^{Jarvis Cocker}

Hi kids,

Todd and Scotter here. As some of you know, we’re based in St. Louis and Detroit respectively, but we made our first collective concert outing last weekend at the Pitchfork Music Festival. Like usual with these kinds of things, we’re a little behind the other blogs, but what we lack in timing we make up in making things up.

Here’s our report on Saturday’s festivities (many pretty pictures following the jump):

1:00 p.m. Titus Andronicus (C)

Todd: The night before the festival took some unexpected turns, and I ultimately ended up on a basketball court in the wee hours of the morning shooting hoops with a couple of die-hard, heavily intoxicated Jarvis Cocker fans. So when I stumbled into Union Park some hours later, walking unsteadily through the mud and mist, I was bewildered to find the first band kicking the whole thing off with a grating cover of Pulp’s “Common People.” Maybe it was the throbbing in my head, maybe it was the out of key singing, but something didn’t sit right with me. They proceeded to thrash about on stage like it was the first time they put on a show, and the singer kid climbed on a banister and waved a flag around. Didn’t do anything for me. Where’s the appeal? Scotter, care to explain?

Scotter: Oh man, Titus Andronicus may be one of my favorite new bands. I made a point of listening to a few tracks on the bus ride to Chicago and Titus Andronicus’ songs kept me company throughout the 6-hour trip. They had a pretty tough time slot, having to open the festival proper and play for a lot of people who have never heard their music before. And they may have been the least seasoned band of the festival and played a bit too loosely at moments. And the wet audience (by this time it started to rain steadily) may not have been in the best shape to listen closely.

But the band came out with lots of energy and verve, playing as if they were attacking the audience into attention, like they were in competition with the scattered showers. And they played like they were having the best time of their lives. One of my favorite things about the Titus crew over the weekend was that I saw them in the wings at just about every show. They probably saw more bands than a lot of the ticket holders. They’re real fans who dig their influences and mold them into their own original sound.

Other blogs point out that singer Patrick Stickles sounds a lot like Conor Oberst and they’re not wrong, but the delivery is more Johnny Rotten to my ears. This is punk rock, ultimately, defined not by hard-driving eighth notes or any kind of popular punk style of dress. This is punk rock in having something to important say, saying it emotionally and sometimes angrily, getting in your face about it, and making you want to listen and sing along.

Just listen to this:
Titus Andronicus - Titus Andronicus
from The Airing of Grievances

Todd: I dunno, buddy. Sometimes screaming isn’t always a substitute for songwriting. My theory: having a big beard in the naughts is like having a fast car in the ’80s. It means you’re compensating. And this dude had a huge beard. Okay, enough of these kids. Time to get Reatarded.

1:30 p.m. Jay Reatard (A)

King Khan’s introduction: “I’ve known this guy since I was a kid. I even smoked dope with his mom once, and she didn’t make me pay!” Uhm, okay Khan, can we rock now please?

Todd: Hell yes, son, this is what I’m talking about. The Reatard was my most anticipated set of Saturday, and I’ll be damned if he didn’t rip through 100 songs in under 30 minutes and leave me begging for more. Plus, you’ve got to hand it to Jay for being one of the only artists who noticeably changed their live show from the recording. And by “change” I mean he played everything quadruple-speed, cut out the keyboards, and added a lot of spit.

Krack! Thwack! Krash! Every song just hit you like beer bottle to the head and, oh, it felt good. Saturday was sorely lacking in the intensity factor, but Reatard brought the rock LAMF.

Jay Reatard apparently only has three singing voices: a whiny, frightened little girl voice; a deep, cartoonish Casey Kasem voice; and a ‘Fuck You’ voice. It was completely disorienting to watch him switch in-between voices, sometimes mid-sentence, but he was so steadfast and intense I was afraid of what would happen to me if I looked away. I loved the Flying V’s. I loved the headbanging. And yet I was slightly disturbed by the bright red tongue that was frequently displayed by the fleshy bass player.

Scotter: I listened to a song, took a few pics, and left to get a beer.

To borrow a quote: “I dunno, buddy. Sometimes screaming isn’t always a substitute for songwriting.”

Todd: King Khan, standing by the side of the stage in his Hawaiian vacation attire, was a nice side-show attraction. Clearly enjoying himself with foaming mixed drink in hand, he would fake dry-hump a lady or maybe fake force a man to give him air-fellatio. My buddy Craig texted me, “King Khan steals the show just by existing.” I couldn’t wait for his set on Sunday.

2:00 p.m. Caribou (C)

Todd: Far and away the best percussion all weekend, but the intricacies of the soft vocal melodies and all the swooshy sound effects kind of got lost live. It was a nice set, could’ve used a light show, but my mind wandered.

Scotter: Yeah, the drums were both musically and literally front-and-center for Caribou: the drummer was positioned at the very front of the stage. A drummer friend of mine always tells me (especially after scrolling through the pics on this site) that drummers never get any attention. So this should put Caribou on a high pedestal at the next Whinny Drummers of America annual meeting.

Caribou’s music was easy to sway to and could have been dancy if the ground hadn’t begun its transition into mud.

Todd:I noticed some interesting characters in the crowd. To my left was a lady in a bikini and leg cast who had brought pre-cooked bacon in a knapsack, and to my immediate right were two tie-died hippie boys who were sharing their doobage with a 21+ bookish college girl in the hopes that she would buy them beer. You know what, the people who say P4K was just full of hipsters are being lazy. There were also a lot of freaks that you would expect to find creeping in at any outdoor festival, but more importantly I saw a lot of enthusiastic indie rock fans who were just really excited about seeing live music.

3:00 p.m. Fleet Foxes (A)

Todd: It takes serious dedication to stick with the “We’re going to wear flannel and vests no matter what” fashion mantra in this hot and muggy weather. But hey, if that’s your pony you gotta ride it.

Fleet Foxes really surprised me. The record doesn’t do much for me, but with their vocal harmonies blasting out in perfect clarity across the muddy fields I have to admit I was moved. It was kind of a madrigal Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young vibe.

Chicks really seem to dig this band for some reason.

Scotter: My girlfriend really seems to dig this band for some reason. As she turned to me after the set, she got this look in her eye as if she was imagining me with a long beard, long hair, and talent (a long shot, all three).

The rain had finally subsided as Fleet Foxes went on and, to my surprise, the crowd doubled in size by the middle of the set. It’s pretty gutsy, I suppose, to a capella a song called “White Winter Hymnal” at a steamy summer music festival, but Fleet Foxes pulled it off well. It’s the first time I heard “shhhh”ing at an outdoor festival.

4:15 p.m. The Ruby Suns (B)

Todd: Perfect music for an outdoor festival: airy, sunny, earthy. I didn’t listen too closely, I just laid under a tree and let the tropical synthesizer sounds wash over me. Ahh, that’s pleasant. My feet are tired.

Scotter kept trying to tell me that we weren’t listening to Ruby Suns; he said the schedule must be off or something. I said, “No dude, listen, they’re singing ‘Oh Mojave,’ the second song on Sea Lion. I own that album. I know this is the Ruby Suns.” I think he just felt bad for skipping their set to see the Teenagers back in April.

Scotter: I’m an idiot.

4:40 p.m. Dizzee Rascal (C)

Todd: This sounded amazing… from the food court. I heart Dizzee, but I hearted dinner more.

5:00 p.m. Vampire Weekend (A)

Todd: I think we’ve set some kind of worldwide music blog record for holding out the longest without ever mentioning VW.

Scotter: Another outstanding achievement for the Post-Rockist, I think. But we’re forced to talk Vampire Weekend here.

I talked to others who agreed: the album is very pleasant, easy to listen to, and unoffensive to one’s concentration. Which is why the time when most people listen to the album is at work. Seriously, think about it. How many times have you listened to this album at work but not afterward? Seriously.

I thought Vampire Weekend’s set was okay, but it sounded a lot like the album and when it didn’t sound like the album it was due to the singer trying to scream words instead of singing them, a good indicator that they’ve played these songs beyond even their own ability to tolerate them and should go home to Boston to start writing the new album before boring themselves out of existence. Nice looking chaps, though.

6:00 p.m. !!! (C)

Singer Nic Offer, near the end of the !!! set: You kids know something that the critics don’t. We’re the lowest rated band in Pitchfork playing the highest spot. That’s because of you.

Todd: Wowza. Nic Offer can’t sing and he can’t dance, but he has shorty shorts and he knows how to use them.

Scotter: Here’s all I should have to write for you:

!!!!

Todd: Really fun. Like a clubby Remain In Light filled with subliminal dance instructions.

Scotter: I’ll add this. Todd and I were having a discussion about the band’s name (for those of you just tuning in to this band, it’s commonly pronounced “chk-chk-chk”). I was putting out all of these bombastic theories of language–high-falootin’ English major stuff that I should’ve discarded from my mind awhile ago–bringing in Wittgenstein and Derrida and even Monty Python as references. Todd was nice enough not to show the exasperating boredom I must have been putting him through. But mid-disquisition, I realized that I was clapping along, unconsciously, with the rest of the crowd, my body unable to control itself from loosening up, even at my most uptight and academic. So I gave up and started dancing.

Todd: You so did not name-drop Wittgenstein.

7:00 p.m. The Hold Steady (A)

Scotter: I’ve never been a big fan of The Hold Steady. The things that I like about the band, I think The Tragically Hip do better. The things I dislike about the band, I think Bruce Springsteen does better. But I’ve never seen the live show and wasn’t really looking forward to it either. In fact, I was so unconcerned about seeing The Hold Steady that our crew decided to ditch any effort in lieu of getting a good spot for Jarvis Cocker. So standing, tired and exhausted from the early rain and late heat, a few rows of people from the front of the C stage, The Hold Steady rocked it from afar and suddenly turned me into a believer.

I couldn’t even see the stage-just the large screen TV version of the concert. Craig Finn was electrifying, having so much fun and spouting off lyric after great lyric. I couldn’t turn away from the big screen to enter into conversation with the people around me. I think I paid more attention to that concert than any early show that day, with the possible exception of !!!. I’m not sure if this new-found fascination will last, but I’m definitely on re-discovery road and will be riffling through old shoe boxes of CD-Rs for those Hold Steady albums friends burned for me, convinced that I’d love this band. Time will tell.

The mainstream media looks on from their caged vantage point.

8:00 p.m. Jarvis Cocker (C)

Scotter: I got into Jarvis Cocker very, very late in the game. I hadn’t even really given Pulp more than two listens but picked up his solo album, Jarvis, on a whim, and it’s been a staple album on my iPod ever since. So when some fans complain about the fact that he doesn’t play Pulp songs anymore, I’m not really fazed. I caught Jarvis as he embarked on Volume 2 of his career and that’s the reason I wanted so badly to see him.

And did he deliver! It really made a difference to be so close to the stage for this show, in order to see up close every movement, shimmy, shake, posture, dip, shrug, and pantomime. It was one of the most charismatic, attention-dominating performances I’ve ever seen. Jarvis had a control of the crowd like I haven’t really seen before. He got the audience clapping in unison not by raising his hands high in the air in a clapping motion over his head (like the amateurs). Instead, he takes a more subtle approach, putting his hands together around the microphone, as if in prayer, and then clapping lightly, with small motions. He knew everyone in the crowd was watching intently, and within seconds, everyone was clapping along.

Jarvis played a few brand new songs and they were all excellent. One song, “Girls Like It Too,” was based on a story told by John Peel’s older brother at the legendary British DJ’s funeral. The older brother was trying to give young John confidence in his sexual dealings with young birds and imparted the following (I think) truism: “Don’t worry. Girls like it too.”

Another new one was about trying to pick-up a girl at the Natural History Museum (See footnote, below).

Jarvis ended the show with a plug for Obama and the songs “Cunts Are Still Running the World,” with the hope that he can stop playing this song sooner than later. For a little while, you can listen to the performance here.

Todd: What he said. It’s a great feeling when you can tell only one song into a set that you’re watching a deservedly legendary performer. For some reason I kept thinking of the Bowie line from “Drive-in Saturday” about “When people stared in Jagger’s eyes and scored,” only I was swapping out “Jagger” with Jarvis. Scotter, I apologize if you felt a poke during the show. That was just the zoom lens on my camera accidentally going off. In my pocket. Yeah. That’s the ticket.

9:00 p.m. Animal Collective (A)

Scotter:

Too…

tired…

to have…

to concentrate…

on difficult…

music.

See…

you…

tomorrow.

Todd: After the orgiastic experience of watching Jarvis, I was ready for a cigarette and a change of pants. I think there might have been a band on afterwards, at least I remember hearing some lights and seeing some sounds, but there were no real songs capturing my attention so I just headed home. Well, that was the plan at least.

I was sitting on my buddy Craig’s couch drinking cheap Canadian whiskey, when all of a sudden we get a call. “Guess who’s standing five feet away from me smoking a cigarette?”

Five minutes later we were at the Rainbo Club, trying to act casual. After all, Jarvis Cocker was in our midst. He had changed out of his velour suit into an equally fashionable checked suit. As it turns out, for being such an iconic performer, he’s a remarkably approachable and polite gent. “Hi, I’m Jarvis,” he said, as if I didn’t know. I had never even heard the Jarvis solo album before Saturday, so I didn’t want to go out of my way in kissing the grown man’s ass, but our crew was more than willing to brown-nose in order to share a moment with an idol. We learned of his fondness for Vampire Weekend, his disgust for Andy Dick, and his pre-show ritual consisting of two bars of chocolate and a glass of whiskey. Music news-wise, he tipped us off that despite performing six new songs flawlessly earlier that night–half an album in other words–he’s not planning to start recording the follow-up to Jarvis until early next year. And only then if he feels like.

He also confided in me that the Post-Rockist is his favourite blog. It’s true.

Okay, that last part isn’t technically true, but I had you going there for a second with that dapper British “u” in “favourite” at least, right? Right? Oh, wrong.

Onward to Sunday!
_______________________________________________

Footnote:
^{Dear readers, I’m going to need your help with this one because my girlfriend and I had a little argument that needs solving. Todd’s been no help, so I put it to those of you who may have been there. The chorus goes “I told you once! I want to be your ____”.}

Now I’m absolutely convinced that he says “I want to be your boyfriend.” As cheesy as that sounds, coming from a 40-year-old, internationally famous, rockstar divorcee, it’s actually a pretty great line. Girlfriend thinks it was “I want to be your lover,” which is even cheesier because it’s been said a million times, and wouldn’t you think that he’d go for something coy and different than the same-old same old?

Seriously folks, I need some help here. Our relationship may depend on it.