Saturday
Though I would have gone out there anyway at some point in the fall, I scheduled my trip to visit Lauren in San Francisco around the Treasure Island Music Festival, held each year on Treasure Island, an artificial island in the San Francisco Bay just north of the SF-Oakland Bay Bridge, featuring two days of mostly indie music over a mid-October weekend. Unfortunately, we caused ourselves much more strife than necessary in assuming that we could wait till the last minute to secure tickets, and the Saturday show was sold out in the day or two prior to the show. Though we were able to get Sunday tickets, attempts to get a Saturday set on Craiglist proved frustrating and fruitless. Through a friend of a friend, Lauren was able to get one ticket, but we were still short a second come Saturday morning. Late morning, we headed down to AT&T Park, home of the San Francisco Giants, to catch a shuttle to the island, in hopes that we’d be able to pick up an extra ticket somewhere along the way.
On our walk, we happened to cross paths with a guy who also seemed to be on his way to the show. Not sure exactly where to go himself, he joined us in our search. As luck would have it, he was also in possession of an extra ticket, which he was looking to unload. We chatted with him on the way to the venue and purchased his extra 2 day ticket at a discount. We were now up a ticket as we had an extra one for the following day. Go figure.
It was barely noon, much earlier than we would have arrived if we hhadn'tbeen in need of a ticket, so we just decided to take advantage of it by seeing the immediate vicinity of the island and festival grounds. Treasure Island is a medium sized festival, drawing a crowd of approximately 25-30,000 people each day. With two stages, it’s possible to catch every song of every band playing, even if you don’t ever move from a blanket placed somewhere between both stages. When one band finishes, the next is set up and ready to play on the opposing stage. As in any festival, tents and stands line the pathways, selling anything from burritos and beer to sweaters and stickers. The grounds also featured a rickety old Ferris Wheel, which by mid afternoon, had a long line that didn't seem to justify the experience.
The first day’s line up had a more electronic and hip hop focus, which drew a younger crowd. It was a beautiful, sunny day, probably reaching 80 degrees at least. Being a music festival in the bay area, the freaks were certainly out, and many attendees adorned costumes, including animals, stormtroopers, pirates, and pimps. A few motorized cupcake costumes/go-carts also drove about the walkways early in the day before the crowd thickened.
The day’s music stated with The Limousines on the main stage, a more local act featuring a duo of a vocalist and a laptop-based DJ. Following on the other stage were the Crown City Rockers, who blended rap lyrics with jazz rock, as popularized by the Roots. We next saw MURS, which to my undiscerning ear for hip hop, sounded like more “typical” hip hop. While enjoyable, it lacked anything particularly memorable or unique to me, just lyrics over more traditional beats. However, I do give MURS credit for maintaining more positive attitudes to life, responsibility, and relationships with women than many other artists.
It was still early afternoon when Passion Pit took the main stage, one of the acts for which I was most excited. Though I did see them at Bonnaroo in June, I made the terrible mistake of getting a little too inebriated to fully enjoy the show, so I was thrilled for a second chance to see them live. Passion Pit only came on the scene in the last year, but hit the ground running with an indie pop and electronic mix that sparks giddiness and exuberance. Their full stage of five members features a background of a traditional drum kit and bass, but excludes guitars in favor of a slew of keyboard, synthesizers, a laptop, and other sampling equipment to showcase catchy melodies and pulsing beats. I had very high expectations for Passion Pit, stemming from my love of their debut album, “Manners,” my recollections of their previous show, and the hype surrounding them. I was able to convince Lauren to move towards the front of the stage with me, promising that it would be the only time during the weekend that I would insist on doing so. Most of the band sounded great, as they artfully mixed the familiarity of their album with the updates and improvisation of live performance. But while the rest of the band was spot on, lead vocalist Michael Angelakos’s voice sounded weak. Normally, his easily confused for being female, falsetto voice belts out surreal, self-explorative lyrics overtop the epic melodies, but on that sunny Saturday afternoon, his voice cracked and failed to register over the rest of the instruments. I’m not sure whether he was having an off day or if his youth and inexperience on the national music scene has yet to afford him the opportunity to perfect the art of the festival live performance. Regardless, I still enjoyed their set, jumping up and down to my favorite songs, including the anthem-esque “Moth’s Wings” and “Let Your Love Grow Tall” and the dance floor appropriate “Little Secrets,” which despite the absence of the choir of 5th graders present on the album, still popped.
Next to take the main stage was The Streets, stage name of British born garage rock hip hop artist Mike Skinner. His showcasing a Cockney accent despite hailing from Birmingham allows him to spit a mix of hip hop, rhymed speech, and song, imparting introspective and philosophical lyrics. Backed by fellow Brit Kevin Mark Trail, who incorporated his own blend of R&B, soul, and hip hop, The Streets instantly developed high rapport with the audience, interacting with the crowd, with Skinner showing his regained deep appreciation for his audience and fame, which was clearly fading several years ago.
Following The Streets, we mostly took a break from music and opted to wander around the various stands, snacking and perusing clothing and art. Night was setting in as MSTRKRFT took the stage, a laptop-only duo churning out throbbing dance punk beats. Mixed with lights and the occasional voice over, it was the first time that day where the rest of the audience joined me in dancing and jumping up and down. Sampling beats while taking swigs of Crown Royal, MSTRKRFT seemed a pair that truly loved their job, as if they were just DJing their own party with 30,000 of their closest friends.
The last act of the second stage for the evening was Girl Talk, stage name of Gregg Gillis, a mash up artist sampling everything from Bon Jovi to Michael Jackson, from Jay-Z to Radiohead. This takes advantage of a nearly universal familiarity of his music, even for those who’ve never heard his name or his compilations prior. Since not too much else is happening on-stage, he invites a hundred or so sweaty kids up to join him, probably on the sole condition that they are moving the entire set. Again the crowd was dancing and jumping, with Lauren and I happily in the thick up it. A sober day for the both of us, it was the one show we saw that I really would have liked to have had a few drinks in me.
MGMT closed down a great day of music on the main stage. Prior to their set they announced that they would play the entirety of the album that launched them to success, 2007’s “Oracular Spectacular.” The crowd was excited as they immediately launched into “Time to Pretend,” keeping with the day’s theme of blending synthesizer indie pop and electronic with traditional rock instrumentation. Since many of the fan favorites on the album are loaded towards the front, people began streaming out as they got into their set. In a way, it was a wise move to ensure a more even flow of people to the buses returning people to San Francisco. After hearing a rendition of “Kids” I knew that I had heard all the songs I really felt I needed to hear, and we made our exit with the other throngs of people. Another fan standing with me compared it to leaving a football game early during a blowout: you’re tired and the exciting part is over, so why not just home. It was a long day of music, and while I’d like to blame our early departure on Lauren, I have to admit that I was equally ready to head home when she indicated that she wanted to head to the buses. It was nearly a 12 hour day after all.
We rushed to the buses, dreading the long lines that would take the masses home. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the logistics operated like clockwork. People were funneled onto buses for their return trip home, and we were even able to divest our Sunday extra ticket in line, taking only a reasonable hit.
Sunday
With tickets in hand, getting to the show the next day was much more relaxing. Though not appreciated, it certainly was fitting for the mellower rock-focused day of shows that the weather had cooled drastically. Lauren and I bundled up in sweaters, fleeces, and caps as the chilly wind whipped across Treasure Island. As compared to the day before, the crowd was much older and had checked the weather report and was properly dressed, though there were still a few poor souls in t-shirts and shorts.
We arrived mid afternoon in time for Grizzly Bear, which was equally bundled for warmth on the main stage. Grizzly Bear mixes psychedelic pop, folk, and experimental rock, utilizing acoustic guitars and ethereal vocal harmonies. Though mostly a subdued set, it lived up towards the end as the sun tried to peak through the clouds. We opted to not stray over to the other stage as much on the second day, as it was really only a few of the acts that we wanted to see. This afforded us the opportunity to plant ourselves on a blanket for a good part of the day, huddling together against the ground where it was warmest.
The next act on the main stage was Beirut. Since I mistakenly thought was a one man project, I was surprised by their slew of performers playing a variety of Eastern European influenced folk-pop music, complete with a brass section and an accordion, which I have grown to appreciate in recent years with other gypsy fusions bands like DeVotchKa and Gogol Bordello. Singer Zac Condon’s vocals complimented the meandering wa-wa sound of the trumpets and tuba. Except for a brief tuba solo which got some in the crowd moving, Beirut’s slow set list, like Grizzly Bear’s, was well suited for a chilly afternoon beneath the clouds.
The next band to take the main stage, The Decemberists, were another I saw at Bonnaroo earlier this year, but I only stayed briefly, instead opting to catch the majority of the Mars Volta on that Saturday afternoon in Tennessee. It was only in seeing them again that I realized what a mistake I might have made. Though only comprised of 5 official members, the stage was filled with additional players on keyboards, guitars, and backing vocals. Being the first band to play after the sun went down, they were also the first I saw to really rock hard on that chilly evening. Like MGMT the night before, the Decemberists chose to play the entirety of their most recent album, “The Hazards of Love.” I don’t remember them announcing it before or during their set though, only realizing looking at the set list online later. However, I certainly did notice that I wasn’t hearing any of my favorite selections from their previous album. “The Hazards of Love” is clearly one of those albums that translated well to a live setting, transitioning from high to low and fast to slow seamlessly over the course of the set. The band seemed to include some extended jams in certain sections, though this may have just been an illusion as their set took only an hour, within a few minutes of time required to play the original album on a stereo.
Like The Decemberists, I had seen the closing act of the evening, The Flaming Lips, earlier this year, at the Green Apple Festival on Earth Day on the National Mall. The first time around, I was very impressed with their psychedelic and unique performance. I was excited for Lauren to get to see and enjoy such an off the wall show. This time around many of the same themes remained, with perhaps some even more extreme elements. As their set began, the stage erupted in an array of flashing rainbow colors as members of the band began to warm up. A video of a naked woman dancing seductively played on the jumbotron, culminating with a close up of her psychedelic crotch and several other members of the band, including front man Wayne Coyne, making a grand entrance through the screen from a mechanism on the other side. Coyne immediately got into his giant plastic bubble, a la the bubble boy, and paraded atop the outstretched hands of the crowd while confetti and streamers blanketed the air. The spectacle of the show was certainly grand, and I frequently hoisted Lauren in the air so see could see the celebration. However, after the novelty of the event faded, the performance left much to be desired. Coyne insisted on making repeated attempts to converse with the audience, in some cases seeming to forget that he was in the middle of a song and his band mates were expecting the lyrics to the next verse. Though admittedly, as dizzying as trippy close-ups of his face on the screen were, they weren’t out of place amongst the flurry of paper, explosions of confetti, dancing girls, and creature costumes. Having believed we have achieved the desired effect from the show and the weekend, we again left the show before the final curtain call, deciding to retreat from the cold night air to the warmth of the bus.
Though I would have gone out there anyway at some point in the fall, I scheduled my trip to visit Lauren in San Francisco around the Treasure Island Music Festival, held each year on Treasure Island, an artificial island in the San Francisco Bay just north of the SF-Oakland Bay Bridge, featuring two days of mostly indie music over a mid-October weekend. Unfortunately, we caused ourselves much more strife than necessary in assuming that we could wait till the last minute to secure tickets, and the Saturday show was sold out in the day or two prior to the show. Though we were able to get Sunday tickets, attempts to get a Saturday set on Craiglist proved frustrating and fruitless. Through a friend of a friend, Lauren was able to get one ticket, but we were still short a second come Saturday morning. Late morning, we headed down to AT&T Park, home of the San Francisco Giants, to catch a shuttle to the island, in hopes that we’d be able to pick up an extra ticket somewhere along the way.
On our walk, we happened to cross paths with a guy who also seemed to be on his way to the show. Not sure exactly where to go himself, he joined us in our search. As luck would have it, he was also in possession of an extra ticket, which he was looking to unload. We chatted with him on the way to the venue and purchased his extra 2 day ticket at a discount. We were now up a ticket as we had an extra one for the following day. Go figure.
It was barely noon, much earlier than we would have arrived if we hhadn'tbeen in need of a ticket, so we just decided to take advantage of it by seeing the immediate vicinity of the island and festival grounds. Treasure Island is a medium sized festival, drawing a crowd of approximately 25-30,000 people each day. With two stages, it’s possible to catch every song of every band playing, even if you don’t ever move from a blanket placed somewhere between both stages. When one band finishes, the next is set up and ready to play on the opposing stage. As in any festival, tents and stands line the pathways, selling anything from burritos and beer to sweaters and stickers. The grounds also featured a rickety old Ferris Wheel, which by mid afternoon, had a long line that didn't seem to justify the experience.The first day’s line up had a more electronic and hip hop focus, which drew a younger crowd. It was a beautiful, sunny day, probably reaching 80 degrees at least. Being a music festival in the bay area, the freaks were certainly out, and many attendees adorned costumes, including animals, stormtroopers, pirates, and pimps. A few motorized cupcake costumes/go-carts also drove about the walkways early in the day before the crowd thickened.
The day’s music stated with The Limousines on the main stage, a more local act featuring a duo of a vocalist and a laptop-based DJ. Following on the other stage were the Crown City Rockers, who blended rap lyrics with jazz rock, as popularized by the Roots. We next saw MURS, which to my undiscerning ear for hip hop, sounded like more “typical” hip hop. While enjoyable, it lacked anything particularly memorable or unique to me, just lyrics over more traditional beats. However, I do give MURS credit for maintaining more positive attitudes to life, responsibility, and relationships with women than many other artists.
It was still early afternoon when Passion Pit took the main stage, one of the acts for which I was most excited. Though I did see them at Bonnaroo in June, I made the terrible mistake of getting a little too inebriated to fully enjoy the show, so I was thrilled for a second chance to see them live. Passion Pit only came on the scene in the last year, but hit the ground running with an indie pop and electronic mix that sparks giddiness and exuberance. Their full stage of five members features a background of a traditional drum kit and bass, but excludes guitars in favor of a slew of keyboard, synthesizers, a laptop, and other sampling equipment to showcase catchy melodies and pulsing beats. I had very high expectations for Passion Pit, stemming from my love of their debut album, “Manners,” my recollections of their previous show, and the hype surrounding them. I was able to convince Lauren to move towards the front of the stage with me, promising that it would be the only time during the weekend that I would insist on doing so. Most of the band sounded great, as they artfully mixed the familiarity of their album with the updates and improvisation of live performance. But while the rest of the band was spot on, lead vocalist Michael Angelakos’s voice sounded weak. Normally, his easily confused for being female, falsetto voice belts out surreal, self-explorative lyrics overtop the epic melodies, but on that sunny Saturday afternoon, his voice cracked and failed to register over the rest of the instruments. I’m not sure whether he was having an off day or if his youth and inexperience on the national music scene has yet to afford him the opportunity to perfect the art of the festival live performance. Regardless, I still enjoyed their set, jumping up and down to my favorite songs, including the anthem-esque “Moth’s Wings” and “Let Your Love Grow Tall” and the dance floor appropriate “Little Secrets,” which despite the absence of the choir of 5th graders present on the album, still popped.
Next to take the main stage was The Streets, stage name of British born garage rock hip hop artist Mike Skinner. His showcasing a Cockney accent despite hailing from Birmingham allows him to spit a mix of hip hop, rhymed speech, and song, imparting introspective and philosophical lyrics. Backed by fellow Brit Kevin Mark Trail, who incorporated his own blend of R&B, soul, and hip hop, The Streets instantly developed high rapport with the audience, interacting with the crowd, with Skinner showing his regained deep appreciation for his audience and fame, which was clearly fading several years ago.
Following The Streets, we mostly took a break from music and opted to wander around the various stands, snacking and perusing clothing and art. Night was setting in as MSTRKRFT took the stage, a laptop-only duo churning out throbbing dance punk beats. Mixed with lights and the occasional voice over, it was the first time that day where the rest of the audience joined me in dancing and jumping up and down. Sampling beats while taking swigs of Crown Royal, MSTRKRFT seemed a pair that truly loved their job, as if they were just DJing their own party with 30,000 of their closest friends.
The last act of the second stage for the evening was Girl Talk, stage name of Gregg Gillis, a mash up artist sampling everything from Bon Jovi to Michael Jackson, from Jay-Z to Radiohead. This takes advantage of a nearly universal familiarity of his music, even for those who’ve never heard his name or his compilations prior. Since not too much else is happening on-stage, he invites a hundred or so sweaty kids up to join him, probably on the sole condition that they are moving the entire set. Again the crowd was dancing and jumping, with Lauren and I happily in the thick up it. A sober day for the both of us, it was the one show we saw that I really would have liked to have had a few drinks in me.
MGMT closed down a great day of music on the main stage. Prior to their set they announced that they would play the entirety of the album that launched them to success, 2007’s “Oracular Spectacular.” The crowd was excited as they immediately launched into “Time to Pretend,” keeping with the day’s theme of blending synthesizer indie pop and electronic with traditional rock instrumentation. Since many of the fan favorites on the album are loaded towards the front, people began streaming out as they got into their set. In a way, it was a wise move to ensure a more even flow of people to the buses returning people to San Francisco. After hearing a rendition of “Kids” I knew that I had heard all the songs I really felt I needed to hear, and we made our exit with the other throngs of people. Another fan standing with me compared it to leaving a football game early during a blowout: you’re tired and the exciting part is over, so why not just home. It was a long day of music, and while I’d like to blame our early departure on Lauren, I have to admit that I was equally ready to head home when she indicated that she wanted to head to the buses. It was nearly a 12 hour day after all.
We rushed to the buses, dreading the long lines that would take the masses home. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the logistics operated like clockwork. People were funneled onto buses for their return trip home, and we were even able to divest our Sunday extra ticket in line, taking only a reasonable hit.
Sunday
With tickets in hand, getting to the show the next day was much more relaxing. Though not appreciated, it certainly was fitting for the mellower rock-focused day of shows that the weather had cooled drastically. Lauren and I bundled up in sweaters, fleeces, and caps as the chilly wind whipped across Treasure Island. As compared to the day before, the crowd was much older and had checked the weather report and was properly dressed, though there were still a few poor souls in t-shirts and shorts.
We arrived mid afternoon in time for Grizzly Bear, which was equally bundled for warmth on the main stage. Grizzly Bear mixes psychedelic pop, folk, and experimental rock, utilizing acoustic guitars and ethereal vocal harmonies. Though mostly a subdued set, it lived up towards the end as the sun tried to peak through the clouds. We opted to not stray over to the other stage as much on the second day, as it was really only a few of the acts that we wanted to see. This afforded us the opportunity to plant ourselves on a blanket for a good part of the day, huddling together against the ground where it was warmest.
The next act on the main stage was Beirut. Since I mistakenly thought was a one man project, I was surprised by their slew of performers playing a variety of Eastern European influenced folk-pop music, complete with a brass section and an accordion, which I have grown to appreciate in recent years with other gypsy fusions bands like DeVotchKa and Gogol Bordello. Singer Zac Condon’s vocals complimented the meandering wa-wa sound of the trumpets and tuba. Except for a brief tuba solo which got some in the crowd moving, Beirut’s slow set list, like Grizzly Bear’s, was well suited for a chilly afternoon beneath the clouds.
The next band to take the main stage, The Decemberists, were another I saw at Bonnaroo earlier this year, but I only stayed briefly, instead opting to catch the majority of the Mars Volta on that Saturday afternoon in Tennessee. It was only in seeing them again that I realized what a mistake I might have made. Though only comprised of 5 official members, the stage was filled with additional players on keyboards, guitars, and backing vocals. Being the first band to play after the sun went down, they were also the first I saw to really rock hard on that chilly evening. Like MGMT the night before, the Decemberists chose to play the entirety of their most recent album, “The Hazards of Love.” I don’t remember them announcing it before or during their set though, only realizing looking at the set list online later. However, I certainly did notice that I wasn’t hearing any of my favorite selections from their previous album. “The Hazards of Love” is clearly one of those albums that translated well to a live setting, transitioning from high to low and fast to slow seamlessly over the course of the set. The band seemed to include some extended jams in certain sections, though this may have just been an illusion as their set took only an hour, within a few minutes of time required to play the original album on a stereo.
Like The Decemberists, I had seen the closing act of the evening, The Flaming Lips, earlier this year, at the Green Apple Festival on Earth Day on the National Mall. The first time around, I was very impressed with their psychedelic and unique performance. I was excited for Lauren to get to see and enjoy such an off the wall show. This time around many of the same themes remained, with perhaps some even more extreme elements. As their set began, the stage erupted in an array of flashing rainbow colors as members of the band began to warm up. A video of a naked woman dancing seductively played on the jumbotron, culminating with a close up of her psychedelic crotch and several other members of the band, including front man Wayne Coyne, making a grand entrance through the screen from a mechanism on the other side. Coyne immediately got into his giant plastic bubble, a la the bubble boy, and paraded atop the outstretched hands of the crowd while confetti and streamers blanketed the air. The spectacle of the show was certainly grand, and I frequently hoisted Lauren in the air so see could see the celebration. However, after the novelty of the event faded, the performance left much to be desired. Coyne insisted on making repeated attempts to converse with the audience, in some cases seeming to forget that he was in the middle of a song and his band mates were expecting the lyrics to the next verse. Though admittedly, as dizzying as trippy close-ups of his face on the screen were, they weren’t out of place amongst the flurry of paper, explosions of confetti, dancing girls, and creature costumes. Having believed we have achieved the desired effect from the show and the weekend, we again left the show before the final curtain call, deciding to retreat from the cold night air to the warmth of the bus.
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