Thumb’s Up for Pitchfork: Yoko Ono & Of Montreal
Thumb’s Down: Not Much Else (‘Cept the Haters)

By David Shuey and Jim Lacey; photography by Kelly Reed July 22, 2007

Pitchfork kicked ass. Nay-sayers be damned. Bathroom lines were under 5 minutes if you had guile, and tasty $4 adult-beverage lines were non-existent about half the time. Yoko Ono got hippie-haters with flashlights blinking “I Love You,” and the hip-hop duo Clipse wore cheesy diamond-studded bling that made me mouth aloud (much to my surprise), “I love this.” Musical conversions were plentiful to the willing hearts and minds.

I’ve noticed some valid online remarks post-Pitchfork: the sound didn’t carry; an intense Girl Talk set was cut short by Chicago Fire Department. But then criticism takes a turn for the bizarre: stages were too small or too large; hot bands were playing the wrong stage; Yoko was too freaky. Here’s some advice: Can’t hear? Get closer. Not enjoying a set or someone nearby is talking? Move.

The only sad sight I saw was the back-half of the Friday crowd for Sonic Youth, which was aloof and dead as Kim Gordon spun in circles like a blissed-out school girl at the end of a rousing performance of Daydream Nation (played in its entirety) and a Rather Ripped encore of “Incinerate” and a few other jams. Where was the audience’s energy? Whose fault is this? The organizers’? Hardly. Maybe it’s the snarky spirit of Pitchfork and the indie scene itself; inventing problems when none exist. Perhaps folding arms, posturing and complaining to validate one’s own elite positioning is more fun than, well, having fun.

I ain’t complainin’ – I relished nearly all my 18 hours over 3 days for under $60. Jim Lacy enjoyed his time, too. Below he gives his insight on the Yoko show (with Sonic Youth’s Thurston Moore collaborating); I try to put into words what photographer Kelly Reed’s pictures do so much better regarding my festival highlight: the glamtastic rock band Of Montreal (of Athens, Georgia), carrying the torch of Michael Stipes, B-52s, and other gaytacular entertainment. (DS)

Yoko Ono: I Love You (i ii iii)

Flashlights scattered over the crowd like confetti, marking the beginning of what would prove to be the most aesthetic and relevant set of the festival from activist, performance artist, feminist and luminary Yoko Ono.

At age 74, Yoko Ono's career and influence range far and wide, from her avant-garde beginning performing with the likes of composer John Cage and free jazz improviser Ornette Coleman, to her Phil Spector-produced rock records of the 1970s, to her trend-setting new wave singles of the 1980s.

The Pitchfork crowd's reception was a warm one as fans tossed bouquets of flowers, flickered their flashlights and held up swaths of fine lace as offerings to her performance's message of love, individuality and understanding. And whether they got it or not, minds were indeed blown by her belting, staccato delivery.

And did any act at the Pitchfork festival use the stage to speak out against the war? Of course Yoko Ono did; having been an outspoken voice against the war in Vietnam in the 1960s and 1970s, working closely with vaunted radicals Angela Davis, John Sinclair and Bobby Seales, Yoko did not forget the opportunity for social action presented such gatherings. She led a potent sing along of "War is Over If You Want It," receiving a hearty echo from the crowd, again and again. They sounded like they wanted it.

Musically, the crowning moment of her set, and perhaps the entire festival, had to be Ono's performance of her abstract composition "Mulberry" with Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore. A rarity only performed a few times in her life, as she told the crowd, once with husband John and later with her son Sean. Thurston and Ono tangled and wove together, guitar and vocals pushing, pulling, regarding one another before smashing into each other for a sound and experience unlike any other over the entire weekend. History was probably made.

To the festival famous for its niche programming, Yoko Ono brought an outsized and iconic performance and persona. It was eye-opening and horizon-broadening for those who got to partake.(JL)

Of Montreal: You Got Soul Power!

If “The Past is a Grotesque Animal,” then the Present Of Montreal Genius (Kevin Barnes) is a Sexy Beast. Donning a black bustier and pleather shorts after his second costume change, which shrank to g-string proportions for the rare but deserved daytime encore, he and his costumed band mates’ 10-minute-plus pulsating dance epic was the visual and auditory highlight of Pitchfork.

The sinewy Barnes shredded guitar licks and vocal harmonies while sharing space with mime-actors doing handstands, a guitarist in giant pink wings humping an amp, Darth Vader, and yes, a grotesque animal theater prop rolling around like Jabba the Hutt sporting print-out faces of the lead singer. The faces elicited Barnes different moods and, by the song’s rapturous end, were destroyed, signifying ego destruction and moving on past pain – or perhaps, the hidden face of a monster behind all our outward personas. In light of the candid stories oft-told by Barnes of transforming psychological struggles into uplifting pop tunes for their latest (and best) album, Hissing Fauna, Are you the Destroyer, the performance was groundbreaking, as both fully-conceived art and debased entertainment.

If you’re not getting the visual weirdness and Jungian psychology yet, try Youtubing their hit single, and deciphering the Lobster Arm (also present at the Sunday performance).

It was a set of surreal contrasts. Of Montreal’s songs of suicidal delusion, depression in Scandinavia, and the unpredictability of our own body’s natural chemicals (“Come on mood now shift back to good again/come on be a friend”) somehow sounded as joyous as early REM on happy pills. Everything was unpredictable, and highly illuminated. Even the encore, the Kinks’ “You Really Got Me,” was a surprise, perhaps because it was a sly 1960s cover by Of Montreal’s cape-wearing forefathers, or because children and grandmothers alike could see Barnes’ naked buns projected on the jumbotron.

Tertiary highlight: The peppy “Bunny Ain’t No Kind Of Rider,” during which throngs of girls and boys collectively shrieked the lyrics to Barnes’ ode to easy pick-ups at hipster art parties: “Eva, I’m sorry, but you can never have me/to me you’re just some faggy girl/and I need a lover with soul power.”

And we danced. Ex-Pavement frontman Stephen Malkmus in the evening’s previous sparse yet oddly affectionate set, rounded out his one-man show with “We Dance” from 1995’s Wowee Zowee (intro: “There is noooo/castration fear”) with his old Pavement Drummer Bob Nastanovich ballroom dancing onstage with another bandana-wearing dude. It was a serendipitous transition into Of Montreal, who owe much to Pavement and other vanguards of indie rock, most tellingly in the reckless handstands on stage (a Pavement staple in their early days) and cartoony-but-simple art in animated videos and $10-and-some-magic-markers live set backdrops (see Pavement’s “Slow Century” DVD for points of comparison and history).

Of Montreal is the forbidden fruit (or Georgie Fruit, as Barnes calls his black she-male alter ego) spawned from art-rock’s early seeds of Sonic Youth, Yoko, Malkmus, and dare I say, De La Soul.It was a thrill to witness the torch being passed, lighting our bionic dancing asses on fire along the way. (DS)

Comments

[TDiddy]

nice one