy boll weevils, dune buggies and volcanoes, the Presidents are the sleeper hit of Sasquatch (at least from my two-day foray), and their renditions of hits “Lump” and “Peaches” got more people up and dancing than Modest Mouse’s “Float On,” so take that sell-outs!

Mates of State • Poppy and simple husband-wife duo (her on keys; him on drums; both on vocals). I kept getting distracted by a J. Crew model posing on the steps leading to the Wookie Stage, looking bored and wearing a V-neck t-shirt that dropped way too low for anyone’s good. Probably a fucking press mongrel looking for a quick interview with Mates of State’s manager to justify his free press pass, but either way it made me wish for something a bit different (like last year’s raucous Patrick Wolf or last year’s sweet sounds of Mirah or The Blow) than this standard indie stuff. Plus, this chick in front of me was totally freaking out on acid or ecstasy or probably both and it’s hard to pay attention to the music with a chick going nutso and flashing/flipping off the security guards.

The Kooks • The Kooks were nearly 50 minutes late so I bailed because Death Cab for Cutie were taking the main stage. Plus, I couldn’t take the discussion of some dude’s Butch Cassidy stomach tattoo anymore.

Death Cab for Cutie • I meant to be up close for this show, but when my friends found me and suggested we lay on the grass field, I remembered my legs were like jelly. So we laid back on the grass and proceeded to shred DCFC’s set with cultural fangs bared. Did Ben Gibbard completely lose his mind? Did he lose 100 pounds recently? Was he anorexic? Gimme those binoculars, I need a second look. Didn’t he realize all-black outfits and long bangs with mutton chops went out of style 10 years ago? Was he, in fact, the real Ben Gibbard, or just a stunt double (who was lip singing)? And is that eye shadow? Did Gibbard just say he was “black on the inside”? Did Gibbard just basically give The Cure’s Robert Smith a verbal blowjob? Oh, I see Ben, you’re wearing all-black in honor of The Cure. Not because you’re, like Robert Smith, in the midst of a very severe midlife crisis. Oh, but I’m just a mean blogger. But DCFC really did nail it, at least for Sasquatch purposes. Their new songs are pure amphitheater fodder, their old stuff (read: the hits) are making the frat boys next to me (who are tripping on shrooms) go ape-shit to songs like “The Sound of Settling” "Souls Meets Body," and their real old stuff (for the die-hards) is nonexistent. Gibbard couldn’t stop moving around, like maybe he was on some drugs himself. Either way, those drugs sure worked: this was a high-energy set for probably one of their most enthusiastic crowds yet.

The Cure • Okay, so I heard rumors of people waiting in the parking lot until it got dark, thus slipping into the Gorge Amphitheater in their full goth gear unnoticed by the frats (who would probably point and laugh; they’re too high to pummel their asses) or the indie rock hipsters (who would probably just nod their heads in wonder as they headed back to their Datsuns for the dusty ride back to the motel. The Cure was why Sunday sold out (my friend bought a scalped ticket for $130, but some were paying upwards of $170). When The Cure take the stage and launch into three new songs, I find myself shouting “Play the hits or die, bitch!” I can’t say the notorious pot-smoke cloud hadn’t finally got to me a bit, but I was definitely wanting some nostalgic heartbreak, which The Cure delivered over the next two hours plus of their set. Amazing show with bright lights and sparkly stage effects (especially with “Pictures of You,” a bootleg of which you may download HERE). The tweakers next to me on the grass hill are finally getting to me, so a friend and I grab some $8 chicken strips & fries and get down in the pit. Robert Smith looks like a lost clown from a David Lynch flick. Please lose the makeup and return to your spiky haircut of, Mr. Smith! It won’t reduce the magnitude of your music (in fact, it would probably make it stronger, as we wouldn’t be distracted by what looks like a half-dead zombie singing us the Music of Our Teenage Lives (download a bootleg recording of “Lullaby” from their set HERE). I finally cave-in halfway through The Cure’s second (2nd!) encore. It’s nearing one in the morning and my body is just saying, “Go to sleep, NOW!” Plus, The Cure start breaking into what sounds like heavy metal. Uh, no thanks. On the walk back to the campgrounds I overhear them playing a rarity: “Killing An Arab,” the song based on Albert Camus’ L’etranger (The Stranger). I wrote an essay on Camus’ novel in high school and put The Cure’s lyrics on my cover page, so it was nice to hear it live, albeit almost a half-mile away.

Day Three is nonexistent for me. I had to be back in Eugene, at work on Memorial Day, to justify a long blog post that probably nobody will read. But I hear The Flaming Lips, Flight of the Conchords, Battles, Jamie Lidell, etc. just blew it away.

• For some reason, Sasquatch seemed a bit more action-packed last year. Or, at least I remember seeing more music (all of it good). Spacing the festival out three days was truly an unwise move, only watering down the offerings. And the Comedy Tent was a bust: No way am I going to stand in line for 45 minutes while all this music is going on. Long lines and comedy tents should not be a part of music festivals. How about a special Comedy Festival? Anyway, nothing can quite compare to last year's one-two-three punch of Manu Chao-Arcade Fire-Bjork, but seeing The Cure more than made up for it.

• Plenty of nostalgic trips at this fest. Full of bands who hit the big time in the '80s-'90s and are still trucking: R.E.M., The Flaming Lips, The Cure, Modest Mouse, Built to Spill, Stephen Malkmus (Pavement), David Bazan (Pedro the Lion), The Breeders, The Presidents, etc. etc.

• Sasquatch may not survive another year. With gas prices topping $4/gallon, staging a rock festival like this out in the middle of freaking nowhere makes absolutely no damn sense (even if Live Nation bought carbon credits to make the fest carbon-neutral, there’s all those people burning gas across eastern Washington (not to mention flying into PDX or SEA-TAC and then burning gas in rental cars). Then again, so long as college students continue to get tons of student loans they don’t need, there will be an economic incentive for staging these concerts wherever the fuck they please.

• The single-engine plane that flew circles around the amphitheater with the banner “The Rocker opens in theaters Aug. 1” seriously needed to be shot down. I think it made more people furious at the film than want to go see it. And all that wasted gas…

• The campground wasn’t nearly as bad as last year. I mean to say: I brought earplugs and drugs.