Written by Dave Jasmon Thursday, 20 September 2007 01:59
While My Morning Jacket frontman Jim James filled out a lime green tank top and bleach-blonde wig, the rest of the band and stage were blanketed in delightfully cheesy tropical regalia, from water wings and sunscreen noses to metal detectors and pineapple-holding Hawaiian girls.
Zilker Park
Austin, Texas
Friday, Day 1:
The sixth annual Austin City Limits Music Festival kicked off with a bang on Friday, September 14, but not of the musical sort. A fire that apparently started with an exploding propane tank from a recreational vehicle, just behind fencing separating a service area from the stage area, sent black smoke billowing into the sky, critically injuring two service employees and temporarily causing Pete Yorn to suspend his set at the AT&T main stage. Firefighters responded quickly to extinguish the blaze, but not before concern and curiosity altered the mindset of the initial afternoon concert-goers. Despite the scare, the show went on, and the early-bird fans (fresh from a well-attended Heartless Bastards set, or as this writer contends, a criminally under-attended set from the vibrantly timeless Del McCoury Band) were free to bear the blazing sun for the mildly weak ACL opening day lineup.
While the local day-job crowd was watching the minutes tick away, dedicated travelers and young folks alike were able to take in the always impressive, inoffensive tones of Bela Fleck & Co., or head over to Pete Yorn to see him lamely abuse a different kind of "Young Folks," sadly just minutes before Peter, Bjorn and John were able to take the stage. A tame set from the Swedes lost our interest quickly, and neither Manchester Orchestra nor Blonde Redhead were able to quell the heat and anticipation of bands to come. After some quick hydration and distant soaking of Crowded House (how do you know when nostalgia has gone too far?), Joss Stone showed off her voice to the first sizeable crowd of the weekend. Then it was on to the second half of LCD Soundsystem's erratic set (the hot afternoon did not lend itself kindly to their performance), followed by a "meh" performance from bare-piped Josh Homme and Queens of the Stone Age, which was basically an hour-long anticipation of "No One Knows" (the only real response the band received all evening). The Kaiser Chiefs held the expanding crowd's attention as a much appreciated dusk arrived, and The Killers took the AMD stage at dark for their rendition of the "We-are-the-greatest-thing-since-Jesus show." (Hint: They aren't, and Steve Earle's mustache put Brandon Flowers' to shame.) Regrettably, preparation and tiredness led to the skipping of Björk's set, but smart money has it that at some point she was riding a unicorn powered by the smiles of a thousand children.
Saturday, Day 2:
Saturday held the promise of a stronger lineup and fewer fires, and my marathon preparation proved necessary in the face of dense humidity. Dr. Dog heated things up even more with their energetic early show as Toby Leaman defiantly donned a winter beanie while the rest of the band did their best to win the award for "most awesome sunglasses on one stage." After some free granola and Raul Malo, Cold War Kids bested their meager Bonnaroo set with renewed passion, and Blue October pleased a sizeable late-afternoon crowd while vying for the "sweatiest/stupidest for wearing full suits" award. The best part of this exchange and the night to come was ACL's best planned day of the weekend (free of conflict, with the biggest draws being on adjacent stages).
Saturday's second half was when the ball really got rolling, as Andrew Bird blessed fans and impressed converts with a riveting set marked by his quiet showmanship, invigorating talent, and of course his fantastical sonic weavings. While Damien Rice surely played something pretty and soft across the park, Arctic Monkeys turned up the energy for a surprisingly jam-filled hour. Unfortunately, most weren't able to give Clap Your Hands Say Yeah their undivided attention, as jockeying for a decent spot for Arcade Fire proved to be a difficult, suffocating chore. Nonetheless, the darlings of the Digital Age seemed solid enough in my periphery, and I would have thought the same of anyone after the performance Win Butler and gang were soon to give.
Personally, this was my first Arcade Fire show, and being only a recent believer in Neon Bible, I would say without any bravado that it was the best set of the festival. Backed by a number of artsy-pharmacy-security mirrors and fronted by some sort of LED poles, the army of Canucks took to the stage with "Black Mirror," inauspiciously leading a flurry of tunes from their sophomore effort. Interspersed throughout were Funeral crowd pleasers "Neighborhood #2 (Laika)" and "Haiti," the latter of which allowed Regine Chassagne to pompously act out lyrics and prove how much of a free spirit she is through awkwardly dramatized dance. Early highlights were the ethereal highs of "Keep the Car Running," as well as the sobering pleasantries of "Ocean of Noise." However, the best was saved for last, as a run of "Tunnels," "Power Out," "Rebellion (Lies)," and "Wake Up" ended the night and left the revved-up crowd wanting more. This was definitely one of those shows that you wished naysayers or too-cool kids would've witnessed, as the performance truly proved why Arcade Fire are as revered as they are.
Shortly after the festival ended for the day, I was able to do something with my excess energy, which mostly involved trying to find a cab to cure my ailing feet from having to walk downtown. Luckily, a friendly couple worked with me and we found our way to Emo's for The National's ACL after-show. I felt a little out of place with my shirt soaked in sweat and my bandana on ninja-style, but I was past the point of caring, and thus fully able to enjoy Matt Berninger's hopeless baritone crooning. Oh yeah, and Bob Dylan played at Stubb's this night, and we hear Muse rocked the main stage while Arcade Fire was going on. I guess you can't have it all.
Sunday, Day 3:
Our last day at ACL fest began much the way Saturday ended, with The National. As Yo La Tengo soundtracked our entrance, energy was high for Sunday's loaded lineup. The aforementioned mellowers rocked the day like they had the night, and Ben Kweller followed with a bloodless, tampon-less set of fantastic afternoon rock. After a hop and a skip by Common's set, Kweller's Texas brethren Midlake tried to bring their winter sound into the light of day. An onstage marriage proposal helped to cheer things up, and the Dentonites impressed with songs old and new. The late afternoon saw Bloc Party refusing to allow anyone to take it easy, and Regina Spektor probably did something innocently adorable (this guy wasn't there).
The most colorful set of the weekend went to Wilco-time slot opponents My Morning Jacket, who proved once again how amazing they are at this whole festival thing with their wonderful brand of joyous, mystical rock. While frontman Jim James filled out a lime green tank top and bleach-blonde wig, the rest of the band and stage were blanketed in delightfully cheesy tropical regalia, from water wings and sunscreen noses to metal detectors and pineapple-holding Hawaiian girls. Needless to say, even if you don't like their music, MMJ are a pleasure to behold. It was a shame to miss Wilco, though, especially after hearing of big-screen sightings of Drew Barrymore and Jake Gyllenhaal. Other festival weekend celebrity sightings of note included the recovering Owen Wilson, Austinite Lance Armstrong, and the irresistible Katie Blatchford (the latter was last seen streaking the moontower, like you do).
Before I finish rounding out the festival, though, I have to mention the most gut-wrenchingly awful set of the weekend, which belonged to the weekend's final headliner: Bob Dylan. Outside of the camera's inability to show close-ups of the living (or so we hear) legend—essentially making it impossible for anyone in the middle or back of the dissolving crowd to catch a glimpse of the man—Dylan sounded absolutely awful. Don't get me wrong. His band was great, and why wouldn't it be. But, from the first notes of "Rainy Day Women #'s12 and 35," it became painfully apparent that Bob Dylan is dying. The only other explanation for his horrid voice would be that he breathes pencil shavings, eats Christmas ornaments, or had his trachea replaced with Jack Palance's face. Seriously, I love and appreciate Bob Dylan's contributions to music as much as the next guy, but now may be the time for him to hang it up, at least at the festival circuit.
All in all, the Austin City Limits Music Festival was quite successful. Many bands were seen, sampled, or fully digested, and I drank 43 gallons of water and beer, but only had to pee once! There's no reason that fans of these bands, the Austin music scene, or festivals in general shouldn't expect ACL to keep growing, diversifying, and solidifying itself as one of the world's premier music festivals. My only suggestion for improving the festival is to put it all underwater and make sure that Bob Dylan never grows gills (I think I may have just identified his vocal problems). | Dave Jasmon