_{Black Rebel Motorcycle Club by Justin Renney}

After carousing until Sunday morning at the speakeasy, I got off to a late start in the afternoon. Couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s acoustic set at the KEXP stage, even though the sound was pristine and most of the room was going for it.

_{Barrington Levy by Jonathan Zwickel}

A question to the hardcore reggae fans: Did Barrinton Levy originate the Flanders-esque “diddly-iddly-iddly-whoa-o-o”? He was tossing out the diddlies like he owned them, as well as haranguing the crowd repeatedly with “Seattle are you sleeping!?!?” It’s a weird question to ask a crowd; we’re used to saying “YEAH!” to any question thrown out from the stage, which in this case would be incorrect. I think. Still, Levy’s voice sounded rich and it was nice catching some reggae grooves as the sun set behind high clouds.

I opted for Art Brut instead of the last-minute Blue Scholars/Good Medicine show at the Green. Bad call—I heard the Scholars’ set turned into a major hiphop love-in. Pretty much every local MC was on-stage at the end, including our man Gatsby, who hopefully will put a few words up here about the experience.

_{Art Brut by Justin Renney}

Art Brut I mentioned in the last post. I’m glad I caught them just to settle my curiosity, but it sounds like the Scholars were the place to be.

_{Sean Paul by Justin Renney}

Or Sean Paul, at least according to the huge crowd at Memorial Stadium. I was psyched to check him out but ended up disappointed with his performance. Sean Paul wasn’t onstage for a large portion of it, leaving the heavy lifting to his hypeman and a cadre of hot-pantsed chick dancers. He’d come out to intermittently to tell the crowd to put their hands in the air, twirl around a towel, do some laps around the stage. Songs from The Trinity didn’t translate well live; there was a band (guitar, bass, drums) that I couldn’t hear at all, and a DJ who was probably playing his iPod. I wasn’t into the overblown scale necessary to pull off a pop performance like that, especially after seeing so much good indie stuff all day. If I was reefed it might’ve been better, but I wasn’t.

_{Devendra Banhart by Justin Renney}

That happened later at Devendra Banhart’s set. Banhart came out looking like a thrift-store bumpkin dandy and his band of hair farmers matched well. From the first note of “Seahorse” the band’s psychedelic samba settled just right into the night, landmarked nicely by the glowing Space Needle spiring above the stage. Songs mostly came from Banhart’s new album, mellowed and textured with percussion and great group vocals. More than anything, it’s the quick, clever changes that come in the middle of Banhart’s songs that make them so enjoyable, so unpredictable.

Between songs he told the crowd, “We’re all artists here, right? Who’s got a song they want to sing?” A kid was lifted up onstage from the front row, and Banhart handed him his guitar, and the kid played it. Pretty well, too—he sang a song that was actually going somewhere but he cut it short. “I’m ruining the set,” he said, and called Devendra back to the stage. The band finished out the set with a couple electrified rockers from Cripple Crow; they sounded awesome played live. There’s something very real about what Banhart does, a rare honesty to his music, and I got the feeling last night that he and his fans are in for a long and fruitful relationship.

Now it’s Monday and I’m already missing Bumbershoot. I mean, I’m here and loving it, but I kinda wish it wasn’t ending today.

_{Andrew Bird by Justin Renney}

Caught Andrew Bird’s KEXP set, which was brilliant. That’s the way to do Bird: a sit-down one-man-band set in a dark theater. His last album is too dense, to impenetrable, but seeing him alone on-stage, doing his solo thing with all his bells and (literally) whistles reveals how outrageously talented he is. His voice is beautiful, his songs are complex but not overly so, and there’s a weird, ethereal sort of dusky soul in his music, the soundtrack to a romantic Western as played by the guy who was first-chair violinist in your junior high band.

_{The Blakes by Jonathan Zwickel}

The Blakes just rocked a huge set to an enthusiastic crowd. I caught the tail end, and “The Streets” is always a high-octane finale and the band at their brash, attitudinal best.

Wireless is sluggish and there’s music happening (Kultur Shock, Lyrics Born, Lupe, Wu oh my!) so I’m gonna hit the bricks. Like I said, I’m already rueing this thing being over, and there are still hours to go.