Lisa's Review of Pitchfork

So right now, my apostrophe key isn't working. I don't know how this will affect this post. It takes me about 7 jabs to make it work. Will my desire for correctly spelled contractions outpace the frenzied enthusiasm that always overtakes me on this blog? I DON'T KNOW. I don't know what is going to happen.

But anyway, I will now review Pitchfork! I am not in any way qualified for this endeavor. I didn't even go on Saturday, and also, I am clearly biased toward a few, simple things:

1. I like concerts where people are dancing all around me. Sometimes I just happen to be next to people on PCP. Sometimes everyone is dancing except the people around me who aren't on PCP or love and instead are on something like excessive alcohol, which is a depressant so maybe it inhibits dancing? Whatever, these things ruin or catapult a concert for me.
2. I like concerts where I can sing along with the words. Yeah, so sue me. I don't like new things. I like old things, comfortable things, like T-shirts I've had for years and popcorn. And I like being able to sing along, damnit.
3. I like when I can hear and understand poignant lyrics. If someone is trying to be poignant and I cannot understand them, boo. Boo. Boooooooo.
4. I like to be in one place at one time. I am not a genie! So sometimes, I may be unable to comment on what other "rock" "journalists" say were "the best shows ever." I may say that MY show was the best show ever. Maybe this is because my show WAS the best show ever. Maybe this is because I did not have a chance to see the ACTUAL best show ever. But WHATEVER these are my OPINIONS.

Okay, I think those are the important points. Onto the review/fun observations and events!

On Friday, I arrived, alone, as is typical for me at Pitchfork, 2 out 3 years. I immediately made a quiet friend wearing racing sunglasses who is in the Navy. We sat in the shade and listened, but did not look at, the Tallest Man on Earth, because, as every freaking music writer will remind you, he is not actually the tallest man on earth. I know. Spoiler alert! Whatever, height is about confidence. Or is it? But I thought his sounds were pretty great. I went and ate some free Clif Bar samples after that... BECAUSE A LIFE CHANGING EXPERIENCE WAS UPON ME.

My obsession with Robyn attacked me unpronounced. Our affair is only a few weeks old, but it is passionate, much like any new relationship. I tell everyone about her. I watch her videos constantly. I look to her for advice (hmm, I'm bored tonight, but no one wants to go out... what should I do, Swedish pop princess? GUESS I'LL JUST DANCE ON MY OWN! or hmm I think I was just sexually harassed, how do I feel about this, Robyn please help? YOU DON'T CALL ME SEXY UNLESS I SAY YOU CAN). I also try to dress like her. I didn't say it was a healthy relationship. But suffice to say, Robyn's set was the one I was most looking forward to.

And she did not disappoint! Backed by a band that looked strangely like ABBA with long hair, beards, and white suits, she danced the hell out of the heat and got most of the crowd dancing. I was especially impressed by her ability to inspire clearly straight teenage boys to dance. That, in my mind, is pop music success. Friday continued with a a set by Broken Social Scene that began as a tremor somewhere in the ocean and ended as a glorious tsunami, in a good magnificent way, and a set by Modest Mouse that reaffirmed my belief in their pretentiousness, which is a personal opinion that may have been exasperated by my escalating cold symptoms, but whatever, they pissed me off. And not just because they didn't play Float On, but partially. I just think at a festival you should play your big song for the half of the crowd who may not have been blessed with elite musical access during the 90s to familiarize themselves with your splendid other albums.

Anyway. On Saturday I was sick and slept all day, but I did catch the online live feed of Free Energy (good!), Jon Spencer Blues Explosion (sexy man in leather pants!), and Wolf Parade (nostalgia and happiness!). I also made a giant batch of cookies, so I felt good about that day.

But Sunday Sunday Sunday! The impending, the arrival! I arrived excited to see Girls and quickly turned mopey, because I did not like their set. I understand the whole idea that they lack potential live, but I had heard good things. These things were wrong. Their set was really mellow, more mellow than their album, but then, to pick things up, they just started playing all of their instruments at once to form a weird alien combat noise for like 5 minutes. I was standing in front of a little 7 month old baby, and the baby just screamed. Screamed and screamed and screamed. I was with my friend MK, and we were like, WHY DON'T THE PARENTS GET THE BABY OUT OF THERE! But I was also thinking, this baby is perceptive and my heart is screaming in the same way for this madness to end.

Next I saw Beach House, which was so incredibly lovely that I decided it was on par with Robyn's set. Plus, they had sparkly confetti party decorations (ALSO SOMETHING I LIKE THAT GIVES BONUS POINTS). I went to see part of Local Natives as well, and they were pretty good, I enjoyed it, but what made the biggest impression on me was how glaringly and obviously Texan the band was. Then MK told me they are actually from LA. Could've fooled me with those mustaches and flannel.

I gorged myself with curry and layed on the grass, listening to Surfer Blood and St. Vincent in the distance. I jammed out a little to Major Lazer at a dance party with some friends, but I spent much time out of the crowd. I am at a point in my life where I no longer feel the need to be at the forefront of every show! I can enjoy music from a distance, among friends. I can relax! I can be an adult.

Except when it comes to Sleigh Bells.

My decision to see Sleigh Bells over Big Boi was not one I took lightly. I pondered it, but eventually decided I wanted the Sleigh Bells EXPERIENCE. I wanted to the pulse and throb of a crowd. I wanted to see the crazy lady.

And did I, did I. Thanks to half of the Benz family, we were set up pretty near the stage. Everyone, I repeat, everyone in that crowd knew what was coming. Everyone knew Sleigh Bells was gonna get CRAZY, so everyone was pushing to the front of the stage from the beginning of Neon Indian, the preceding set. I was there.

And when Sleigh Bells started, I got even closer to the sweaty high smelly people around me. There was one huge push and WHAM! Of course, the purse that I've had for over two years, the purse that has survived Italy, Spain, France, Uganda, Club Fever, numerous Backer nights, and months of abuse immediately broke and tumbled into the mosh pit. Such is the power of Sleigh Bells. I frantically started pushing people out of the way and searching the ground for it, keenly aware that if I bent down for more than half a second, I would be trampled and killed instantly. Somehow, after 3 minutes of hell, I spotted the purse, and then used my elbows to escape the crowd. God gave us elbows for a reason. So that girls can wear big earrings in crowds and so that people can escape crowds. I made it out. I thought my adventure was over.

But lo and behold, for the third time in a row during my Pitchfork experience, I run into a completely random person at the Stage B moshpit! And my crazy friend of a friend Anton somehow convinces me to return to the moshpit for the last few Sleigh Bells songs... so in we go. And of course, I lose my shoes. And of course, people are stepping on my feet, elbowing me in the thigh, dislocating my shoulders.

And of course, at the end of the show, Alexis Krauss, aka the girl singer, decides to jump into the crowd, right on top of me.

I cannot hold her up. I'M NOT EVEN WEARING SHOES. Luckily, drunk teenage boys come to my rescue. When it's all over, I talk with them, and I'm like, "I can't believe I held her up!" And they say, "I can't believe I touched her tit!"

So, it don't get any more rock n roll than that. I don't care what anyone else says, Sleigh Bells wins. Thank you Pitchfork, and good night.