There's already some pretty complete coverage of last night's shows on here - but I figure a little more Wu-Talk can't hurt. Before I get into the rap game though, I want to say I agreed with everything JZ said about Fleet Foxes in his recap. They were spectacular. I can't wait to hear their full length.

I can’t profess to be a huge Wu Tang fan. Oh, I definitely like them – 36 Chambers is fer sure one of my favorite hip hop albums, and I’ve bought solo albums from ODB, Meth, RZA, and Ghostface and enjoyed them thoroughly. But I haven’t rocked Forever since high school, and I never even listened to the last one they put out, so I’m not sure I can be classified as a “big fan.” Also, I don’t particularly like hip hop concerts in general. I’ve been to my share, seen a few good ones, but I’ve left disappointed from the majority of them. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to care about the shows on Monday’s mainstage, but both of them turned out to be really entertaining.

Lupe Fiasco’s Food and Liquor was easily my favorite hip hop album of last year. In true white nerd fashion I caught an interview with him on NPR with clips of his songs and liked what I heard. Got his album and, bam, I was hooked. The man had no problem holding down the mainstage, with scores of people chanting the words to his closer “Daydreamin’.” He couldn’t quite pull of the “turn the music off so everyone can chant the words” trick as many times as he tried – after a few attempts it was jarring and irritating. Other than that though it was a great performance.

Wu Tang had no problem dropping the volume for everyone to sing along. The whole stadium was chanting “Wu-Tang Clan ain’t nothin’ to fuck with,” it was amazing. There were some negatives: from the bleachers I couldn’t understand what any of them were saying because of muddled sound (or perhaps 8 simultaneous mics), and I kept listening for Ghostface and never heard him (didn’t know he wasn’t there until today). My biggest beef was with the lame a cappella version Method Man did of “Shame on A Nigga,” calling it “Wu-Tang 101.” Seriously, that’s my favorite song of yours. Perform it.

There were of course more positives than negatives. I was most surprised by Method Man, who threw down a lot harder than I though he was going to. He was the only one who got down off the stage to interact with the audience (three times), he danced and swaggered while he rapped while all the others just stood, and his flow was the strongest and most impressive. I just kind of assumed the years of mediocre releases and deodorant commercials would soften him up, but it didn't. Seeing thousands of people hold up their lighters and chant the name ODB was probably the most massive public display of mourning for a crackhead I will ever take part in. I know I held up my cell phone light - I loved the shit out of that crackhead.

People were still holding up Ws out their sun roofs on the way to the freeway. Wu-Tang Forever.

photos by Justin Renney

Given that there were thousands and thousands of people there each day, I know for a fact The Stranger's music staff aren't the only ones with something to say about Bumbershoot. So while we're busy gushing about what we loved (and in some cases hated), consider this post your Bumbershoot open thread to talk about what you caught over the weekend.

Get to typin', duders. I wanna read some good stories.

holy shit...the U-men give me reason enough to laugh at what passes for contemporary local (and not so local) punk, indie or whatever the former sound of revolution is now called. And, if I remember the legend correctly, they once lit the WATER on fire at the Seattle Center. Nice.

Oh, and they loved Fallout Records also!

_{Updated. Photos by Justin Renney}

I’d never really gotten into Viva Voce before, but after their killer set on Monday afternoon I’m definitely going to dig into Get Your Blood Sucked Out now and their forthcoming re-releases due out in October. The husband and wife duo were more classically, viscously rocking than I expected, delivering psych metal drone as easily as breathy pop. Drummer/sometime acoustic guitarist Kevin Robinson pounds out rhythms, sings, and possibly loops some live percussion, and guitarist Anita Robinson just wails on that whammy bar. Sounds frequently came out of nowhere—phantom basslines, loops of feedback. Highlights included the scorched sub-country ramble "From the Devil Himself," the sweetly spacey "Alive With Pleasure," and the eastern dirge of "Believer." At one point they said, "You Wu Tang Clan is here," eliciting huge hollers and a few "W" hand signs from the audience. I'd see those "W"s at every show I went to all day.

Joan As Police Woman was pretty, sometimes sultry singer songwriter fare. Joan Wasser's voice is impressive and wide-ranging but not showy. Both Kurt B Reighley and I felt like the band was missing some mystique that we'd associated with them, but that it was probably our mistake. Regardless, they sounded fine. What I think may have been "Christobel" was scornful, thorny and tense; and "We Don't Own It" had a touch of Mt Eerie/Phil Elverum's acoustic existentialist dread. Wasser asked the crowd, "Are you going to Wu Tang Clan tonight?" (I started wondering if it was a contractual obligation to mention them today or something) and those "W"s went up from the seated crowd at the acoustic folk stage. Nothing to fuck with.

_{Tokyo Police Club at the KEXP Stage by Morgan Keuler}

The next fuzz of the day was Canadian youngsters Tokyo Police Club. Seeing them live, it occurred to me that the band kind of sound like a more oblique version of their countrymen the Stills—their singer has a similarly flattened, anemic but still compelling voice, but Tokyo Police Club take a much less direct, poppy route with their songwriting. They were one of the more energetic bands I saw, bounding around stage, with the keyboardist hopping and flailing as though shackled against his will to his instrument. The band actually lucked out to be playing under the swollen gray clouds, because their dreary post punk and cool, ringing guitar echoes would've sounded totally at odds with a sunny day, their music better suited to cruising some arctic highway than to lounging on a summer lawn. There weren't a ton of standout tracks, although "Nursery, Academy" was pretty catchy.

I wasn't too impressed with Fleet Foxes. Maybe it was the crowd, or the asshole event staff at the EMP for that show (ego tripping bald dude, I'm looking at you), but I just couldn't get into it. They sounded fine, Robin Pecknold's voice alternately lost in the mix or standing clear and alone over just guitar, but it wasn't doing it for me. Maybe next time I'll get it.

Lupe Fiasco delivered a blazing set on the Monday night, including a fun riff on Gorillaz' "Feel Good Inc" and peaking with the punchy “I Gotcha” and the populist “Kick, Push.” The sound was great—Lupe's voice was crisp and clear, and his DJ's tracks were satisfying and bass-heavy. In addition to his DJ and a hypeman, Lupe was aided by Gemini’s R&B crooning and fast rapping for a few songs. But Lupe was perfectly capable of holding the Main Stage down on his own, which is no small feat. I don't really understand where Lupe's underdog mystique comes from. Is it 'cause he skates? Because rapping about skating in the '00s is only about as radical as rapping about basketball in the '80s. Is it just because he has relatively thoughtful ("conscious") lyrics? Whatever, Lupe is clearly on top of his world, nothing under about him. He even did Kanye West's "George Bush doesn't care about black people" one better with the choice quip, "Fuck George W Bush with a cherry on top and a space needle up his ass!"

But the crowd was even more excited about Wu Tang Clan—I’d been seeing kids throw up their “W” hand sign at nearly every set I saw Monday. The air was charged. The question was: Would this be an excavation of the Wu Tang’s ruins (as Charles Mudede hinted at) or a full-on triumphant return of the Clan? Eight MCs is always gonna be a bit of a mess in terms of sound, and some rappers were in better shape than others—RZA sounded raw in a way that even ODB might not have liked; Method Man was, of course, a big goofy star; Raekwon was still sharp. But they tore through their anthems "Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuthin' To Fuck Wit," "Protect Ya Neck," and even a version of "Shimmy Shimmy Ya" dedicated to ODB. Tonight was the last show of their tour, and who knows what they’ll do next separately or together, but their set at Bumbershoot was a definitely a triumphant return for the Wu Tang Clan. Only, you know, with no Ghostface Killah. (But you can catch Ghost solo at Musicfest NW—catchy name, that—this coming weekend in Portland).

And confidential to Jonah: Art Brut were better than Wu Tang Clan. Flame on, internets.

I had no idea the Insane Clown Posse changed things up and started performing as a weird acid-jazz/circus freak/trapeze/burlesque sideshow... it was scary. But at least these guys weren't spraying the crowd with Faygo.

I tried to tell you all about Seaweed immediately after the festival on Sunday, but the stupid internet ate my long-ass post and I got too frustrated to post it again. So here it is, a day or so late and written for a second time, but I'm still giddy over how exciting it was to see my favorite band to ever come out of Tacoma again.

I stayed at the Seattle Center on Saturday to see Schoolyard play the Mainstage, so I missed the band's pre-Bumber show at the High Dive Saturday night (heard it was great, though, anyone go?), but their Sunday night set at the Sky Church did everything my sixteen-year-old heart was hoping they'd do.

The setlist is a blur--I neglected to take any notes because I was just too captivated to even try writing things down, but they played for an hour to a grateful crowd that sang and jumped along to every beat and every word. Their list of songs spanned their entire discography--they played stuff off Spanaway, Actions and Indications, even Weak, and towards the end, as their shirts became soaked in sweat, they never got winded. They're older, but they still fucking rock.

Throughout, the band was clearly having a great time and very excited to be back on stage together--it was evident by the many smiles they exchanged during the set. And new drummer Jesse Fox (of Polecat and Leuko fame) brought a hard-hitting, youthful energy to the low-end, refreshing many of the songs that are over a decade old. These are songs the band had been playing for years, but this weekend was the first time Fox ever got to play them live... nothing felt at all stale and their melodic, heavy, loud rock sounds just as relevant today as anything else out there.

If some 16-year old kid had stumbled across the show, not knowing Seaweed's history, he'd probably think this is some new band doing it right straight out of the gates. Even the couple of new tracks they debuted are just as huge and strong as the older material--clearly the years haven't worn on them too much.

If you missed it, you're dumb. BUT, the band did say they'll be playing again in Tacoma (their hometown, it's only fair), in the sorta near future, so keep your calendars open around the last week of December because Seaweed still totally fucking kill it.

Bumbershoot was great because Jeff Kirby and I interviewed Michael Ian Black before his show yesterday. The man is awkward. He never laughs, but he makes everyone around him laugh. He's also not very good at Guitar Hero, so Kirby showed him how it's done with an almost flawless version of a Dick Dale song.

The video interview will be posted soon, so check back.

Did anyone else catch Roky Erickson's early evening performance yesterday? Given the man's colorful psychological past, I wasn't sure what to expect. But the only truly unsettling thing about his performance was the way he said "thank you!" after every number like that was the last song. Ever. The eccentric Erickson's always been one of those figures I knew about, yet rarely listened to — I only really started to delve into his catalog with the release of the documentary You're Gonna Miss Me — but I thought his Bumbershoot set was a hoot. (And the way his musical director/guitarist looked after him, even going so far as to towel off Roky's brow when he got all sweaty, was genuinely touching.)

Would anybody with a little more knowledge or experience care to weigh in with their two cents about this show? I'm curious to hear what diehards thought...

No, really.

Reason One: Ted Leo & the Pharmacists

Ted Leo's performance last night was the best, best, best way to end one of the best Bumbershoots I've been to in a long time. The band was having more fun than I've ever seen them have (which is a big statement, they're always having fun on stage and I've seen 'em tons of times). But they agreed that the vibes were unusually good. "This is the funnest show we've played in a long time, wouldn't you agree?" asked Leo to his bandmates. "More fun, would that be gramatically correct?"

Everyone, of course, cheered and danced even harder as they then exploded into "Little Dawn." During the long, monotonous "It's alright, it's alright, it's alright," breakdown, Leo gave a little love to Daft Punk. "One more time... one more time... we gonna celebrate... music's got me feelin' free...."

A few weeks ago Dave Lerner, long-time Pharmacist, left the band, so I was anxious to see who would be playing bass for the band. Turns out, it's a dude name Jason. Jason is a skinnier (if you can believe it), younger, and sassier version of Mr. Leo himself (someone told me they're related? I wouldn't be surprised.), and his presence (and fight for attention) brought out a really playful side of Leo--there was more goofy stage banter, threats of "shred offs," and huge guitar sounds rounded out by James Canty on second guitar. And of course Chris Wilson's drumming was fantastic and on point. As always.

Everything was so cohesive and tight and it came to a head during the last song. The band fucking killed their huge and raucous cover of Cumbawumba's "Rappaport's Testament." For many minutes the crowd hollered along with the band--"I never gave up! I never gave up! I crawled through the mud, but I never gave up!" Leo ended up at the edge of the crowd, face to face with the fans, screaming along into the mic with everyone who surrounded him. He had the biggest grin on his face.

After the Pharmacists left the stage, the audience was refusing to go home. They begged for more and Leo obliged--he came out, thanked everyone one last time, and then did a killer solo version of Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark," which had everyone in the crowd doing the goofy skippy dance moves made famous by Courtney Cox.

Then the lightning started flashing in the distance, and minutes later, the rain started coming down.

Best Ted Leo show ever.

(A sweaty, happy Ted Leo with local band and biggest Ted Leo fans ever, Speaker Speaker.)

Reasons two, three, four, five and however many more I end up writing are coming soon...

Wu-Tang pix ain't nothin' to fuck with...

Photos by Justin Renney

For real: What an wonderful event, what a hard-rocking, hiphopping, local-loving, national-caliber feather in Seattle's cap. This was my first Bumbershoot in 12 years and I can't get enough. An urban music festival, a 30-minute walk from my apartment, in the middle of a beautiful city, with a lineup that appealed to every demo imaginable--truly something special. I've been to Bonnaroo, I've been to SXSW, and what Bumbershoot has going for it is the city of Seattle. I agree that Seattle Center is a weird and usually sad no-man's land, but the way Bumbershoot occupies that space is symbiotic. It's a shame there aren't more Bumbershoots to keep Seattle Center righteously busy throughout the year. As sore as my feet are and as exhausted as my ears are, I still wish I were going back tomorrow.

Today was spectacular, weather-wise, crowd-wise, music-wise. Wu-wear was in full effect all day; every stage I went to people were throwing up double-wu hand signs in anticipation of their Bumbershoot-closing set. I'll get to that in a minute.

_{The writer and the Ice Cream Man by Justin Renney}

Kelly and I did a video interview with Matt Allen, aka the Ice Cream Man, who told us he gave out some 2,000 fudgesicles, drumsticks, popsicles, and other delicious frozen goodness during Bumbershoot's three-day run. Allen is a terrific guy for a terrific job, traveling the country, hitting music festivals, and giving out free ice cream. He told us he'll be hitting children's hostpitals and other non-profits next year, taking the good vibes where they're most needed. Allen's such a gregarious guy, and his crew is so nice, and his ice cream is so free, that I missed Lyrics Born because I was eating a choco taco at the ice cream truck. Look for the interview on Line Out in the next day or two.

_{Fleet Foxes by Morgan Keuler}

I already gushed about Andrew Bird and the Blakes; Fleet Foxes was the next set I saw, and it was awesome. They're one of the current local crop that's got me really excited about Seattle music right now. Their set at EMP was gorgeous--as pastoral and wintery as their sound is, the band was a little out of place in the EMP's gigantic electrified stage, but they played strong and intimate to a huge crowd. Robin Pecknold's got a voice of gold, and the songwriting is powerful, rich, hooky but not hokey. Many hours--and many Wu-beats--later, I'm still hypnotized, singing their songs... "My love, oh my love..." "I was following the/I was following the/I was following the/I..." Who's gonna pick them up and release their long-awaited debut? Hardly Art seems a shoo-in, but given Sub Pop's recent run of quietish, panoramic folk-rock, they could easily go there too. Kelly O's got a video interview with Robin that you'll find on Line Out in a day or two.

_{Lupe Fiasco by Jonathan Zwickel}

Lupe Fiasco was a crap shoot. I saw him a year ago in San Francisco and the show was awful (check out my man Sam Chennault's Pitchfork show review); he had major issues with his hype man then and just seemed green all around, so I wasn't sure how his Bumbershoot set would go. All doubting aside, his set today proved the kid is the truth.

To answer your question, Eric, the reason Lupe is under so much scrutiny and skepticism is simply because of his raw talent, his potential. Dude is in place to become a much-needed hero of hiphop, and hiphop fans take this stuff very seriously. His set at the main stage started strong, if not entirely transcendant. His 2006 album Food & Liquor has four certifiably great songs and a bunch of merely good songs, and the first half of the set brought only the merely good. Once he dropped "I Gotcha" halfway through it took off. He brought out Gemini, a Chicago accomplice and accomplished MC in his own right, and the two of them proceeded to run an enormous stage by themselves. "Kick, Push" featured new beats for every verse, a total reworking of his most familiar hit. "We On," posted on his MySpace, a single either from Gem's upcoming album or Lupe's, was huge on the main stage's massive soundsystem, and Lupe played "Daydreamin'" like the instant classic that it is. Yes, he's got a Kanye-like messiah complex--Andrew Matson calls it "low-grade schizophrenia"--but he pulls it off. A couple new tracks--one about superstardom that was somehow universal and not self-conscious, and another about G.W. Bush and America's war fixation--were huge metaphors pulled off expertly, with intelligence and badass beats. Thanks, Lupe, for keeping the hiphop dream very much alive.

_{Wu-Tang by Justin Renney}

Just in time for the Wu-Tang Clan to snatch that dream and blow it up into mythology. Tonight the Wu showed why they're the cultural force they are. I was shocked at how many people in the massive, main stage crowd were rapping along to every lyric, Wu-hands held aloft song after song, heads nodding like metronomes. I'm really not even sure where to begin or end with this set--it was legendary on so many counts that it's hard to parse. No Ghost and no GZA left Method Man holding down the bulk of the set, a role he easily filled. No, not easily--dude was working hard for every "ho" and hand-wave he got, stage diving into the crowd and rapping while being held upright. The longer they played the more into the music the audience was, the more into it the Wu was. They were obscenely tight and well-rehearsed, showing the confidence and skill that several dates on other large festival lineups will give. There was a lot of love for Seattle--the band shouted out the city, Bumbershoot, and Pabst Blue Ribbon. "Hotel 1000, afterparty," Meth repeated towards the end of the set. "We'll be getting drunk in the parking lot after the show." The set ended mysteriously, with a track from the "upcoming" Wu-Tang album played over the PA as the lights slowly came up and the band slowly left the stage. Couldn't figure out if it was the end or not. Or maybe it was just me not wanting it to end. A half-hour later, lightning was sparking the skyline and thunder rolled through post-party downtown streets. The Wu truly is a force of nature.

Bumbershoot hit all the right notes, and even after seeing three full days of music, I didn't want it to be over.

All pix by Morgan Keuler

_Smoosh

_{Joss Stone}

_{John Legend}

_{Kultur Shock}

_{Steve Earle}

_{Ted Leo}

"Damn those Pecknold's have good genes."

"Does Andrew Bird play with his feet?"

"Lupe Fiasco featuring Kayne West."

_{Wu-Tang by Morgan Keuler}

I just got back from the Wu-Tang show, and it was great. I've never seen them live, and since they were announced on the Bumbershoot bill a few months ago I've been hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. Tonight, the much-rumored tension in the group was apparent.

As the Wu blasted through their catalog &mdash sneaking in brief snippets of classic cuts from Raekwon and Gza, and pausing for an awesome 10-minute ode to ODB &mdash Method Man repeatedly stole the show. Meth played the hypeman role all night long, filling in on most of ODB's verses, and he tore through a couple of his solo tracks which seemed to re-energize the crowd. Meanwhile, Raekwon and Wu hanger-on Cappadonna lurked on the periphery of the stage, almost fading into the background.

Rae and Ghost are, depending on the day, my two favorite Wu members (Immobilarity and Bulletproof Wallets notwithstanding) and I was a bit disappointed by Rae's minimal presence and Ghost's absenteeism. I saw Ghost earlier this year at the Showbox and he was a monster.

I'm sad to say I accurately predicted Ghost's absence after I heard he'd gotten a separate bus while the group was on tour. Tonight, his presence was sorely missed..

Even with nearly a third of the crew MIA, the Wu still put on a great show. I've heard horror stories about sloppy shows, with members forgetting the words to their verses or stepping on each others lines. None of that was apparent tonight. Hopefully they can get their shit together for their new album, allegedly dropping in November.

I don't think I can take another Iron Flag.

(Confidential to Grandy: Art Brut got served.)

UPDATE: I've been informed that Gza wasn't in attendance either. Weird. I swear I heard them do at least 2 songs off of Liquid Swords. Also, it would've been great to see the Wu perform with the lower-key El Michaels Affair. I feel like an old man for saying this, but the bass pretty much drowned out the first half of the show.

_{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.

Here's where I officially become uncool: Art Brut is not really my bag.

Art Brut is a band about a band playing songs about songs. All very arch and droll and meta, but there's too much concept and not enough substance. Grandy's right--it's a band of music nerds for music nerds, and I'd usually count myself as one of those, but in this case it's all too Drama Club for me. The performance was fun, the songs were alright, and Eddie Argos is the! most! declarative! frontman! ever! But a band built around an accent doesn't go deep enough for me. I know I'm putting myself on the outside of a very Pitchforkian inside joke, but that's where I stand.

Eric just walked in: He says we can agree to disagree that I'm wrong. I disagree.

_{All photos by Justin Renney}

Ouch. Bumbershoot is now officially kicking my ass. Bumbershoot and booze. Kicking. Ouch.

Hey! Have I told you about Art Brut? Are you sick of me talking about them yet? Too bad, because unless the Wu Tang Clan just kill it tonight, I'm gonna call Art Brut as the best thing going all weekend. Better than the bike-powered rides. Better than shortcake. I saw a lot of stuff yesterday, and I guess I should still do the run down, but everything just pales totally in comparison to them. I'll only talk about them twice more in this post, promise.

The Watson Twins played a breezy afternoon set of upbeat, golden AM country ("Two Timing") and mellow, yearning ballads ("Fade Out," "Old Ways"). Their four-piece backing band smiled and played like session musicians enjoying the hell out of themselves. A ukulele lent some songs a flamenco flavor, occasional "oohs" evoked Spector R&B or doowop, but slide guitar kept things grounded in country. The Twins traded duties on acoustic guitar and tambourine, breaking out a harmonica for "Old Ways," and always singing in easy harmony.

From one pair of traditionalist siblings to another. The Holmes Brothers kicked off their set with some pat banter that made me think the old dudes might not know what time it was ("How you doing this evening?" "Feels good tonight"). Keeping track of time was not their concern, though, as evidenced by their first song, a wailing but one-million year long electrified blues jam on "Amazing Grace."

Hey! It's time to talk about Art Brut again! I caught the band's afternoon set for KEXP at the "Secret Location." I didn't think I could get any more excited about seeing this band, but I was wrong. As they launched into "Pump Up the Volume" and tore through "Bad Weekend," I squirmed in my seat and tapped my feet, growing only more eager to see them that evening and do some proper dancing and jumping around. From yesterday's comments: "Can someone explain to me why they like them so much???" I'll try. Art Brut are amazing live. The band is tight enough to pull little musical jokes, for the Swedish-looking guitarist to pull faces and work the crowd, and mainly to back up Eddie Argos' brilliant but not terribly tuneful lyrics and spoken digressions. And Argos is simply the greatest frontman this side of Tim Harrington. He looked like a dapper yet messy kid in slacks, dress shirt, and socks but not shoes. He ranted about the tragic deterioration of record shops ("They sell DVDs and video games! We want records!") and told the crowd to stop listening to the advice of pop singers and to start their own bands. He jumped rope with the mic chord. He sang about the "secret location" on the chorus of the goosebump-inducing "Emily Kane." They played: "Pump Up the Volume," "Bad Weekend," "St Pauli," "My Little Brother," "Post Soothing Out," "Emily Kane," "Nag Nag Nag Nag" (one better than Caberet Voltaire), and a mix up of "Direct Hit" and "Formed a Band."

Next, I watched the beginning of Barrington Levy's incredibly populist, crowd-pleasing, but not all that impressive set. Airhorns sounded, a hypeman talked Levy out onto the stage ("Barrington Levy is in the building"—what building?), and the crowd threw hands up, tossed beach balls, and gave off appreciative puffs of smoke. Levy skanked across the stage like a kid and led the crowd through some call and response and some impossible motormouth scatting.

Apples in Stereo were playing the same lawn where I saw Of Montreal last year, and I couldn't help but long for that other Elephant Six band. Don't get me wrong, Apples in Stereo sounded fine, just more traditionally psychedelic, jammy, and classically poppy than Of Montreal. Their keyboardist even wore a tin foil and rainbow jumpsuit/cape ensemble that looks like it came from the same wardrobe as Kevin Barnes'. But I've never heard an Apples in Stereo song that's grabbed me that much. (Line Out readers, is there a song that would win me over?) They're what I might describe as a great band to watch from the beer garden if I were a wag.

What kind of a godless atheist would I be if I didn't catch at least one satanic metal band at Bumbershoot? Book of Black Earth sounded just brutal on the EMP's sound system, and I can even kind of get into the cheesy, computerized flame-and-skull motif happening on the led screen behind them. The greatest thing about Book of Black Earth, and Teen Cthulu before them, is their ability to combine seriously crushing metal with a rare sense of humor. TJ Cowgill delivered all his between song banter in full cookie-monster metal growl, lending an extra layer of funny to shit like: "Cast a 9th level spell against security if you have to" "This song's about our booking agent, it's called 'Agent of Destruction'," and, after a blond girl jumped onstage and bear hugged him: "My ex-girlfriends are crazy, and they're everywhere."

Which brings us back to Art Brut! I stopped taking notes during their set for the first time all weekend. I planned on being way too busy rocking the fuck out, and I was. Alotted an hour and 15 minutes to play, Argos joked that we'd be hearing not just b-sided but pretty much everything the band ever recorded. While that wasn't literally true (a shame), it was pretty close. I didn't get a setlist, but if someone out there has one, send it in to egrandy@thestranger.com and I'll post it. Highlights included "Bad Weekend," "Bang Bang Rock'n'Roll," "Emily Kane," "Rusted Guns of Milan," and the insane blow out of "Good Weekend/Formed a Band." Argos' leap into the crowd to wander around (still only in socks?) was pretty great, too. I was shocked—shocked!—that more people weren't dancing and singing along, but there was a good little pack of kids up front that were into it. The appeal of Art Brut is twofold—they're one of the hardest, slickest rock bands around, and they're one of the smartest. You can dig Art Brut for their clever, inside-jokey lyrics, or you can just get down with their kick-ass riffs and rock show stagecraft. And if you can't dig Art Brut or get down with them, then I just don't know what to do for you.

Their set (with thanks to Chris):

1. Pump up the Volume
2. Bad Weekend
3. Bang Bang Rock and Roll
4. These Animal Menswe@r
5. Blame it on the train
6. Modern Art
7. St. Pauli
8. Rusted Guns of Milan
9. Late Sunday Evening
10. 18,000 Lira
11. I Will Survive
12. Moving to LA
13. Jealous Guy
14. My Little Brother
15. Post Soothing Out
16. Emily Kane
17. Nag Nag Nag Nag
18. Direct Hit
19. Good Weekend
20. Formed a Band

I missed most of Devendra Banhart set milling around backstage, waiting to do a brief interview with Argos, but I did catch their interpolation of Fleetwood Mac during one of their electrified new songs.

People were exiting the Memorial Stadium in droves, but Fergie's set wasn't done yet. A dozen people—dancers, hypeman, a band maybe—were bouncing around the stage, but Fergie wasn't among them. The hypeman rhymed "Seattle" with "battle" (ooh!) and led the crowd in some kind of this side/that side cheering contest. Then Fergie took the stage, commanding the crowd to "raise your hands if you've ever been on Perez Hilton!" What the fuck, that's got to be everyone in the crowd, right? That's like Chris Rock says about "Mo Money, Mo Problems": something everyone can relate to. Fergie's voice is nasal and weak live. She was wearing latex (or rubber?—probably something waterproof) pants. I lasted about half a song.

Hey, did I mention Art Brut?!

Art Brut:

Devendra Banhart dancing and playing a brand-new song:

Apples In Stereo:

Andrew Bird:

BRMC:

Brendan was right, Seattle Center is pretty useless. But for those few days a year when Bumbershoot happens, the Center doesn’t seem like an archaic monument to “the future” anymore. However briefly, it’s actually bustling - alive with sounds and smells and people. It’s actually the center of something.

photo by Justin Renney

Dude, Kings of Leon cut off all their hair and beards. I wonder if they were stoked to have their name bigger than Fergie’s on the Seattle Center marquee, and to be playing on Leon H. Brigham field. They breezed through a set of classic, southern infused rock, with nothing particularly notable to mention, but nothing negative either. The girl standing behind me noticed that they were missing little to no notes, and thus kept the band’s rock meter in the green.

Singer Caleb Followill said about twenty minutes in to the set, “ You guys are cool. Feel free to sing along if you know the words, (under his breath) but I doubt you do…” They busted into their first single, “Molly’s Chambers,” which quite a few people actually did know the lyrics to. The mom next to me was dancing.

Both of the comedy shows I saw were opened by Doug Benson, best known from Best Week Ever and his recent expulsion from Last Comic Standing. His first set was full of pot humor, including a very funny rant on how the best stoner food – McGriddles – are only available until 10:30, making them impossible for stoners to acquire. His second set was dirtier, with musings on the burning satisfaction of masturbating with Purell.

Fred Armison from SNL didn’t even really tell a joke for his short set, he just rambled incoherently about random newspaper headlines from that day. He came out later as experimental drummer Jens Hannemann, with a clear green drum set comprised of 3 kick drums, 11 (or more) toms, 11 cymbals, and a giant gong. He played a composition to a video of rainforest and insect shots being projected above him. I was later informed by my friend John that Armison was the drummer of rock group Trenchmouth in the 90s. He seemed somewhat proficient on the giant kit. It was mildly funny. When he took questions from the audience and demanded that the people walk up onto the stage to ask him it was funnier.

There were several great moments in Brent Weinbach’s set, a small, stern-faced man who doubled-fisted the mic while delivering and had one of the longest tongues I have ever seen. My favorite joke was his response to people accusing him of being “too creepy” on stage, in which he portrayed perhaps the grossest hunched-over sociopath imaginable. A key line: “You know what the problem with poo-poo is? God made it too delicious.”

Eugene Mirman was my favorite comic of the day. He repeated a few jokes from his album, but mostly came with fresh material and presented a great homemade video interviewing people from Massachusetts. Here’s a small clip of his set:

Everyone in Stella canceled except Michael Ian Black, so he performed solo with Todd Barry as his guest opener. Barry’s deadpan, monotone comedy is always funny to me, but I thought his set wasn’t as good as the one I caught at last year’s Bumbershoot. Nonetheless, I was chuckling through the whole thing. “I’m on the Myspace, why not? I’m only 43. You learn a lot from looking at those profiles. For example, I never knew that Donnie Darko was the best movie ever.”

Michael Ian Black said he thought his rendering on “the Strangler’s” Bumbershoot guide made him look like Sylvester Stallone with Down Syndrome. He started talking about bad PR, and someone yelled out “Hitler had bad PR,” which sidetracked Black into a slew of Nazi jokes. He particularly liked how the name “Nazi” combined the great flavor of nachos with the fun and strategy of Yahtzee!. Many of his jokes were self deprecating and emasculating, like how he wears long sleeve shirts and corduroy pants to the beach because he looks like a “13 year old Mexican transvestite” with his clothes off. In a bit about how jamming his finger inevitably sends him into an incoherent swearing fit, he made sure to clarify the jumbled words he screamed rolling on the ground: “For those of you transcribing this, I said, ‘Your cunt is a yogurt spoon.’”

Andrew Bird has seriously mastered the loop pedal, making his three piece sound as full as a stage full of musicians. Bird starts out his songs building lines of violin, plucked as well as bowed, guitar, glockenspiel, and amazing whistling to top it off. In most of his songs, after he gets an intricately layered loop he cuts it off to start a new section, then always manages to tastefully bring it back later in the song only to add more layers to it. His set was wonderful - a great surprise as, somehow, he’d managed to stay under my radar until now.

Devendra Banhart’s six piece band was also fantastic, playing a lot of new songs from their unreleased album Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon. The new material had several long, smooth jams that moved Banhart’s trademark “freak” folk into an excellent juxtaposition with classic 60s stoner sessions, elements of reggae, and the incorporation of multi-part backing vocals. Live, Banhart’s low, vibrato soaked vocals sounded like a strange mix of Elvis and Jim Morrison, and were especially fitting over the jangly guitars of the new song “Lover.” (Listening to the album version of the song now I wouldn’t make this comparison at all, but live his voice seemed deeper and more soulful.)

I knew there was probably a real Stranger photographer backstage taking quality pictures, but I wanted to get up on the side of the stage and snap a few myself. As I stood in line waiting to get onstage, a “professional” photographer looked over at me and asked, “Are you taking pictures up there?” “Uh, yeah,” I replied. “Where’s your camera!?!” She was referring to the pitiful, five year old Canon Powershot I was holding. “Oh no,” I started, “ This camera has 3.2 Megapixels!” She didn’t pick up on my sarcasm. “My camera has like 10.” “Well my camera drains the battery in like a half an hour if you leave it in there, even after you turn it off.” She stared at me blankly. I got up on the side of the stage and took some shitty pictures with my shitty camera.

Backstage, two of the Trucks were the only people dancing. Kristen and Faith were glad to report that they opened that stage earlier in the day to an already packed, energetic crowd. The Trucks, as was reinforced to me at Total Fest last month, are really into having a good time. They keep it very real.

Banhart pulled one of the funniest stunts I’ve seen onstage, asking the crowd, “Has anyone written a song recently that they’d like to play?” A few people raised their hands, and Banhart pulled a kid from the front and handed him his guitar. The drummer came out to join him, and the random kid belted out a grungish tune with real conviction. He stopped himself after a minute or so, well aware that, however funny it was, everyone was there to see Banhart and not him.

After that stunt, Banhart put his guitar away and the band played a swaggering version of Long Haired Child. Without the axe to hold him down, Banhart could wow the crowd with his flamboyant, exaggerated sway dancing. I’m not quite sure how to describe his moves - part interpretive dance, part Bollywood perhaps - but by the end of the set I found myself saying more than once, “ I really like the way Devendra Banhart dances.” He proved to be an enigmatic and thoroughly entertaining front man - more so than what I had expected going into the show.

People bitched about this year’s lineup sucking, and I guess across the three days it kind of did. But everyone I went with on Sunday ended the night ecstatic about everything we had seen, happily remarking that there wasn’t a single thing we went to that wasn’t good. For the second year in a row, days of sparse and separated good music acts were saved by a great comedy lineup - as long as you resigned yourself to the fact that you had to get in line an hour ahead of time to see any of the funny stuff.

All photos by Justin Renney

"What are these guys called? Book of Black Mirth?"

"Doesn't that guy work at Linda's?"

"It's too bright out for Black Rebel."

"That guy probably spends 500 bucks just on his hair."

Though they didn't ask for it, I think it'd be rude to use Clearwire's free laptop kiosk without a shoutout, so, uh, hey guys. Lime-green shirts, huh? Hey, what doesn't kill ya...

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: It's obvious that the SF trio would've preferred a small, nighttime club over the opening 1:15 p.m. slot at Bumbershoot's largest stage, and they tried to emulate it best they could. Ineffective: the surging lights behind drummer Nick Jago, the smoke machine above the massive stage. Effective: the complete meltdown of all guitars after one song.

At this point, a few shouts rose from the crowd: "GO ACOUSTIC!" Guitarist Peter Hayes already made it clear on their latest record, Baby 81, that their dalliance with roots tunes on Howl was short-lived, returning to the band's signature VU-ey semi-drone blasts, but he addressed these shouts anyway: "Sorry, we do acoustic enough as it is." Luckily, bassist Robert Been made up for Hayes' obvious looks of disgust by pounding out a bass-only beast of a song during the tech snafu, and when the band emerged, so did the crowd, jumping up and down in vast numbers the only way a huge, outdoor fest can allow. Take that, intimate club atmosphere!

Worth noting: During the one acoustic song that eventually unfurled, a swing dance-crazy duo took the tarp only feet away from the press bleachers. Even better, their swing continued through the next dark, dingy number--like Beck's "Where It's At" video in real life, y'all!

Victor Noriega Trio: Stopped by the Northwest Jazz Showcase after BRMC to catch a few minutes of jazz; I'm a hard-bop snob, so this Trio's bassist, Willie Blair, and his groove-based play bored me to tears, but Noriega's piano leadership was adept--a little too smooth for my tastes, possibly, but steps above what Mom would hope for at the Crusty Old Whitey Lounge, at least.

Kings of Leon: If Buckcherry and Terrence Trent D'Arby had an overrated love child. Am I the only person here who doesn't get 'em?

The Fucking Eagles: Their set was my first within the EMP, and I wasn't alone in feeling suffocated by the over-corporate feel of the room. Their introductory MC begrudgingly read aloud a corny, PR-written credo for Samsung--wonder if the dripping sarcasm came free with the pitch? And to further put the boot to the man, this MC added, "And now for the band Samsung is proud to attach its name to, The Fucking Eagles!!"

Theirs was quite a rousing set of greaser-slash-surfer garage rock, and I'm looking forward to using a kiosk that doesn't block Google searches with the word "fuck" in them, so that I might better give credit to TFE's outstanding drummer. You ever hear someone compare a drummer to Animal from the Muppets? They need to be kicked in the mouth and put in front of this drummer. Yow.

Stars of Track & Field: The most nap-worthy set of the day, complete with grey skies, soothing dual vocals and...what, wait? Neckerchiefs? COMPLIMENTARY neckerchiefs on both guitarists (brown and tan, tan and brown)? Not that whining about fashion is really worth the trouble, but, I mean, look above and below.

Apples In Stereo: After losing (and rediscovering) my camera within the Seattle Center, I returned to the Apples set in time to hear "Ruby" off of Her Wallpaper Reverie--so much for worries that the Athens, GA popsters weren't gonna dig into their deep cuts for this set. Robert Schneider was as red and jolly as ever, making new, candy-sweet pop classics like "Same Old Drag" fit seamlessly with "Go" and "Please," though on-stage banter wasn't his strong suit today ("That needle looks like it's going all the way...to space"...groan).

Art Brut: I managed to get backstage to watch these Brits pogo and stomp around the stage in the closest that Bumbershoot Sunday got to the intensity of Gogol Bordello. The last time I caught Art Brut was at this year's SXSW, where their deadpan rock couldn't overcome my befuddled state after four days of non-stop festing. Here, I was much more in the mood for stories about terrible lovemaking and a random decision by lead singer Eddie Argos to bunny-hop through the entire crowd (see photo above). Among the many memorable moments: Fan favorite "Emily Kane" was interrupted halfway through by Argos, who told a story about how he'd met Jay-Z and chided him for "misogynistic language." He then issued a decree to the crowd: "Stop thinking about ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends." Long pause. "NOW." The end of the song resumed, in which he pined incessantly for his childhood sweetheart, with liberal use of a Smiths chorus: "There is a light and it never goes out."

Andrew Bird: Though I'm a fan of his records, I noticed something after finally seeing the guitarist/violinist/singer in concert--Bird may be the very definition of an "indie jam" artist. To clarify: On stage, Bird loops tons of violin, guitar, xylophone and whistling noises (you've probably seen at least one other artist do this). And he's quite good at layering separate loops and arranging them, more so than anyone I've seen--at least during the middle of a given song. But there's something cheap about how he piles all of his effects on at once at the close, reaching his applause and cheers on the wave of an artificial swell nearly every time. Lord help me if the next MTV-friendly wave is full of folky bands that live and die by overused looping rigs.

Devendra Banhart: Video will be up tomorrow. Too tired to clarify any further, though I'd hate to go to bed without pointing out that Banhart's hair/hat combo looked like a hippie version of Slash. Can't say that it hurt his appeal tonight, at least.

Bad news for Ryan Shaw fans (are you out there?): Shaw has cancelled his Bumbershoot appearance.

Good news for everyone else: Shaw's been replaced by the Blue Scholars. The play tonight at 7:45 at the Esurance Stage at Fisher Green.

All photos by Morgan Keuler

"That f*cking Gogol show was better than Wu-Tang will ever be."

"The accordion player is supposed to come over to our house and smoke hash after the show."

"That Dyme Def guy shoulda won the producer's battle at War Room on Friday."

"Are they (Rodrigo Y Gabriela) playing Metallica?!"

"These guys (Gym Class Heroes) are clowns."

"Bert Jansch is the Godfather of freak folk."

"I think we're going camping with the Cave Singers next weekend."

I'm sure I'll find more by the end of the weekend, but...

This was my view of Bert Jansch.

Everyone was being polite, quiet and reverent, when these to hipster assholes stood right in front of a crowd of people who had gathered early and were sitting on the ground (or more correctly, pavement).

At least five people behind me asked them if they could sit like the rest of us, so we could all see the stage.

They refused.

This kind of amatuer-concert-goer bullshit is what infuriates me about Bumbershoot. For most people this is the first/only time they get to a concert all year. So they come. With their kids who talk. With their cellphones that chirp. They come thinking Bert Jansch is some cool guy they have to stand for. Instead of the very mellow old folky playing exquisite guitar and singing in his gruff soft whine. They can't be polite, because, you know, that would be nice. And they are too hip to be nice. So instead they infuriate all the people behind them by planting their two fat asses right in front.

Really, Bert Jansch was sitting right where this girls big ass is.

Aargh.

The really priceless part of this story is that 15 minutes into the show, they decide he wasn't worth being there at all for, so they left, loudly, in the middle of a song. Real fucking nice, you dumb twats.

At least my view improved.

But I have no hope for tonight, when I take my son and his friend to see Sean Paul at the stadium. I am officially turning into the worlds youngest old fart. Sorry for the rant.

The Shins were playing "New Slang" as I made my way into Memorial Stadium, the wordless chorus drifting out over the huge crowd into the flat, warm air. Even though it was fairly full, it was easy enough to make your way up near the front, where there was a little shade from the stage, and the staff would occasionally hose people down with water. The Shins sounded great. As usual, they tended to rush things a little live, as if they're still a bit nervous to be playing these great songs. Only James Mercer actually looks like he might actually be nervous; Dave Hernandez, Marty Crandall, and Eric Johnson (I couldn't see the drummer from where I was) all looked totally stoked, especially Herndandez—he looks like the happiest bass player on earth. The band played what I think was a new song, old faves "Caring is Creepy" and "Know Your Onion," the winning "New Slang" retread "Phantom Limb," the heart-wrenching ballad "A Comet Appears" (which sounded sweet and stripped down), and a cover of Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly." The Floyd cover got the biggest woops of all from the crowd, which says something about the touristy crowd, but also about the Shins for knowing the place well enough to drop in a cheesy, populist jam.

Passing by the Saturday Knights, I was impressed with their guitar sound. It was as big and gratuitous and deep-fried as the festival itself, exactly how you want the guitar to sound in your hip hop party rock.

Ben Clark of The Lashes greeted the crowd, saying "We really couldn't be more happy to be here," and you know he means it. Clark, in flimsy black hoodie and crisp new Nirvana t-shirt ("Sliver"), looks a bit of a charicature, but he acts like a total cartoon, or maybe just like a children's entertainer but with the occasional swear. Point being, he's got a lucrative career as some kind of on-air personality if the rock thing doesn't pan out (say if they were dropped from their label or something). When an amp cut out—the band asked for foil from gum to fix the fuse—Clark's banter proved entertaining enough on its own (he called Simon & Garfunkel "Douchebags," asked "Who still feels groovy anymore?" and observed of his own banter, "I think it's what the crowd start to come for"). The big news of their set was, of course, guitarist Eric Howk, who appeared on stage for the first time since his tragic, paralyzing accident in a wheelchair. He parked next to his amp, held a guitar in his lap, and proceeded to shred just like always. Howk can pretty much play guitar in his sleep, so sitting down is no real impediment. After the lull of the blown-out amp, the band launched into a song featuring a dexterous solo from Howk, and it was a touching, triumphant moment.

Portland's best Christian avant jazz rock trio, Menomena, played in the afternoon backed by a thriy piece chorus. The chorus stood behind the band on risers and wore brown robes with (lightning bolts?) emblazoned on the front. At one point, a couple members broke ranks to join the band on bass and guitar so the regular bassist could sing or play sax, but mostly the choir just sang faint back up, swayed, and clapped their hands. The choir, and the band's tight but sleepy orchestrations reminded of other churchy symphonic popsters such as Sufjan Stevens or the Polyphonic Spree, only with more aggressive drumming. Still, Christian rock blows—even artful, well-crafted Christian rock (I know, I know, and it breaks my hear about Stevens, Belle & Sebastian, et al). I appreciate the band's talent, I even find myself embracing some of their jams, but some dude pining, "If only Jesus could wash my feet," (isn't the biblical code for sex?) to borrow from the Smiths, says nothing to me about my life.

Next up, the Avett Brothers. Zwickel loves these guys, so I had to check them out before heading over to the KEXP lounge to see Gogol Bordello run through some acoustic songs. They began with "Paranoia in Bb Major," and with the lyric, "You can't make everybody happy all the time." It's true, that old cliche, and I left after a few more songs not sure what the fuss was about and not really won over. They're good at what they do, their voices are pretty and strong, and their songs do contain enough strumming acoustic stomp to qualify them as punk bluegrass if you like, but I like my banjo with a little more Old Time Relijun psychic terror. The Avett Brothers were pleasant performers, and they're capable songwriters, but they didn't blow me away. Maybe if I'd been up front, sweating it out to the end, they'd have gotten me.

Gogol Bordello played a short acoustic set for KEXP in the afternoon. It was indoors, with seating, and the sound was precise but quiet and clean enough for broadcast. It was my first time seeing Gogol Bordello, and I didn't really get it. Eugene Hutz is certainly a charming, funny frontman possessed of a Eastern Bloc growl that's equal parts silly and fierce, and his band are skilled, practiced musicians, but something was lacking. Seeing the band's full set later that night, it became clear that what was lacking was half the band, some serious amplification, and a few thousand drunken, swarming revelers. Hutz is like the ringmaster of his own little gypsy punk circus, and without the that circus to command, he's just a weird dude in purple pants with some funny little songs about lame weddings, alcohol, and global wanderlust. Without the surging crowd, the giant stage to bound around on, and the energy of their full show, their songs and jokes full of political innuendo (but only ever innuendo) come off as mere vaudeville. Their full show, however, is a truly impressive spectacle, even if their fiddle and accordion stomp and theatrical energy isn't really my thing.

The Pharmacy were one of the day's surprises, if only because it's been too long a minute since I've seen them play. The old, scrappy punk band I remember is still there, especially in Scottie Yoder's hoarse vocals and the band's odd vestigial ska breakdowns. But the band has added new depth to their sound, featuring cello on a few songs and playing up the keys. The result ranges from punk stomp to orchestral pomp to synthy pop, and the band frequently incorporates all these modes within a single kinetic song. The crowd was pretty full and lively, at one point a kid was crowdsurfing while shouting along to the Sleater-Kinney-biting lyrics of "Tropical Yeti" ("In one more hour I'll be gone"). The EMP Skychurch is a really silly place to watch a band like the Pharmacy; the geeky, screen-saver quality of the led backdrop is totally at odds with a messy basement band like these guys, but what can you do? (The EMP had the back of the room roped off so nerds could still go visit Paul Allen's Sci-Fi Museum for fucks sake). The exception was the green and red flashes during one song that gave the band an eye-burning stroboscopic effect. Stick to solid colors and abstract patterns, EMP, no gears turning or clock hands spinning. The Pharmacy's mix of ragged punk, easy pop, and classical touches has really come together recently. Here's hoping they're at work on a new full-length.

Bert Jansch was mournful and melancholy, if his heyday was acid-folk, then this was acid-burnout folk: sad, numb, and haunting. Jansch is a classically talented guitarist, his voice is rich and resonant, and his songs are slow, medieval ballads. I have a feeling Tiny Vipers might have been in the crowd for this one.

Finally, Grand Archives played a stellar set to a mostly empty EMP, shrugging off the low attendance with good humor ("Here goes nothing") to play the fullest set I've heard from these guys yet. They played some new songs from their forthcoming Sub Pop debut, due out February, that hinted at a poppier, more rollicking side of the mostly mellow band. Their harmonies sounded perfect and crystalline on the EMP's sound system, and the small crowd was totally hushed, letting even the quietest moments play out undisturbed. The band closed with the hopeful rush of "Torn Blue Foam Couch" (that, along with other old songs "George Kaminski" and "Sleepdriving" sounded even more gorgeous and powerful than I remembered them). It was the best show of the day—when these guys are on the mainstage opening for the Shins next year, the few dozen of us that saw it will have serious bragging rights—and a fine ending to a promising first day of Bumbershoot.

_{The Lashes by Morgan Keuler}

So much for live blogging at Bumbershoot, the internet in the press room was out all day so I couldn't do any periodic check-ins for Line Out. Sorry.

However! I took good notes. In my head. Because writing things down at a rock show makes me feel like a goober.

The first thing I did Saturday was head over to the Intiman Theater to see Eugene Mirman, Fred Armisen, and some other funny guys tell jokes. The lines at the comedy stages can be out of control long, but if you can get in, it's totally worth it. After the show, I was lucky enough to do a video interview with Mr. Mirman, so look for that to go up in the next couple days.

The Lashes show at the Sound Transit stage was absolutely packed. It was the band's first performance since guitarist Eric Howk suffered a paralyzing fall earlier this year. The band sounded great--the huge clamor of kids in front danced, cheered, and sang along, and Howk took every guitar solo and nailed it like we all knew he could. At one point, everyone waved their fingers in the air--metal guitar solo style--as he wailed. He had the biggest grin on his face. I even saw a few teary eyes when the band first took the stage--fans were worried the Lashes wouldn't be able to survive the tragedy, and they clearly proved them all wrong.

The band also announced that they've been quietly recording new material over the past couple months, and singer Ben Lashes said they have one half of a new record done, and they plan on releasing it in the next two months. The new songs were more of the same from the Lashes--crunchy and bright power pop.

Welcome back, Lashes.

Menomeno played after them and they had a 20+ piece choir signing with them. I can't say how awesome it was because those kinds of words haven't been invented yet.

As if the day hadn't already supplied it's share of "Holy fuck, this is the best Bumbershoot ever" moments, the evening came to it's surreal climax when the Schoolyard Heroes played the Mainstage--Memorial Stadium.

+44 canceled, so the Heroes were asked to fill in last minute, and holy shit did they do a fantastic job. I've watched this band grow up. I remember when Ryann Donnelly would wear jeans and an Interpol t-shirt on stage, and the boys weren't wearing matching black outfits. They were a young monster-inspired punk rock band back then, playing to fifty people maybe, and now they’re a force to be reckoned with. Hypnotizing and mesmerizing thousands—it was the biggest show the band ever played.

The crowd in front was so big there were times it had three separate mosh pits going. Kids were constantly being plucked out by security for crowd surfing or the threat of suffocation from all the pushing,

After the show Donnelly told me that she got to do everything she ever wanted to do on that stage. If a moment like that never happened again in the band's career, she'd be content, knowing she lived it up as much as possible--she climbed the scaffolding, she sat on the edge, dangled her feet, and serenaded thousands, and she even jumped down over the edge, into the photo pit, and then into the crowd.

To top it all off, when Donnelly went over the edge of the stage, a friend works with the band who was backstage, went over to make sure she was going to be okay. He ended up breaking his arm, though. Sigh. I guess if you're gonna break something, you might as well do it by jumping off the mainstage at Bumbershoot, right? I'm a little jealous, now that I think about it.

I finished the day at the EMP Sky Church watching the Grand Archives. My feet hurt, my eyelids were starting to droop, and since the Grand Archives' music is the kind of music sparkling, meloncholy music I'd listen to while falling asleep after an emotionally draining day, my body had to fight really hard to not to collapse to the floor and drift into sleep right there. I regretably left about half-way through. There were still two days left, after all, I had to save my energy.

Sweet Beejesus. How do you even start with this monster of an event? Serious. It's 10,000 tons of music in a 10 lb. bag...

Here are some photo highlights from Day One. Local Yokels. And Ex-Local Yokels. All photos by Dagmar Sieglinde

_{The Cops}

_{The Shins}

_{The Saturday Knights}

_{The Lashes}

I wish I had a robot Kelly, that could sit here, and work all night, processing videos. I have great live footage and interviews with Gogol Bordello (WTF!), The Avett Brothers, Eugene Mirman, and Devotchka coming soon... stay tuned bitches

Michael Ian Black (The State, Viva Variety) was supposed to perform as part of famed NYC comedy trio Stella this weekend; sadly, his castmates bailed, but his solo show from Saturday held up in their absence, pleasing the capacity crowd of 450 and pissing off over a hundred people who stood in what had to be the longest line of Saturday's events. Sadly, Black played to the younger crowd who only knew him from VH1's Best Week Ever and those Sierra Mist commercials, and they reacted in kind, missing his more absurdist fare and enjoying his more overt material (such as the "Letters I Wrote To The First Girl I Ever Fingered" bit). Videos of his better moments:

Terrorists:

Emasculation:

I also feel compelled to give a nod Todd Barry's surprise opening set. Enjoyed this rumination in particular: "You guys have Trader Joe's, right? They just opened one in New York City, and on opening day, they had lines that wrapped around for four hours. I saw a buddy leave when I walked by, and I asked him what it was like. He tells me, 'They have the best pizza.' [pause] That's funny, because you know who else has the best pizza? New York City. [pause for laughs] They should build a New York City in New York City."

UPDATED SUNDAY AM: A few more videos have been added to the after-the-jump batch.

Will have quite a few Bumbershoot videos up later tonight. For now, here are some of my band-by-band impressions from ground zero, all typed on an old PDA's touchscreen (no shit, and I don't recommend it):

Magnolia Electric Co.: Since three different volunteers had no clue where the Starbucks stage was, I was even later to Jason Molina's set than I wanted. Still, the half-set I caught was a monster. I've been a longtime fan of Molina's since his much quieter days as solo act Songs:Ohia, but only recently has his full-band, Neil Young-loving concern hooked me. Sets like this only affirm why he made the switch, as the sunny day and long set time favored his extended, slow-roasted classic rock odes. His backing band, composed of Chicago's bizarre, super-fast Coke Dares, let the guitar solos fly behind Molina's honeyed lead pleading, and I'm sure the taper sitting next to me (his recording gear propped up by a Dixie cup) appreciated the many 7-minute live classics.

St. Vincent: The sky was plenty sunny for this set, so much so that Annie Clark (the Saint herself) quipped, "Could we turn down the house lights?" But her solo set could've used some technical sunshine, as sound trouble, feedback and monitor issues gave Clark too many challenges. This was most evident on the incredibly busy "Paris Is Burning," her many loops and pedal tricks stuttering, though other songs like "Jesus Saves, I Spend" stood in stark, gorgeous contrast to her record's full-band versions. And with her huge grin beaming towards the smush of teens and 20-somethings against the stage--mostly jaw-slackin' guys, mind you--nobody seemed to notice the foibles.

Snapped a lively video of The Lashes (a song from their upcoming CD), then walked for nearly half an hour to find a stage on the other end of the Center. Reason? Combination of congestion in walkways, distance and the horrid map. I've gotten lost three times today at my first ever 'Shoot (do locals call it that?), and this sparse, number-covered grid doesn't quite translate to my walking experience one bit. Judging by how many people have asked ME for directions, I can't be alone.

Alela Diane: My favorite Nevada City singer returned to Seattle for the third time in as many months today, much to the dismay of Rosie Thomas fans (Diane being her cancellation replacement today). While a decent number of hipsters left as soon as they got the news, the older crowd that remained was happy to discover this second coming of Karen Dalton. Once I get to YouTube later, I'll let the video I snapped do the talking for this rising figure in American folk music.

Full song videos are now after the jump:

Continue reading "Scatter 'Shoot: Saturday" »

Unsettling way to enter my first Bumbershoot since 1995: berated by three different sets of Jesus freaks on my way in this afternoon. Fortunately, it became clear that God--or whoever--was shining upon the revelers inside while the crazies outside were left to screaming the Lord's word at nobody in particular.

_{The Cave Singers by Morgan Keuler}

The Cave Singers' early afternoon set sounded great in the noonday sun; just as they proved at the KEXP BBQ a couple weeks back, they do outdoors and sunny just as well as indoors and gloomy. They played to a few hundred people, a suitably mellow but intense set to start things off. Seattle's favorite Appalachia-by-way-of-Cap Hill chamber folk trio is headed to L.A. this week to film a video with a friend of guitarist/bassist Derek Fudesco, but they'll be back in late September to celebrate the release of their Matador Records debut, titled Invitation Songs.

_{Dyme Def by Morgan Keuler}

Dyme Def played at the Tron-rocking Electric Skychurch stage, another local trio (plus DJ BeanOne) ready and able to flex their muscle before a major Bumbershoot crowd. Their set on Friday night at the War Room was short and sweet (major props go to Brainstorm for landing second place in the Big Tune producer battle; major congrats go to Sabzi who, it must be said, won the contest outright from his first beat). Their set at the Skychurck was absolutely massive--with that 50-foot-tall LED screen behind them, the boys came off larger than life. There's nothing stopping Dyme Def right now--they're young, talented, smart, and hard-working. Like they say, "The game's like bums--it's beggin' for change."

_{The Saturday Knights by Morgan Keuler}

The Saturday Knights played the most energetic set I've seen from them to a mostly stoned crowd at Fisher Green. The band sounded as tight as ever, but their Bumbershoot set proved that they really need some new songs: They encored by playing the same song they ended the set with. "45" might be their best number, and the second time around it perked the listless crowd, but that's no reason to play it twice in the same set.

_{The Avett Brothers by Lee LeFever}

The Avett Brothers... I've said and written and gushed a lot about the trio from North Cackalackie, and if you saw them today you know exactly why I believe they're the best thing going in new live music right now. Raw, passionate, tighter than a banjo string, their set today was the Avetts at their absolute best, and even featured a cello player for the second half. They played a couple new tunes ("Pretty Girl From Seattle," it turns out, is about our own Kelly O--see our video page for sort-of proof) and most of their latest masterpiece, Emotionalism, and with a sweat-drenched, string-busting, throat-scratching set won a couple thousand new fans. If you saw the band today, you'll agree: The Avetts are something special. Tattooed punks, tight-pantsed hipsters, dreadlocked hippies, fanny-packed moms and dads--everyone at the Mural Amphitheater was taken in by their unabashed enthusiasm, and they played out the set as long and as hard as they could. The final song, an ode to the power of familial bonds, might've brought a tear or two to some Stranger scribes, but you'd have to ask them to find out.

A note to Esurance: Henceforth, whenever one of your cheesy blue and white beachballs comes into my circumference, I will destroy it. Beachballs brought by civilians are fine; beachballs sponsored by corporations deserve to die a slow, deflated death. I was blindsided a couple times during the Avetts' set, and I'm no killjoy, but shit was distracting as hell during their heartsleeved ballads, and I won't stand for it. You've been warned.

_{Gogol Bordello by Morgan Keuler}

I'm gonna go out on a limb right now and say that Gogol Bordello delivered the set of the weekend. Yeah, we've got two days to go still, but MY GOD WHAT A BAND. I tried taking notes while they were playing, but they're stupid and illegible. By far the rowdiest, crowd-surfing-est crowd all day, the people on the Green were WAY into the unbridled energy of the polyglot gypsy punks.

"What is Gogol Bordello?" you ask. Imagine a Ukranian borderland bazaar and all its table vendors--of bootleg CDs, salvaged Russian military outfits, broken musical instruments, disco shoes--amplified on a giant stage, playing the Pogues. This sort of approximates Gogol Bordello. Eugene Hutz certainly owes a huge debt to Shane MacGowan, but he also pulls from hardcore Flamenco, heavy metal reggae, forgotten American FM pop, witchdoctor blues, and a whole host of globe-spanning influences. I've never paid attention to these guys, despite hearing hyperbolic rantings from friends for years. Now I will. On that limb again: It'll be hard for any Bumbershoot act to top Gogol Bordello this weekend. (Wu-Tang, show us whatcha got.)

_{Devotchka by Morgan Keuler}

Someone somewhere in the One Reel office thought it was a good idea to schedule them directly opposite Devotchka, the only other slightly gypsy-jazz ensemble at the festival, and that someone was dreadfully wrong. I have no idea where Gogol hails from, but I know Devotchka comes from Denver, Colorado, and despite their geographical handicap, they play the Eastern European Mexicali Left Bank cabaret rock like they were born for it. Theirs is a more romantic sort of gypsy punk than GB's, but still as passionate. Which trumps, tuba or electric bass? Devotchka goes with the brass. And a theremin. And a bazouki. And Nick Urata, the emo-voiced leading man of the Colorado quartet. Urata decided to pour a bottle of red wine over his head to close out Devotchka's set--check the Stranger video page to find out why.

Today was easily the best full day of music I've had all summer. Bumbershoot is currently rocking my world. It's been a while since I've been here for it, but to me it's worth every elbow in the ribs and every line for a Port-a-Potty. There's SO MUCH music happening in such a small area, and it's a very scenic area, and it's very good music.

The most imposrtant guitarist to come out of the acid folk heyday of the early 70's will be perfoming today at Bumbershoot.

Bert Jansch, founding member and guitarist for the group Pentangle, will be playing at 7:00pm at the Northwest Court.

His jazz inflected, british blues playing changed generations of guitar players style influenceing artists like Neil Young, Johnny Marr (now in Modest Mouse, who has played on Jansch albums), Bernard Butler, Devendra Banhart, and Beth Orton to name just a few (who have all appeared on recent albums by Jansch).

Mike Oldfield loved the Jansch penned song "Angie" so much he and his sister, Sally named their first band, Sallyangie.

Donovan recorded two songs, Bert's Blues and House Of Jansch (which apeared on Mellow Yellow).

Jansch's version of teh classic, Blackwaterside, was used nearly in it's original form, by Led Zeppelin in their track, Black Mountain Side.

He recently played two shows with Babyshambles frontman Pete Doherty. They appropriatly played Bert's song, Needle Of Death.

Incredibly, this amazing man has not stopped creating new music, and will be playing from his new album, Black Swan, today.

This will be a historic event, not to be missed.

This week's Setlist has been Bumberized (uh, or something), and The Stranger's music staff--Jonathan Zwickel, Eric Grandy, Megan Seling (me), and Ari Spool--go over our picks for the weekend and talk about who to see, why, and where to see 'em.

We also try to be a little funny, and I think we do an okay job. But you can be the judge of that.

Listen in, hear music by Art Brut, Tiny Vipers, Bouncing Souls, Tokyo Police Club, Lupe Fiasco, St. Vincent, and a bunch more. And don't forget to check out our Bumbershoot page for reviews on every single thing happening this weekend, along with a schedule, a map, and fun and games!

(P.S. Apologies to Ted Leo and the Pharmacists. In all the excitement I completely neglected to gush about how excited I am to see you play. I mean, I'm sure you listened to the show, right Ted? And I'm sure you were crushed when it ended and there was no mention of you. I'm just sure of it. So sorry.)

I'm looking forward to this weekend. I can't wait to see Art Brut, Ted Leo, Seaweed, Eugene Mirman, Michael Ian Black, Miranda July, and tons of other shit that I need to find time to squeeze in.

While I was looking through The Stranger's Bumbershoot guide to plan the next three days, as great as the whole thing is (toot toot), I have to say Jeff Kirby did a fantastic and hilarious job with his Fergie feature, which gives us the history of public urination. Including his own childhood nightmare:

In 1984, a gray Volkswagen Rabbit is stuck in rush-hour traffic in downtown Bellevue. Scott Kirby, age 4, desperately needs to go to the bathroom. His mother, Lauren, hands him a discarded cup and instructs him to pee in it. Something immediately goes wrong, and Scott begins screaming and urinating all over the inside of the car and in the face of his younger brother, Jeff, who is helplessly stuck in his car seat. Scott will never let his younger brother forget this story.

Please read it. Please. You'll piss your pants it's so funny.

(Also, if you too are planning out your weekend, head over to The Stranger's Bumbershoot planner, where you can customize and print out your own schedule! Hooray!)

This is the beginning of a new weekly serial about the relations to be made between classical music and modern pop. The first installment is:

Bach Vs. The Wu-Tang Clan (Remixed By Funkstorung)

Bach's Die Kunst Der Fuge (or Art Of The Fugue) is just that, a rigorous detailing and blue-printing of just how exquisitely baroque his fugue's were. This one is my favorite. It is the first of 14 Contrapunctus simply called Contrapunctus 1.

The players are The Keller String Quartet. It was recorded in 1997 for the ECM label. The playing is very minimal with very little vibrato on the strings. They are really trying to bring you the essence of each voice and bring out each vocal line in the fugue. I find this version to be nothing short of perfect.

I'm not a huge rap fan, but I do like the general hi-jinx that The Wu-Tang Clan get up to in their music. Whether it's the ninja rap stuff or the "i've smoked to much weed for my voice to make any sense" stuff, they are generally one of the most entertaining outfits out there.

Bach will most likely be rolling in his grave at the mere sound of the opening salvo: " It's Wu motherfuckers. Wu-Tang motherfuckers" But maybe back in the 1730's there was no word for "motherfucker". So I'll just assume he wouldn't know what we were talking about.

Funkstorung take their shit to a whole other level. Like Bach, Funkstorung use programmed rythms to "sing" out in squelchy tones and scribble-y, sketchy beats letting each line fade with bell-chime tones. Quick, dirty and minimal. Funkstorung make some of the most reasonable and sensible minimalist techno out there. They are also German, like Bach, so maybe it's something in the water over there. Their fit with The Wu-Tang Clan is perfection. Give it a listen, you'll see.

J.S. Bach - Contrapunctus 1 from "Die Kunst Der Fuge"
Wu-Tang Clan - Reunited (Reunixed By Funkstorung)

See the Wu-Tang Clan Monday night at Bumbershoot. 9:30, Memorial Stadium.

The new issue of The Stranger is online, including Seattle's Only Bumbershoot Guide, which contains previews of every performance, picks & reviews, and a customizable schedule builder. It's practically more fun than the festival itself!

Bumbershoot has clowns on bikes and clowns in bands named after bikes.

Cyclecide Bike Rodeo vs. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

When the members of Cyclecide Rodeo are riding a seven foot tall tandem bike or a lawn mower bike called the Suburban Intruder, they must hit the breaks, and hit them skillfully, or they will end up on their asses.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club almost hit the breaks and broke up before the release of their third album, Howl. But they didn't.

Personnel:

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – Smug, pained, dark garage rock darlings: Peter Hayes, Robert Levon Been, and Nick Jago.

Cyclecide Bike Rodeo – Psychotic, beer drinking, dare devil clown mechanics.

Gear:

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – Fender Twin Reverb Combo 1965 Reissue Guitar, Gibson ES-335 Electric Guitar, an Ibanez TS-9 Tube Screamer Overdrive, and a Dunlop TS-1 Tremolo Stereo Pan.

Cyclecide Bike Rodeo – The Bicycle Carousel, the Pedal-Powered Ferris Wheel, the Dizzy Toy, the Cyclofuge, and the Flight of the Bumblebee.

Black Rebel Motorcycle - Sunday, 1:15 PM - 2:30, Memorial Stadium
Cyclecide Bike Rodeo – Fountain Lawn all three days

Picture: Tristan Sawatier

The Cops vs. Tokyo Police Club

Seattle's Cops recorded 10 songs in 3 days. Get Good or Stay Bad.
Tokyo Police Club recorded 7 songs in 3 days. A Lesson in Crime.

Response Time:

The Cops – They get there in a hurry. Songs are fast and relentless. This high-speed chase ends in volume.

Tokyo Police Club – Sixteen minutes, that’s how long their album is. They’re on the scene quickly, hammering bass lines with guitars for sirens. This high-speed chase could end up in their home town of Ontario, Canada.

The Cops - Saturday, 12:45 PM - 1:45, Broad St.
Tokyo Police Club - Monday, 5:45 pm - 6:45, Broad St.

...are Spin.com's band of the day. Neat.

The Pharmacy play Bumbershoot Saturday at 6:30pm on the EMP Skychurch Stage.

The Lashes are playing Bumbershoot next weekend, it will be the band's first show since guitarist Eric Howk was hospitalized and left paralyzed from the sternum down after a tragic accident in May.

25-year-old Howk fell into an approximately 12-foot deep, unmarked hole in the backyard of a Capitol Hill house that was under construction at the time. Given the sensitive nature, the band declined to comment further at this time, but they did confirm that it will be the same Lashes line-up, including Howk, playing Saturday afternoon.

(The Lashes play the Sound Transit Stage at Broad Street at 4:15 pm Saturday. The Stranger's complete Bumbershoot guide can be found here.)

In the run-up to Bumbershoot 2007, there's been some discussion about non-profit One Reel's newfound partnership with national, for-profit promotion company AEG, with the concerns being that Bumbershoot could become more expensive, more mainstream/lame, or just plain evil. And, up until yesterday, I was pretty much convinced that at least two of these three things were going to happen/already happening.

Then I started looking at the lineups of Bumbershoots past on the festival's official website. So, maybe we should still be vigilant about higher ticket prices or evil corporate overlords, but if you're worried that Fergie and Panic! at the Disco represent some new trend towards the artless mainstream, don't sweat it. Bumbershoot's has a long tradition (dating at least as far back as the early '90s) of bringing in some fairly embarrassing names to draw in the tourists. Check it out:

1992 - Spin Doctors
1993 - Barenaked Ladies, Gin Blossoms
1995 - Joan Osborne, Mel Torme
1996 - Crash Test Dummies, House of Pain, Spin Doctors (again?!)
1997 - Blues Traveller, Cake, Let's Go Bowling, MxPx, Sheryl Crow, Smash Mouth, & Sugar Ray
1998 - Eve 6, Fuel, Live, Squirrel Nut Zippers, Third Eye Blind
1999 - Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, Black Eyed Peas (precedent!), Everlast,
2000 - Savage Garden, Sugar Ray (again!),
2001 - Cake (btw, Cake, Joan Osborne, and Zap Mama are all perennial problems), MXPX (again), The Black Crowes,
2002 - Everclear (circa 2002?! c'mon)
2003 - American Hi-Fi
2004 - Nickelback, Puddle of Mudd
2005 - Dashboard Confessional, Garbage (again, circa 2005?!), The Academy Is...
2006 - Copeland, Hawthorne Heights, Yellowcard, Christopher Frizzelle

But in each of those years, as with this year there's lots of worthwhile, often smaller shows to check out (from Modest Mouse to Ursula K LeGuin). The trick to enjoying Bumbershoot is catching the good acts while avoiding the duds. And to that end, check out the Stranger's Bumbershoot Guide for picks, previews, maps, customizable schedules, and more.