Phosphorescent played at the perfect time of day, with the sun just past its peak and the audience starting to feel the buzz for their electro-country set. Part Willie Nelson, part Woods, these guys have been jamming their good old rock for years.
Most impressionable, though, was the greatest, longest, most soulful piano solo in Pitchfork Music Festival history, as Matthew Houck left the audience wanting more with his best performance, “Love Me Foolishly.”
Alright, I get what all the fuss on Savages was about. Hailing from London, this angry all-girl punk group is no cliché. When it comes to crooning, frontwoman Camille Berthomeier takes her job very seriously. Perhaps too seriously, though. The audience absolutely adores Savages, their rage, their stance on human nature and mannerisms—but the raucous could have been a little better if the band just had a little more fun.
Camille’s performance was emotional, but lacked the conviction of her back ups and blistering guitars. Best, of course, was a song called “Fuckers,” which was, without a doubt, their happiest song on the set.
I wandered up to Ryan Hemsworth with low expectations. Having remixed for Kanye West, Frank Ocean, and Grimes, his portfolio is a little scarce.
This incredible musicologist totally stole the day, championing the dancability of both Solange and Rustie. With a sorry-not-sorry attitude, Hemsworth sampled primarily from “YEEZUS,” and I was totally okay with that. The set never stopped, save a few sarcastic remarks about Macklemore. Closing with the “Uh-huh Honey” of Kanye’s “Bound 2” and along with the fanfare of “Send It Up,” Hemsworth is a master of what he does, and should please keep making remixes, keep sampling, keep doing everything, forever.
At the tender time of 7:25 when all Pitchforkers are prematurely exhausted and just holding out for the headliners, Solange single-handedly revived every soul at the Red Stage. After her second song, enormous yellow balls inexplicably found themselves bouncing around the crowd.
Nobody here knows Solange as “Beyoncé’s Sister,” but instead know her rightful title as “Queen of Hipster R&B.” Opening with “Some Things Never Seem To Fucking Work,” Solange works her audience with a kind of charisma and genuineness that no other performer can do. Her heart breaks on stage, and then in the same moment, she has never been happier to see you.
Seeping into her slower songs, she says to the audience, “Alright y’all, I wanna see y’all turn this into a motherfuckin’ high school grindfest, okay? Just grind it out, y’all.” We obeyed. She spent much of the song grinding alone, and at one point, crawling up toward the edge of the stage as her fans screamed and groped for her.
From her oldie album, she played “T.O.N.Y.,” and closed with “Sandcastle Disco,” but her hit song for the day was of course “Losing You.” Not because it’s her single. Not because it’s her best dance track. But because before she said, “Everyone put your cell phones away. Forget your shit week, forget your troubles, forget what you have to do at home. Lose yourself.”
The millenial generation (Patrick and myself) has found itself in a bit of a pickle at the end of Pitchfork’s Saturday night. Do we try and blend into the younger crowd to twerk and rage for DJ Rustie’s easily-pleased fans? Or do we try our hand at nostalgia and sit down for a moonlit acoustic set by Scottish lullaby-writer Stuart Murdoch of Belle & Sebastian?
Rustie, as Patrick found out immediately, was a bust. These kids have too much spunk and we’re too old for this basic dub junk food.
But the flip side isn’t much better. The first thirty minutes of Murdoch’s set were lackluster. He’s done this a million times and he’s happy still to do it. But with gimmicks like audience participation, poor banter, the low-tech stage presence, Murdoch was putting his fans to sleep.
Did you know that Belle & Sebastian was named after a French children’s television series about a boy and his dog? This Pitchfork set was reminiscent of the origin, as Murdoch certain played with Raffi-esque sensibility and juvenile energy. At one point, he even sat on the edge of the stage under a single spotlight, swaying from side to side as if he were closing a PBS program.
The solution to this pickle was: ditch both. Grab a drink before you go home and recoup for tomorrow.
