Friday, June 11, 2010
Bonnaroo Bonnaroo: DPR's Days 1 & 2 [The Dodos, Dr. Dog, The National & More]
Posted by D. Patrick Rodgers on Fri, Jun 11, 2010 at 9:26 PM
- See the penis? Make an enemy out of Bonnaroo, Kanye, and you've made an enemy for life.
The Dodos are psych-folk done right: Amid a genre that tends to be mostly about presentation (think Vetiver, Panda Bear, Yeasayer) they manage to have actual hooks as well. They played as a three-piece — just guitar/vocals, drums and an auxiliary percussion/instrumentation man. Between hypnotic riffs came some pretty remarkable turns from The Dodos’ Jonas Stein-doppelganger of a drummer on his Frankensteined kit. A bit later I drifted to Blitzen Trapper, who are plenty skilled at vocal harmonies and various folk rock/alt-country conventions, but they just couldn’t keep me from feeling like I was listening to a less-awesome version of Wilco's Summer Teeth. But it was late, and there was booze. I think Trapper would have been better suited for a daytime slot.
Nothing else from last night feels particularly noteworthy: being turned away from what I thought was a Margaret Cho show, watching the last ten minutes of The Hangover for some reason, hearing a drunken Sean Maloney scream about how he loves to brine things and how great Wale is.
Today, however, I caught Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, who feel as though the were crafted especially for the festival circuit: a backdrop depicting Emerald City, messy tangles of hair, a pre-show huddle and shirtless good vibes. Despite having the aesthetic of a ragtag, wandering crew of psychedelic sunshine people, Eddie and the MZs were surprisingly tight and exhibited some serious musicianship. Frontman Alex Ebert crowd-surfed (crowd-writhed, really), and it was cool to see Nashville’s Tyler James manning keys.
There were, of course, the typical issues regarding people with artist passes — most of which were legitimately obtained — branching off from the “normals,” but by the time of Dr. Dog’s set, it certainly didn’t seem to matter. Now, here’s the thing about me and Dr. Dog: If you’ve read four things I’ve written, at least one of them was probably about Dr. Dog. It wasn’t my first rodeo with these dudes, but they never fail to nail their vocal harmonies, guitar solos and tight, bubbling presentation. It was particularly brutal standing amid some strangers (who were apparently marketing people), one of whom honestly described Dr. Dog as “The Beatles, but funkier!” Anyway, they’re eternally solid, and they played tunes from three different records, by my count.
I later trekked to Which Stage with Mercy Lounge’s John Bruton — he was adorned in some sort of angel/butterfly wings get-up that a kindly stranger had given him — and The National kicked off with the sun at its most unrelenting. Frontman Matt Berninger stalked the stage like a brainy, post-punk guru as his band — horns and all — burned through the best material from Alligator, Boxer and High Violet. Despite his glassful of white wine and his brooding, literate lyrics, Berninger didn’t let anyone forget they were at a rock show. He climbed atop some folks' shoulders during the “Carried in the arms of cheerleaders” part of “Mr. November,” moved about the crowd with surprising stealth and continuously batted his mic stand to the ground in fits just to set it up neatly again afterward.
After The National, I bumped into Dean Shortland, who was happy to inform me that he’s been interviewing artists all day in character as Tex Rambunctious for a certain shoe company. That’s all well and good, but he also told me he walked in on Jack Black on the toilet, and I find myself completely doubting the veracity of that one. So, basically, I’ve witnessed some increasingly incredible performances — feel free to factor in the old “Yeah, but you're increasingly inebriated” quotient however you like — and seen a lot of people from Nashville at their reddest, drunkest and stumbly-est. Oh, and Maloney made beef heart kabobs this morning, but now he's probably off watching a DJ while hollering funny shit. I think Kings of Leon are starting, but I'm going to do that whole thing you do at Bonnaroo where you try to score some free booze and then immediately forget what you were talking about.
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edward sharpe was the only reason i considered going to bonnaroo. glad you enjoyed their set
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