Sasquatch - Day One

Craig Finn of of the Hold Steady was singing “How am I supposed to know if you’re high if you won’t let me touch you/How am I supposed to know if you’re high if you won’t even dance” as I came over the crest and into the Gorge Amphitheater yesterday. He was a dot down there on the stage and about the size of a Youtube video on the jumbotron screens that flanked it. No one was dancing, no one was going to be touched by Finn, and I at least wasn’t high. So I started drinking.

I’d never been to the Gorge before yesterday, and I was kind of expecting it to be a nightmare. I’m not partial to big, festival crowds, and while I’d heard wonderful things about the Gorge itself, I’d heard my share of worrying anecdotes about Sasquatch. But you know what? Sasquatch was fucking awesome. I had a total blast, the weather was perfect, the place is as gorgeous as everyone says, bands were great, and I even warmed up to the crowd. There can be something pretty life-affirming about being surrounded by so many people all gathered for something artful and fun and all pretty much getting along. And no, I didn’t smoke any pot.

Watching the rest of the Hold Steady's set from a grassy tier, letting the cameras and screens pick out what I saw clearly, was so different than the concerts I'm used to. My favorite shows are usually ones where the bands could actually touch you, where there's no massive stage or ten foot barrier, and where a manageable (maybe even intimate) crowd has the room to actually dance. But I kind of got into the idea that the main stage was going to be more like a cross between a day in the park and a YouTube video than it was going to be like a rock show. I like parks and YouTube videos. And like Finn's character in "The Party Pit" (the Gorge is the ultimate "Party Pit"), I could always "walk around and drink some more."

I've seen The Blow's quirky electro pop and charming storytelling win over large crowds before, but the relatively weak sound at the Yeti Stage didn't make it any easier for her. Festival crowds aren't really built for tender, awkward silences—they tend to drunkenly "whoo-hoo" during the artful pauses—and Khaela Maricich's set is full of such moments. Still, she did it. Her dance moves were a big hit, especially "The Sprinkler," and her monologues—ruminations on the psychological economics of hetero-normative romance ("Pile of Gold") or the tendency of boys to use cars and girls as a cover for their fear of the infinite unknown (death) and the space between stars—were simultaneously deep and funny. She's like a singing, dancing Miranda July.

Jonathan pretty much nailed Two Gallants, so I'll only add that I think I got my first goosebumps of the day during one of their songs—they were fantastic, and the amount of energy and sweat they pour into their songs is impressive.

Electrelane were easily my favorite band of the afternoon. I'd always heard they were great live, but had never really immersed myself in their records. That'll probably change now that I've seen them play. Their propulsive, prog-inflected rock and odd pop songs were both technically stunning and viscerally fun live. Their entire set was tight, but guitarist Mia Clarke's amp-assaulting feedback and shredding was especially, erm, electrifying. I only wish they'd played "Going Out Again," possibly my favorite Electrelane song. Ah well.

Everybody had raved to me about how incredible Austin electro rockers Ghostland Observatory are live, but I just don't see it. An erstwhile colleague of mine suggested that I might not get it without being close enough (or inclined enough) to feel their singer's sexual magnetism and stage presence. And, yes, their show sure looks like a lot of fun—their instrumentalist was wearing some shiny blue cape, and their singer definitely had moves—but it sounded like someone beating a cat over rejected Rapture out-takes or a poor man's Presets. If the Rapture's Luke Jenner sometimes gets a little tortured-feline in his vocals, it's at least in service of some pretty catchy hooks—with Ghostland, not so much.

Mirah's set with the Spectratone International band—featuring members of the Black Cat Orchestra—was fantastic, if a little overwhelmed early on by the god-awful hippie crap bleeding over from Citizen Cope's set. Luckily, either his set ended or her sound improved, because the annoyance vanished after a few songs. During one song, Mirah paused to explain that the song was about "not letting people—especially the government" kill your dreams, such as getting a VISA to play music for people. The crowd applauded wildly—M.I.A.'s much-anticipated and sadly cancelled set would have started just as Mirah's ended. "Cold Cold Water" sounded amazing, and remains one of the most chill-inducing songs ever to come out of K Records (right up there with "She's Real," "The Moon," and "Angel Gone").

I hung back in the crowd for Grizzly Bear also—every act at the Wookie Stage since Electrelane had been totally packed—but I was still blown away by their ghostly doo-wop and surprisingly raucous instrumentals. In between songs, little pops and thunderous echoes of reverb would trail off, heightening the sense of distance and space that is so much a part of their songs.

The Beastie Boys teased the crowd with a very punk rock intro before lulling into some stoned white-boy funk jams. As Cody Votalloto complained, "They can only get away with that shit 'cause they were in a fake rap band."

Manu Chao was a crowd-pleasing spectacle of Latin revolutionary machismo—and I think he kind of looks like Jonathan Zwickel with more facial hair—but he's definitely not my scene. I split for the free beer backstage, where I ran into my old buddy Dylan Roadie, and got to meet Grizzly Bear and Patrick Wolf (which is basically like a whole fucking magical forest).

A couple of us snuck onto the "friends of the Gorge" private lawn right behind the box seats for the Arcade Fire. The view was great, but security was crazy tight. We watched the ladies of Electrelane, other Grizzlies, and Mr. Wolf all try to sneak or talk their way into the area only to get denied. And it highlighted one (of really only a few) problems with the Gorge—you can't see the bands from backstage, and there's really no good area for artists or press to go to watch the shows.

The Arcade Fire was pretty phenomenal. They're a really great live band—their show at Neumo's some time ago was what sold me on them to begin with—and they managed to inflate their show to appropriately Gorge-sized levels of pomp. Their stage setup included floating orbs with video projected onto them, standing neon lights at the foot of the stage, a big (fake, according to Grizzly Bear's Ed Droste) pipe organ, and a pile of instruments including one hurdy gurdy. The band members—there's like 20 of them now—switched instruments, danced around the stage (Regine like a theater nerd gone to heaven, Richard Reed Parry like an aggro Napoleon Dynamite), and just totally owned the place.

And the place! I know this is old, old news, but again it was my first time there—the Gorge is fucking beautiful! Arcade Fire's set began at the tail end of dusk, but by the time they played "Black Wave" it was like their stage was floating in that oceanic void, lending the song more weight than I think it could have under any other circumstances. They dedicated their Bruce Springsteen homage/bite "Antichrist Television Blues" to "Jerry Falwell, wherever the fuck he is right now," which was a nice touch—I didn't expect to hear his name at Sasquatch (or the Blow's Spalding Grey shout-out, for that matter).

The band has pretty much two settings—weepy ballad and overwhelming anthem—and while both were represented in their set, the anthems were definitely favored. "Neighborhood #2 (Laika)" was a hit, as always punctuated by the wild pounding-on-everything drum stick spastics of Parry and another band member, who at one point leapt off the stage and into the breach between the stage and the crowd, drumming all the while. The back-to-back climax of "Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)" and "Rebellion (Lies)" was exhausting in the best possible way. Throughout their set, the wind blew the sound around, and the fluttering effect was not unlike listening to a worn cassette tape—it wasn't perfect, but it was kind of cool nonetheless.

Björk was gnarly, out-of-this-world magic. Her stage setup was a proper spectacle of flags, television screens, neon-clad (dare I envoke "new rave?") backing brass band, and of course, Björk herself. I'd never seen her before, and though I was excited, I wasn't even ready for this. She jumped and danced and air-drummed around the stage, looking positively elfin in a yellow gown. The jumbotrons were intermittently flickering off or interrupted by horizontal static, but that eventually-fixed technical difficulty didn't damper her show in the slightest—nor did her apparently reading some of her own lyrics off the TelePrompTer that Droste pointed out. Her band—including the above mentioned brass players, Mark Bell (of LFO) and another man on electronics, a pianist, and a live drummer—was incredibly tight and adventerous. Bell's wild, electronic treatments of older Björk material were especially impressive. And the sound was perfect—that flutter was gone, Björk's voice was clear and primal, and the low-end synth and drums were intense even in the open night air.

Things peaked with a mind-blowing rendition of "Army of Me"—green lasers shot out from the stage and across the amphitheater in perfect time with the song, and floating down there in the darkness, all made up in neon robes and surrounded by flags, Björk's stage really seemed like a cosmic warship landing on Earth. If this is what the aliens looked and sounded like, I would happily be taken over. The whole set was incredible, and the song selection was perfect, everything was a highlight, but especially "Hyperballed," "I Miss You," "All is Full of Love," "Earth Intruders," "Declare Independence," Hunter," and "Army of Me." Words more or less fail; suffice to say, I was a casual admirer of Björk before last night's show, I am now a wholly converted fan.

We left after Björk's set. It was a damn near perfect day (M.I.A. should've been there), Björk was utterly transcendent, and there was no way Sunday could possibly top it. Better to leave on an ecstatic note, still high on first love with Sasquatch and the Gorge.