Chris Lindsey: On my way to the Treasure Island Music Festival, my friend texted me: “I feel like I'm in an American Apparel ad.” Of course, it is no longer a surprise, this ghoulish bunch of copycats, poseurs, and hangers-on. I wonder why I feel the need to open every article I write with these indictments? So, let's dispense with the hazy and bitter memories and focus on the reality of this moment: The Treasure Island Music Festival is an amazing assortment of innovative and talented bands and DJs. Last year, I went feeling cynical and left feeling excited about music again. This year, I would have the same experience — cynical text messages be damned.
Treasure Island is still weird. The grass sinks beneath one's feet, as though this land wasn't really meant to be here. I have the feeling this whole apparatus could slide into the bay at any moment.
Elzee: Chris' friend wasn't kidding about the line for this festival. It was full of feathers and face paint, on the first day, but I'm sure people were having a good time in their ridiculous getups. The weather was generally pleasant, the music was generally good; it was a generally successful weekend. Also, I rode the ferris wheel. That was totally awesome.
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Day One : Electronica & Hip-Hop
Elzee: I missed the majority of Murs' set, luckily arriving in time to hear his words of wisdom for the male audience members. If, like Murs, you've ended a relationship in anticipation of going on tour but wish to reconnect with your lady because you still love her, Murs has something to say about it, no matter how strong you feel: “Fuck that, fellas, we don't call first!”
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Although I went in not wanting to like Passion Pit's set (like this guy), it turned out to be one of the best of the weekend thanks to singer Michael Angelakos' total stage ownage. Perpetually in motion, his vocal strength lifted his lyrics above the overdramatic synth gestures that draw my main complaints in regard to the band's recorded music. There wasn't really room to dance, but if there were, I would have been busting out my best moves.
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Chris: Crazy, noisy DJ Dan Deacon encourages a dance competition within the ranks of his fans and a huge circle opens up in front of the stage. Eager, tiny dancers express their elegant and soulful selves on the soft grass.
Elzee: Deacon's set with a full band was fantastic and included a surprise Greg Gillis (Girl Talk) crowdsurfing appearance. Deacon gestured and hopped like an orchestra conductor leading a band of joyful, slightly crazy accompanists. It produced the most energetic crowd of the weekend. It seemed appropriate that these dudes wandered by during the set:
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Whichever planet they're from, I'm sure all they listen to is Dan Deacon.
I couldn't take much of The Streets, so I composed a haiku about them:
I know he's British
But his accent sounds so forced
Also annoying
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Chris: DJ Krush was OK. I am glad that drum 'n' bass is making a comeback in this hip-hop saturated world.
The Steam Punk contingent is back again this year, with a whole section of the event dedicated to their old-timey games, people on stilts with silly moustaches, and an electronic keyboard made to look and sound like the calliopes of simpler times, with giant copper pipes hiding amp and speakers. At best it's like Deadwood or Carnivale; at worst it's like Will Smith's Wild, Wild, West.
The audience actually chants “Girl Talk! Girl Talk! Girl Talk!” Gregg Gillis is probably the most charismatic DJ I've ever seen. Famous for outrageous mash-ups, questionably legal samples, and stripping down to his underwear; Gillis opens with AC/DC's “Thunderstruck.” With confetti raining down, glistening fans leap into the air and at last this feels like a real party. And then suddenly the stage is filled with them! Gillis invites 50 or so happy dancers up on stage to celebrate “Sweet Child O' Mine,” which he eventually smashes into hits from Smashing Pumpkins and Red Hot Chili Peppers. I remember Girl Talk played at the last Yahoo! Hack Day to a patently different audience.
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Esteemed Toronto DJs MSTRKRFT pump out a masterful set of techno- and house-tempo beats. Remixing everyone from Justice to Michael Jackson, MSTRKRFT finish their set with Queen's “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Long live electronic dance music.
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Day Two: Rock & Folk
Elzee: I'm glad I accidentally arrived early to Day Two, because San Francisco's Sleepy Sun were fantastic.
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Thao Nguyen, namesake of Thao With the Get Down Stay Down, was much more bashful onstage than I anticipated – but her gentle stage presence didn't diminish her seriously impressive musicality. Songs had a raw edge that sometimes clashed with their precious arrangements, but Thao pulled it all together with ease and a totally charming smile.
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Chris: They have a shirtless-hippie shuffle-rock style I might normally find annoying, but in this moment on the grass with the beautiful bay all around, Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes are working for me. Granola-rock turns into interesting syncopated polyrhythm and then into country as storm clouds begin to brew overhead. At the end of their set, the music turns to meditative chants. The audience claps piously along. Vetiver play next, and I feel like this year has a much more Burning Man-esque, neo-hippie feel than last year.
Elzee: This set was, as Chris said, of the super-feel-good, hippie-group-bonding variety. At one point Sharpe came into the audience and had people introduce themselves into the mic. Everyone seemed starstruck. He spent a lot of time perched on the front of the stage or the photo pit/audience barrier, which helped draw the energy of the show to his band's warm aesthetic.
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Chris: Someone says, “Grizzly Bear scared the clouds away with their fierce roar!” And it's true. After a couple of songs, the sun burns through the grim, cold clouds and fog, evaporating the rain drops with a power that is rivaled by the unimaginably beautiful harmony and drone of Grizzly Bear.
Elzee: Throughout Sunday afternoon, the sky threatened rain. There was a drizzle here and there, a blanket of cloud cover, and excessive winds. But – I kid you not – as Grizzly Bear played, the heavens parted and the sun shone down for the only time on Sunday. It sounds totally cheesy, but it was appropriate for such a transcendent performance. “Two Weeks” sounded good, but it was tracks off Yellow House that unfurled into the full-bodied and extraordinary beauty that makes the band such a treasure.
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Chris: Beirut is nice. They all seem like nice young men. It's a nice little show. I have a nice time.
Elzee: Chris is right – Beirut was, to put it bluntly, quaint. Without the usual full-band setup many of the songs sounded a little thin, but the band clearly enjoyed themselves. “Thanks for letting us play your sunset,” said leader Zach Condon somewhere in the middle of the set.
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Chris: Dramatic nerd-rock never stops being charming and sweet. And let's face it: The Decemberists are really fucking talented.
Elzee: Considering they confined themselves to playing a set-length album -- this year's The Hazards of Love -- all the way through with no song breaks, the Decemberists put on a decent show. But considering the breadth of their older and better-loved material, they could have chosen a bit more wisely. People unaware of the premise were confused about why the band played for 65 minutes without a pause; and those aware of the premise were disappointed they wouldn't hear any of their favorite songs. Kickass heavy-metal guitar breakdowns and Shara Worden's earth-shattering vocals won over some audience members, but when there's no opportunity for Colin Meloy's between-song antics or calls for mass audience participation, it just doesn't feel like a Decemberists show. Then again, I had the songs from Hazards stuck in my head for a couple days following the show, so they must have been doing something right.
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Chris: There's no way really to describe The Flaming Lips' live show. Giant streamers firing into the crowd, huge bursting balloons filled with glitter and confetti, pyrotechnics, a writhing mass of 50 or so sexy dancers, more lights than I've ever seen on a stage since Andrew Lloyd Webber's Starlight Express — and it's all going on continuously and at the same time, like an endless climax. They are the ironic side of psychedelic art more than the “trippy” side. This ends up giving their music and show more depth than the more literal and stonier unconscious mind explorations of, say, Pink Floyd (post-Syd Barrett). While Pink Floyd makes me think of marijuana, The Flaming Lips make me think of LSD. They aspire not to gently expand our minds, but to explode them completely.
Elzee: “We drove here from Ohio to see the Flaming Lips,” a girl in the crowd told me excitedly while we waited for the band's set. I know not everyone came from that far away, but they screamed like they'd been driving for days just to see this band. And we certainly got a spectacle -- the music was almost background to the show. It all blended into a glorious neon freakout in which I was more than happy to participate.
Chris: In the end, the Treasure Island Music Festival proved to be a rich, powerful indie-rock showcase on an island surrounded by magical San Francisco and the beautiful bridges and islands of the Bay. What's not to like?
[Photos: Elzee]
