posted by September 2 at 11:12 AMon
For me, the whole weekend was leading up to Superchunk. They took the Memorial Stadium stage in a cloud of fog machine smoke flooded with pink and blue and yellow lights. After Stone Temple Pilots the night before, it was great to see Superhcunk up on that stage looking like normal dudes (and lady) instead of total douchebags, rocking out in front of just regular stage lights instead of some retarded screen-savers.
They started with the fantastic “Throwing Things,” sounding just perfect if a little less heavy on the feedback than in the old days. They played a solid set, leaning on the harder, faster (more hyper) songs in their catalogue, which was kind of a bummer as I’ve been really digging into their mellower numbers lately. But then, I really could have watched them play three headlining sets this weekend just to cover more ground.
In any case, the set was a blast, Superchunk rocked hard, and kids crowd-surfed seven or eight at a time (I got the impression there were a lot of younger folks there who were just super amped for Death Cab and unable to contain themselves, but everyone seemed to have a good time, so maybe the ‘Chunk won some new converts). Mac McCaughan cracked, “I was worried there wouldn’t be enough crowd surfing, but it looks like my fears were unfounded.” Man, the ’90s really were a golden age for sarcasm.
They sped through “The First Part,” “Detroit Has a Skyline,” “Baxter,” “Driveway to Driveway,” “Why Do You Have to Put a Date on Everything?,” “Cast Iron,” “Slack Motherfucker,” “Precision Auto,” and closed with “Hyper Enough” (there were a couple more in between that I didn’t quite catch; Bob in the comments identifies them as “Mower,” “Misfits & Mistakes,” and “Package Thief”). “Detroit,” with its lines about listening to records on repeat, crushes, and how nothing works out, is a jam. “Driveway to Driveway” is epic. “Slack Motherfucker,” subcultural relic though it is, remains fun as hell to scream along to, even in a football stadium. “Hyper Enough” made a fine closer for a set that felt too short and too fast, giddy and fleeting and nostalgic, like being a kid again for 45 minutes.