The deceptive beauty of Musicfest NW is that, at first glance, it looks perfectly attainable. Sure, there's 180 bands and they're playing at 18 different venues, but it's spread out over 4 days and you even get this handy little pamphlet that serves as both a map and a time chart displaying the where and when of all the shows you want to see. And so you sit down with your pen and agonize over timing and routes, wondering if you'll really have enough time between Les Savy Fav and Blind Pilot to catch Fleet Foxes at the Crystal Ballroom, or if you should just stay on the East Side and see The Shaky Hands and The Get Down Stay Down at Halocene. Eventually you reach a point of either mild contentment or sheer surrender to your intended Musicfest schedule, only to find later that night as you're pounding your fifth free beer courtesy of Heineken that, really, it's all pointless. You do not control what happens to you at Musicfest; Musicfest NW controls you.
The night started for me at SPECTRE Entertainment's Kick-Off party, where I schmoozed with my fellow music journalists as well as a few friends that were crafty enough to sneak in and enjoy the free booze. Many a hipster stood by and compared personal schedules for the next few days, agreeing that the Cool Kids / Del the Funky Homosapien bill was the necessary hip-hop show of the festival, and that Vampire Weekend, though desirable, would be a complete clusterfuck to try and get in to, (the non-armband tickets sold out within a few short hours.) After imbibing sufficient social lubrication for the evening, it was off to the first show: Fuck Buttons supporting Mogwai at The Roseland Theatre.
I walked in to see what looked like co-founder/performer/DJ Andrew Hung doing an interpretive dance while making animal mating sounds on stage - and I dug it! The entire audience was held captive by the raw exertion of energy courtesy of the Fuck Buttons as they mutated and mangled sounds coming from keyboards and laptops until the end result was simply a gleeful pulse. Hung's screaming on "Ribs Out" didn't sound contrived or unnecessary, though - the vocal torment was the perfect bridge over the top of fellow Button Benjamin John Power's looped snare drum solo, creating a downright-tribal vibe. Eventually Hung relaxed on the physical aspect of his performance but the intensity only increased. Hung and Power took on an almost-dueling stance opposite of one another and escalated their sound to a near transcendental level. "Ok Let's Talk About Magic" had the crowd gaping, and rightfully so; if the end of the world sounds anything as cataclysmic as this, it's going to be pretty bitchin'.
After a necessary 20 minute pause to let the audience regain their composure, Mogwai took the dark stage with the simple grace and familiarity that comes only after a decade of forging your own genre of music. And what exactly is Mogwai? Math Rock? Post-Art Rock, Progressive Punk? Does it matter? Because last night they were simply amazing. Masterfully striding through favorites like "Tracy" and "New Paths to Helicon Pt. 1," the band managed to encompass both the highlights of their 13+ year career as well as showcase the songs that are only truly appreciated when performed live. The only worth-mentioning bummer was that more songs from the upcoming release The Hawk is Howling, (out September 23rd), but if the crowd's response was any indication, the absence wasn't noticed.
The first early-leaving took place for me towards the end of the Mogwai set, a necessary evil in situations such as MFNW. But my contact at Berbati's told me that the SPIN opening party was reaching capacity soon, and newcomers Norfolk & Western had just exited the stage. After a necessary re-fueling on Patron shots and half a slice of pizza, I bee-lined to my next destination just in time to see Langhorne Slim take the stage. And what a stage-taking it was! The last time I saw Langhorne perform I was a little less than impressed, (a strange pairing as the opener for the Violent Femmes) but last night's set had the entirety of the audience bouncing just as hard as the upright bass was being plucked. I felt like I had snuck in to a secret, backwoods jugband party, and no one noticed because they were all too busy doing body-shots or doe-see-doeing with the requisite hipster next to them. (Well, there probably aren't hipsters at backwoods jugband parties, but you know what I mean.)
So infectious and precise was Slim's execution of "Rebel Side of Heaven" and "In the Midnight" that they, dare I say it, slightly upstaged the SPIN headliner for the evening, The Old 97's. By the time the 97's took the stage, the crowd was ready for a continuation of the impromptu dance party Langhorne had created, and unfortunately that wasn't what they got. The mid-tempo shuffle of songs like "Barrier Reef" just weren't enough to keep the audience going, and many a rocker called it a night in attempts to save energy for the next three. I myself hung around as long as I could bob my head without cramping, but finally gave in when I couldn't fight off the yawns - and the free beer was gone. Rats.
Tomorrow's goal:
Up and coming: No Age and Battles at the Wonder Ballroom
Requisite Hip-Hop Show: The Cool Kids and Del the Funky Homosapien at the Roseland
Personal Favorite: Nada Surf (featuring Jose Galvez of OZMA sitting in for injured bassist Daniel Lorca)
Wind-Down: Steel Pole Bath Tub @ The Doug Fir
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