Pitchfork Music Festival Awards

I rolled down to Pitchfork Music Festival Saturday and Sunday with my step-sister Austyn. We happily used public transportation, and we weren't alone. Each day, the Metra was packed with obvious Pitchfork attendees, including our favorites, Gage and the uber-hipster who spent 20 minutes Saturday tying his shoelaces just right. The Green Line was even more crowded with hipsters, and apparently tons of people rode bikes. Pitchfork did a great job putting on a true city fest with cheap tickets and minimal carbon footprint. Now, to the awards.

Best Line: "I'm sweating more than a pregnant nun standing in line to meet the Pope."

Energetic, bearded and history conscious Titus Andronicus frontman Patrick Stickles let this slip during one of his stream of consciousness bouts of banter. Titus Andronicus' hard and heavy set provided a needed jolt on Saturday, but this award is really for the Pitchfork Festival organizers. This is one of the best organized festivals I've ever been at. Using a tiny space to its maximum power by alternating side by side main stages and tucking a third, smaller stage behind the food tents, Pitchfork ensured that fans could easily see at least part of pretty much every performance if they were so inclined. The food and water were cheap, porta potties clean, and hassles non-existent. Even the too-long free-water line had a solid view of the Aluminum Stage. On a hot and humid Chicago weekend, Pitchfork deserves serious props for keeping everyone safe and happy.

Best Rock Band: Wolf Parade

Pfest was dominated by chillwave and electronica infused bands. There were a few blasts from the past and some hip hop mixed in. However, there were only a few pure rock bands. Wolf Parade's blistering jam on set ending "Kissing the Beehive" proved you don't need a laptop to rock.

Best Mass Exodus: From Panda Bear to LCD Soundsystem

I spent about twenty minutes at a disastrous Animal Collective set at Bonnaroo a few years back, so I didn't have high expectations for Panda Bear. However, I was curious and hopeful. However, Panda Bear only played one thing that I would classify as an actual song; the primary sound he emitted was more of an ambient buzz. Within ten minutes, hordes of people began to leave the Connector Stage to jockey for position at the Aluminum Stage next to it. Rumor has it, Panda Bear gets terrible stage fright and played the entire set with his eyes closed. Apologists say, "It's headphones music." Then don't play at a music festival.

Best Dance Party: "Daft Punk is Playing at My House"

LCD Soundsystem came out in attack mode. With disco ball turning, lights flashing, and the occasional glow stick flying, the first half of LCD's set produced a gyrating mess of dancing bodies. The band was tight and rocking. This was my first time seeing LCD and they brought the party. The peak for me was "My House," because it's my favorite LCD song and it came near the crest of that first wave of dance party goodness.

Best Evidence of Non-Hipsters: Crowd Surfing

Everyone has been 17 and wanting to crowd surf. People want to have fun and crowd surfing seems like fun. I even tried to convince Austyn to crowd surf. The Pfest crowd surfers didn't bother me as long as they followed two rules: the weight limit for a crowd surfer is 175 pounds and the age limit is 17. If you break one of these rules you are an asshole. If you break both, it is my right to grab a hold of your ankle and pull your fat old ass to the ground.

During live music, hipsters are supposed to stand still and occasionally nod their head. Is it a grand surprise, though, that Pfork's brand is becoming mainstream?

Best Reason to Throw a Water Bottle: Idiots dry humping on recycling bins

The only thing that aggravated me the entire weekend was the cluster of morons dry humping on a recycling bin during the second part of LCD. I could have pushed my way to another spot, but then I'm the asshole. When one of these idiots turned away from the stage and took out his iPhone, I pegged him with my water bottle from twenty five yards away. Right in the chest. Almost knocked the iPhone out of his hand. I was proud of my accuracy, but pissed he didn't take the message.

Best Peaked Trend: Neon-stem sunglasses

I lost mine white-water rafting last week and I won't buy another pair. The dizzying amount of blue, green, and especially orange (my color!) stems was stomach curdling.

Best Impending Trend: Jorts

Maybe this will quickly peak, but I can't get enough of the cut-offs. My only hope is that people are wearing these in the spirit of Tobias Funke. If not, I can't support them.

Best Sharon Osbourne Recruiting Target: Lightning Bolt

I'm not sure if Ozzfest still happens, but if it does, Lightning Bolt should be there every year. Lightning Bolt is a masked, insanely propulsive drummer and a bored dude making guitar fuzz. I've never seen drumming so persistent and even from the distance, I was a bit scared.

Best Stage: Balance Stage on Sunday

After rotating from stage to stage on Saturday, Austyn and I stayed under the shady oak trees of the B Stage most of the day. We missed Best Coast and Washed Out, but arrived just in time for Local Natives.

My expectations were too high, and Local Natives only half delivered. I wanted "Sun Hands" to be bigger and bolder. I was hoping for Aged Cheddar and got Colby.

Surfer Blood was accessible and breezy--an ideal afternoon fest set.

Here We Go Magic overcame their lame name with on-stage camraderie and Jennifer Turner's head bobbing bass lines.

Neon Indian was locked in and delivered waves of sound and flamboyance.

Then Sleigh Bells.

Toughest Decision: Sleigh Bells vs. Big Boi

Sleigh Bells is the sexiest new thing. Big Boi is royalty. Both were parties. When Major Lazer sampled "Riot Rhythm" my decision was made.

Second place: Local Natives vs. Beach House

Best Mosh Pit: Sleigh Bells

Visceral. It was so not-loud that the crowd chanted LOUDER after the first song. Alexis: "You want it louder?" YEAHHH. Austyn said she couldn't really hear her singing. Derek is only onstage so people remember it's a two person act. But, that was far and away, the most fun I had all weekend. Visceral.

During Neon Indian, Austyn and I ran into Gage who led us on a charge to about the tenth row, where we hit an unmoveable mass of devotees. We waited patiently as Alexis traipsed around the stage in pink sunglasses. The sound check for Sleigh Bells should take two minutes, but it took twenty. Then my brain stopped complaining.

From the first note of "Tell 'Em" until the last beat of "Crown on the Ground" a jubilant mosh pit erupted in crushing pandemonium. There was one girl incredibly barefoot, and a couple kids trying to escape, but everyone else was happy to be in the hyper-kinetic mass. Austyn lost her sunglasses, but recovered them, perfectly intact, except missing both lenses. We emerged soaked in sweat and beaming. I was still buzzing 15 minutes later.

Best Moment of Honesty: "Do you guys have our album? Because it's only 32 minutes long; we don't have anything else to play."

Allison poured her heart into the performance, even stage diving during closer "Crown on the Ground. But when the crowd chanted for "One More Song," she ashamedly apologized to us before leaving the stage. They didn't have any song to play for an encore, and this is why I chose to see them over Big Boi. I don't know what they can do for an encore.

Best Reason to shop for records, sit under a tree, and leave a song early: Pavement

Pavement after Sleigh Bells was like chasing a shot of Bacardi 151 with a cup of orange juice. Pavement sounded great, but I went to Pfest for the zeitgeist not a greatest hits album.

Sleigh Bells: The Perfect Summer Fling

The word on Sleigh Bells is that they are "loud." Bracing is a more accurate word, because it doesn't just describe the music, but how it makes the listener feel, which is essential to understanding Treats. After the songs seeped into my synapses, I found myself craving them. Even though I'm trying to only buy music on vinyl, I had to download it today, since, record label, N.E.E.T. is apparently too Ma and Pa to give the best album of the year a proper LP release. I couldn't keep waiting to crank Treats as I drive around Denver.



The problem for Sleigh Bells is that they can never be bracing again. After a band explodes with a new sound, they can neither successfully repeat it, since their sound has become familiar; nor change it, since expectations have already been set. In some cases, they can perfect it; as Eminem did after The Slim Shady LP, but ever since, he has been trying, impossibly, to recapture the exhilaration of Marshall Mathers.

Sleigh Bells are the perfect summer fling. This music must be enjoyed now; not that it is going away, but because as it becomes familiar it will lose its magic.

Wait, did I forget my sunglasses?

Sleigh Bells are Lebron James in 2003. Prematurely hyped, but somehow exceeding it. Their music comes across as fresh and carefree, even though it might be more calculated than any other tune beamed over the Internet. And if that's the case, good for them. Their music steals unapologetically from the Dirty South to Weezer, but it doesn't matter, because it is so fun to listen to. They ask the ultimate questions of our life's minutia, and answer them in the breeziest manner.

Congratulations to M.I.A. for going Dr. Dre on us and promoting ascendant proteges. She discovered a band that owns what the hip music scene craves most: shit that sounds bad, but is good, so as to weed out the ear of mild palette; left field pop hooks; lo-fi production values; dynamic instrumentation and laptop beats.



At the same time, N.E.E.T. must be a Ma and Pa record label, because the vinyl still isn't out. Lizzie and I were talking today that it is the vinyl we crave the most. Sure, Sleigh Bells built their rep with mp3s, but I won't be satisfied until I have Treats in 12x12 form.