Thứ Ba, 14 tháng 8, 2012

Outside Lands 2012: Metallica and Skrillex Rock San Francisco

Outside Lands 2012: Metallica, Skrillex Rock San Francisco


It's official: there's no such thing as genre-division anymore. The proof? The Outside Lands music festival in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park this weekend, which found boomer headliners sharing time with EDM youngsters, metal oligarchs, and AOR mainstays -- and an audience that lavished love on them all with equal aplomb.
It wasn't just chemicals at work, though: moderate temperatures and a sort of passive-yet-engaged overall crowd interest, coupled with a woody, never-neverland vibe (thanks to the naturally green surroundings), gave the fest a less hectic vibe than, say, its close cousins Bonnaroo and Coachella, with a lineup clearly on par with either of those powerhouses.
Some highlights from the weekend:

Organizers may have made a mistake on Friday by having Neil Young and Crazy Horse close the night out after the Foo Fighters, who delivered a typically consistent set of powerfully bludgeoning pop-alt classics, "Everlong," "Learn To Fly," and "The Pretender" among them. Young, on the other hand, chose to spend his first hour crafting feedback jams and one-note riffs, often for minutes at a time, clearing out the once-full field before early depart-ees had a chance to hear timeless jams like "Cinnamon Girl" and "The Needle and the Damage Done." Spotted among the wise music fans who stuck around: comedian David Cross.
In what's becoming a festival tradition, Jack White played a surprise set by his Third Man records truck before blasting a full-frontal assault on Sunday's mainstage crowd, wowing about a thousand lucky passers-by (and their Twitter followers) with four songs including a mellowed-out version of "Hotel Yorba" with his all-female band before playing the song again, just an hour later, in tightened up form, with his dude-buddies, in front of a crowd at least thirty times the size.

Beck's inconsistent set Friday was a bit lackadaisical (in fact, it seemed like Beck himself forgot a fair number of his own lyrics), but it was clearly meant to showcase his recently-reunited "Odelay"-era band, which includes Justin-Medal Johnson on bass and Smokey Hormel holding down axe duties. He didn't debut anything from the forthcoming sheet music collection "Song Reader," though instead dedicating the "Sea Change"-era "Lost Cause" to Beastie Boy Adam Yauch and whispering his way through the third verse of "Where It's At."
The longest lines? They weren't to get in: those moved fast. They were for individual-sized, super-fresh pizzas, Korean tacos, and coffee. Yep, coffee.

Fog-filled forests dotted with giant eucalyptus and hidden paths set the stage for a quixotic experience at Golden Gate Park. The backdrop was only reinforced by the fashion trends, which could best be described as Lord of the Rings-meets-Dances With Wolves. Feathers, face paint and furs were routine, rounded out with occasional animal printed jeggings and makeshift grass crowns.

Watching Icelandic moodsters Sigur Ros play melodramatic songs like the chilly "Svefn-G-Englar" as the fog rolled in over the meadow on Saturday should have felt alien and moving in the best possible way. But, instead, it was interrupted by cannon-fire coming from Metallica's pyro-laden show on the other side of the field, inspiring at least a few of the lovelorn to give up on learning Hopelandic and instead make their way across the long field to sing along to a few bars of "Master of Puppets" and "One."
Saturday's run at the Panhandle stage was a dream come true for blog disciples, with sets ranging from effective to majestic from 70's throwback Father John Misty (who ironically implored the audience to avoid taking the brown acid), soul-man Michael Kiwanuka (a slippery cover of Hendrix's "May This Be Love" was a weekend highlight), some retro-punk from the bay area's Thee Oh Sees, and finally Philly's Dr. Dog, who played to a massive throng that knew every word to "Shadow People."

The biggest non-headliner crowd of the weekend didn't belong to hitmakers fun., whose early hour prevented thousands from getting there on time to sing along to "We Are Young," or Norah Jones, despite a guest spot from the Dead's Bob Weir, but rather Alabama Shakes. The buzzy, rootsy band could have had a two-story audience filling the Sutro Stage's massive field as they played songs like their current single "Hold On," suggesting that, next year, their placement should be a bit more prime.

Uber-DJ Skrillex drew just about every fest-guest under the age of 30 away from Stevie Wonder on Sunday as soon as the latter had made his way through an inspired singalong of "Signed, Sealed, Delivered," doling out a breathtaking lazertag-inspired set that found the odd-haired dubstep master atop what looked like a crashed Star Wars X-Fighter, commanding the audience to jump along with every boom-bip bass drop. Fans who held fast with Wonder on the Polo Field were treated to a rush of hits, a speech supporting Obama and biting jokes, including asking the audience to "put away your cell phones so I don't have to blind-handle you."

Skrillex vs Stevie Wonder at Outside Lands

Skrillex vs Stevie Wonder at Outside Lands

Surveying the rabid Skrillex crowd, I felt old for one of the first times in my life. Like, John McCain, “get off my lawn” old. Who the hell was this mall punk with a Miley Cyrus haircut, anyway? What, in God’s name, has he inflicted upon the music world? And why, oh why, did this hoard of tweens, bros, and “cool-dads” choose to undergo Skrillex’s sonic weedwacking, instead of running into the arms of living-legend Stevie Wonder?
Having committed the cardinal sin of leaving the main stage as Stevie ripped through “Signed Sealed Delivered," I guess I was setting myself up for a repellant EDM experience. Seriously, how could a brostep-practitioner (let alone a DJ) compete with a 14-piece band, diving into one of the greatest back-catalogues in pop history? However, as I approached the Twin Peaks stage, and the barrage of twisted noise and splintered video-projections came into focus, I found myself not just underwhelmed, but vaguely, viscerally offended as well.
As Skrillex’s formulaic dynamics ran their course (laborious, heavy-handed tension, building up to the inevitable “beat drop”), and the rigidly brimmed bro-hats in the audience bobbed up and down with militaristic synchronization, it dawned on me: the guy’s music is doomed by a perfect storm of chaos and joylessness. Say what you will about Metallica’s brand of contrived assault: their set was fun; Skrillex’s audience was enraptured, alright, but in a much more fascistic sense. Let’s just say that the image of Apple’s famous 1984 superbowl ad was a difficult one to shake.

I’d try to describe the Skrillex aesthetic, but is there anything that hasn’t already been said? Yes, there were lots of “womp-womps,” crashy noises, and syncopated Michael Bay sound effects piled atop the simplistic chord progressions. Factor in the predictable buildups and payoffs, and the seizure-inducing visuals, and you have a concertgoing experience with all the warmth and charm of a monster truck rally. Which isn’t to say that noise and chaos can’t be used compellingly. Hype Williams, Death Grips, and Black Dice are all capable of wringing anarchic perversity from their shards of noise, without sacrificing any sense of joy or wonderment.
Okay: I’ll concede that Skrillex’s music possesses an experimental edge. Also, it’s somewhat refreshing to see Middle America being turned on to the possibilities of dissonance in music. But, whereas even a quasi-countercultural figure like Trent Reznor would look out of place in front of a Bud Light logo, Skrillex looks perfectly at home. Unlike true boundary-pushers like Throbbing Gristle, Skrillex’s product is the dream-material of hair-gelling Viacom executives: an endlessly commodifiable brand of pseudo-punk rebellion, perfectly calibrated to sell energy drinks, college football, and the military-industrial complex, all while the bro-hats nod away.
After 10 minutes of Skrillex’s sonic cheese-grating, I was more than ready to head back into Stevie’s sunny embrace. As I heard the clavinet riff from “Superstition” fade in gradually on the walk over, I knew I had made the right decision. Maneuvering through the main stage crowd to make my way towards the action, the mood reversed completely, as Stevie made up for Skrillex’s joy-deficit, and then some. With three drummers, a brass section, an army of keyboardists and guitarists, and a few beautiful backup singers in tow, the pop master sported the swagger of 100 Skrillexes, without any of the gnarled, meatheaded machismo.
Therein lies the genius of Stevie Wonder: his ability to radiate joy, groove relentlessly, and even get political, with stunning cohesiveness. Just because “Higher Ground” and “Living for the City” possess sober lyrical content doesn’t mean you can’t dance your ass off to them. Elsewhere, “Sir Duke,” “I Wish,” and “Happy Birthday,” had the diverse crowd in a frenzy, dancing and singing along to some of the most infectious choruses ever written.
After initially taking the stage, armed with a Keytar to cover Marvin Gaye’s “How Sweet It Is,” Stevie jumped restlessly between a handful of instruments, displaying his virtuosity on the clavinet, piano, harmonica, and lap steel guitar. It was a welcome reminder (and a great introduction, for the uninitiated) of Stevie’s extraordinary musical talent; after all, he’s the visionary who recorded Talking Book (1972) completely on his own, drums and all.
Shuffling through a wide range of covers (Smokey Robinson’s “My Girl,” The Beatles’ “She Loves You,” and most memorably, Michael Jackson’s “The Way You Make Me Feel), as well as a hit parade of original material, Stevie’s set was an exuberant, poignant trip through a lifetime of pop brilliance. Young and old, black and white, no one could resist Stevie’s charm. Whereas Skrillex was signed on to appease a fixed set of demographics, Stevie came to play for everyone.