Forecastle Festival X -- Day One

Here's a little something I wrote for Under the Radar:

There's something about being able to walk through the familiar streets of a town you live in, the final destination a music festival. Parking in the same lot you do each day for work, walking toward the Ohio River, but knowing the familiar Waterfront Park will be transformed, decked out in a music lover's heavenly village. Five stages, a bourbon lounge (this is Kentucky, after all), and a slew of really ridiculous fish floats on sticks that a strange army of festival volunteers carries around throughout the day.

A forecastle is the part of a ship where the crew lives. The three-day festival in Louisville, Kentucky has a nautical feel, which feels appropriate because you can look beyond the two main stages into the river. A Joe's Crab Shack restaurant abuts the Boom Stage. The other stages are named accordingly: Mast, Red Bull Ocean, Starboard, and Port. Louisville's not exactly an exotic town—it's one steeped in steamboat history—but the idea for this dream-like theme for a festival is one that brings out the best of it.

This is Forecastle X. It's 11 years after the first Forecastle Festival played out in a tiny park at the end of my street. This year's festival was expected to bring 35,000 people to town. Considering it shared a weekend with Pitchfork Music Festival and Cincinnati's Bunbury Music Festival, the crowds were large, unstoppable, and the friendliest of any festival I've ever experienced.

Friday:

Friday evening began with The Head and the Heart. The six-piece band was returning to town for their second time in a few months, and the crowd was fiercely loyal. The band did a lot less chatting this time, focusing on wooing their audience with songs from their self-titled debut. "Down in the Valley" and "Rivers and Roads" both began meagerly, growing into enormous, cathartic ballads.

Josiah Johnson and Jonathan Russell are the main songwriters in the band, and both alternate on vocals. The two could not be more different; Johnson rocked cut-off jean shorts and a T-shirt, while Russell was looking snazzy in a button-up and tie. But this feeling that each band member comes from such a different walk of life—yet work together to make some of the most beautiful folk-pop songs—is refreshing. With harmonies floating atop the rich sound of Charity Rose Thielen's violin and the generous sprinkling of keyboard, it's easy to feel completely swept away. Ben Sollee joining the band onstage with his cello elevating The Head and the Heart to an even more lush, orchestral sound. Many of their songs have a sense of traveling, the pains and joys of moving around the country, and the crowd sailed that journey during their set without leaving Waterfront Park.

Bradford Cox of Atlas Sound commanded a crowd at one of the side stages that evening. The setup was relatively simple; from what I could see it was Cox, a harmonica, an acoustic guitar, and some effects pedals on the small stage backed with long rectangular video screens covered with desert scenes. Many of the songs were tamer than those he plays with Deerhunter, and the show was much less immersive than those I've seen him play with a full band.

 I was skeptical to see Beach House in an outdoor festival setting, on the huge stage next to the Joe's Crab Shack. The last time I caught them live was at a sold out show at Cleveland's Beachland Ballroom, a supreme indoor venue with the very best acoustics. What makes the duo (a three-piece live) so impressive is this heavy, dream-like atmosphere that surrounds the listeners in a haze. It's usually accentuated with a dark room and glowing, disco ball-like lighting effects. They blew my expectations to pieces, though, rocking just as hard in the light of day, the only thing altering the perception a thick wall of smoke machine haze.

While the Baltimore band littered the set with handfuls of gems from the Bloom, the most recent album, they also found time for favorites from the three previous full lengths. You could feel the tribal pulse of percussion in "Norway," which felt incredibly sedate and all encompassing.

"We don't do any cheesy crowd involvement stuff," explained guitarist Alex Scally. "But we'll do our best to take you somewhere." And travel we did, to a hypnotic state of bliss, the sort of strange other world to which dream pop alone can transport you. Vocalist Victoria Legrand played the organ with absolutely no facial expression. You realized she was indeed awake every now and then when her and Scally doubled in half, playing in unison with percussionist Daniel Franz while bobbing their heads like rag dolls, as if the power of the music was too much to handle standing up.

Before playing "Zebra," the opener on 2010's Teen Dream, Legrand explained that the next song they would play made people happy—even babies. They followed it with "Myth," the first track on Bloom, where every note floated into the next seamlessly. As the sun set behind them, the smoke swirled in front of them, and the percussion exploded into a thousand fireworks, I thought Forecastle had reached its peak.

 But we were long from discovering the X on our treasure maps. After all, Sleigh Bells had just begun. "Have a heart," sang Alexis Krauss repeatedly in "Rill, Rill," one of the highlights of set. But really, what this show made me think of was soul. Not in the sense of R&B. As in, if you didn't feel Derek Miller and Krauss' beats enough to shake your body mercilessly, you might not have a soul. The guitar shredding and viciously gritty beats might as well have stretched to the next city. Krauss flopped like a dying fish (in the best possible way, I swear), head-banging all through "A/B Machines." The scorching heat of the jagged, raw beats was almost too much to handle. But if you like your crowds wild, your guitar riffs earth-shattering, and your sound system crunchy, this was a whole new kind of heaven.

JEFF the Brotherhood rocked out through a scathing set of burning rockers. The two brothers made a lot of sound between a drum set and guitar, and the set only got better as it went on. A mix of garage rock, with the reverby psychedelia turned up slightly, this was the place to be to escape the synthy dance music that they were sandwiched between.

Here's the part where I talk about my newfound addiction to electronic dance music. I like a little Skrillex as much as the next dudebro (although David Guetta still can't get through to me—sorry!). I'd never listened to Bassnectar before. Let's face it. I just don't feel like listening to such bass-heavy music out of my tinny JBL speaker is going to do it any justice. I was absolutely right.

Standing in the front row of a Bassnectar show is an out-of-body, otherworldly experience. I can't breathe just thinking about it. The rumble of the bass was so overpowering, so incredibly moving that every organ shuddered and something was screaming inside of me, "this cannot be healthy!" And maybe because it felt so wrong, it was also one of the most powerfully thrilling feelings I've ever had. I am a self-proclaimed concert dancer (i.e. I'm one of those people who can't help but bobbing my knees even when I'm listening to some bummer acoustic guitar show where everyone surrounding me is at the peak of their too-cool-to-smile hipsterdom) and this was next-level for me. Not only could my knees not stay still, but I felt my whole body swaying unwillingly.

I wish I could describe the music itself a little better. I mean, how do you talk about dance music with no pattern? It continues to change and evolve with a similar tempo, and every now and then you get a huge bass drop that makes you want to die of happiness. And it just goes on like that for hours, until you're exhausted and you have no idea why your body didn't shut down hours ago. Bassnectar is Lorin Ashton, a California native with really long hair. He bounces around a bit, but mostly hides behind a huge video screen, where you see his head peaking on top. The real show is the crowd, thousands of people who waited for hours for a good spot where the bass goes straight to your head and your heart. Hands in the air, glowsticks everywhere, everyone just looked so happy.

The day was almost over, but not before a little Sleeper Agent action. The Bowling Green, Kentucky band has recently emerged from the college town, graduating to some radio play and media attention. They held their own on a stage across the park from Bassnectar, bouncing around with a brand of rock that's spiked with youthful rebellion. The traction they're gaining is sure to grow if they keep putting out music like their 2011 debut, Celebrasion.

Ariel Pink's Haunted Brainwaves

Not so sure if I would have written such a favorable review of Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti for The Needle Drop if I read this absolutely insane quote first.

Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings - I Learned the Hard Way

Sharon Jones makes music the way it’s supposed to be made, with an eight-track tape machine and a voice that fills the gaping holes in your stomach with a fullness that leaves no room for fluff. The thick, soulful yearning that oozes from her vocal chords is only further enhanced by a backing band that plays horns with saucy, polished verve. While the Rock Hall celebrates the beginnings of Philly soul, Jones is busy creating a second movement. The band’s fourth album, I Learned the Hard Way, kicks off with “The Game Gets Old,” a smooth number that chugs along with all the charms found in old Stax records – a grand, sweeping introduction, brassy flourishes, and the casual sway of rhythm. We’re reminded of the past but also forced back into the present with “Money,” where Jones squeals and screams, “I’m hungry and tired, but my money’s all spent/money, where have you gone to?” The Dap-Kings are best when fired up; attitude explodes from “She Ain’t a Child No More” and the title track. I Learned the Hard Way is not a throwback, but a modern re-thinking of old soul.

Beach House - Teen Dream

Teen Dream, Beach House’s Sub Pop debut, is sure to induce hazy infatuations for teens and adults alike. Victoria Legrand’s seductive moans are truly dreamlike, enhanced by steaming hot organs and Alex Scally’s intricate guitar lacings. “Real Love” and “Zebra” recall the antique, autumnal feeling of Beach House’s self-titled debut. Think gypsy royalty and thick, velvety thrones. Yet the Baltimore-based duo has breathed more life into this batch of songs, a collection of faster-moving tunes fueled by captivating drum machine beats. “Norway” catches them at their absolute best. Legrand gently syncopates her siren-like “heh heh” vocals to tribal rhythms and reverbed organ that floats through the air as effortlessly as hundreds of swirling balloons cut free at once. Ghosts and creaky attics come to mind on “Walk in the Park,” where the timeless quality of the music overlaps the equally ageless message that “only time can love you.” Teen Dream reaches for fantasies and simple pleasures of times past, before life was too fast to keep up with. What a relief. Even better, they include a DVD with music videos that go with every song on the album. When the album gets old, watching a man pulling a ham sandwich out of his internal organs never will.

Spoon - Transference

As Spoon’s sound evolves, one element is always constant: the cool swagger of their rhythm. Much like Penelope Cruz’s hips sway when she walks, the songs on Transference have a confident strut that move coolly with Jim Eno’s drum hits. It’s noticeable across the album, from the bass-heavy funk of “The Mystery Zone” to “Written in Reverse,” where frontman Britt Daniel howls about calling a hearse in a shaggy, world-weary tone. The Austin, Texas natives have fun with “Who Makes Your Money,” a seductive “who’s your daddy” callout to the indie rock generation. On the band’s seventh album, they take their first stab at self-producing to interesting results. In the middle of a song, the snarling guitar will drop out suddenly, or the entire mix will fade into an echoed, distant version of itself. The hooky chorus of “I Saw the Light” rapidly mutates into an eerily melodic bridge. Muddled bass and drums add a nice sludge to “Trouble Comes Running,” the perfect three-minute cure for a bad day. Spoon hasn’t forgotten who they are or how to strut their stuff. And they definitely aren’t afraid of “the mystery zone.”

Surfer Blood - Astro Coast

While their classmates were racking up debt at the college bookstore, the guys of Surfer Blood put their scholarship money to another use: musical equipment. The four were freshmen at the University of Florida when they penned and recorded Astro Coast in their dorm room. The results are as fresh and vibrant as their band name, a casual reference to a sport none of them ever really favored. Killer guitar riffs and reverb-soaked surf rock echo noisily through an album that’s drawing comparisons to early Weezer and the Pixies. Best is “Harmonix,” where a simple, repeated guitar interval forms the chill core of the song and the bass scratches funkily alongside. Touches of Vampire Weekend wiggle into the lopsided cowbell-embellished “Take It Easy,” and in “Neighbor Riffs,” Florida sun melts a head-bopping instrumental into something sweet and pure. Surfer Blood find the fine line between big, over-produced anthemic rock and the “unfinished” sound some DIY bands suffer from. Astro Coast is bombastic without overwhelming; the sweeping of the drums and the hollow vocals balance out the guitar’s distortion. It’s one of those albums that’ll get you through the winter, and sound just as good when summer arrives.

Surfer Blood - Harmonix

Air - Love 2

Never has a band’s name fit its sound better than Air, the French electro-pop duo whose music floats effortlessly with sparse arrangements and breathy vocals. Jean-Benoit Dunckel and Nicolas Godin recorded Love 2 in their brand new studio with intentions of capturing more energy and on-the-go composition than ever before. And jump to life it does, with the psychedelic, sparkling chimes of “Sing Sang Sung,” and the wiggling guitar lines of “African Velvet.” The most daring tune, “Be a Bee,” transforms Air into a new beast entirely, with upbeat drum patterns, smart riffage, and croaking robot vocals. Not satisfied with an album of background music, the duo experiments with bumblebee-like walls of sound, chug-a-chug drums, and smatterings of analog keyboards. Most of the album is a sweet ode to women, as the title alludes. “So Light is Her Footfall” claims “she is an angel,” while “Tropical Disease” lets climbing piano scales and glockenspiel work as their very own professions of love. Fans of Air will embrace Love 2 as a great record of soaring love tunes, just in time for the fall breeze. New listeners will have a nice introduction to an evolving band with an always-soothing sound.

Choir of Young Believers - This is For the White in Your Eyes

Contrary to many probable assumptions, Choir of Young Believers is not a throng of Christian rock prodigies looking for the proper way to speak to the heavens. It’s orchestral pop centered on Denmark’s Jannis Noya Makrigiannis, the brains behind a collective of musician friends in Copenhagen. Makrigiannis’ crystal clear voice echoes through the album, interweaved with cello, horns, bells, guitar, and piano. Everything on This is For the White in Your Eyes sounds grand, as if the music seeps through a hallway that stretches on forever. “Action/Reaction,” the first U.S. single, mixes traditional with exotic, blending euphoric harmonies with syncopated drumming. The album fuses classical music styles with something more modern. In “Claustrophobia,” a reverb-loaded, haunting background offsets the sweet repetition of the song’s title. “Under the Moon” might have been on Grizzly Bear’s latest album. In it, Makrigiannis’ stark crooning and a faraway-sounding piano stretch out like jello does as it melts in the sunlight. The beauty in Choir of Young Believers’ debut can be heard as a whole, but also in parts. Short bursts of warm cello, subtle vocal layers, gentle but firm drum hits – this group has the details down.

Brendan Benson - My Old, Familiar Friend

Let’s talk about the Raconteurs for a minute. Push Jack White aside, kick two other band members to the curb, and you’ve miraculously got some of the best power pop of the decade. Brendan Benson, the Raconteurs’ forth member, consistently churns out sparkling gems of pop perfection. Although he has been disguising himself as White’s sideman for the past few years, he has been releasing solo work since 1996. Lapalco, his second – and completely underappreciated – album, is full of jangly guitars and quipping lyrics. Yet the Nashville-by way of-Michigan musician outdoes himself on My Old, Familiar Friend. A swirling string section adorns “Garbage Day,” a Motown throwback with witticisms like “if she throws her heart away/I’ll be there on garbage day.” Rodeo-style guitar bounces around the repetitive and persistent pick up attempt that underlies “Feel Like Taking You Home,” and red-hot organs pepper “A Whole Lot Better,” the firecracker that opens the album. Benson’s warm voice sizzles like a hot spring on ballads like “You Make a Fool Out of Me” and “Lesson Learned.” His self-harmonizing is sugary and sing-along friendly. My Old, Familiar Friend is a piece of pop mastery that you absolutely cannot pass up.

Fruit Bats - The Ruminant Band

Tuck the whole big sun into Wilco’s pocket and swap Jeff Tweedy for Eric D. Johnson. That’s how you get “My Unusual Friend,” the first single on Fruit Bats’ fourth album. Its uptempo keyboard plunking, cheerful pop guitar solos, and simple melody is Wilco’s Summerteeth all over again. The rest of the album stretches away from the mold, though, with harmonies and mellowed-out steel guitar that feel like summer in the ‘70s. Johnson has recorded with the Shins and Vetiver, a San Francisco indie folk band and Sub Pop labelmate. These influences shine through, with the warm feel of Americana and odd whims of pop frenzy peppered throughout the album. Major-key chord structures give The Ruminant Band an easy, breezy vibe. The title track catches you in a strange place – it’s impossible to decide whether to sit back and succumb to the laid-back guitar noodling or get up and move your feet to the syrupy groove. On “Tegucigalpa,” Johnson wails, “I’ll always keep you warm/I’ll always treat you nice.” Easy for him to say; after all, he has the sun in the palm of his hand.