More to come, but for now:

-The Decemberists' proggy metal riffs sound perfectly ridiculous echoing across the Gorge Ampitheater.

-Mos Def is an extremely stoned, self-indulgent performer even by Mos Def standards. He did a re-interpretation of "The Message." "Look around you, look all around you," he said. "The dream is real...I mean, look."

-The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are fucking awesome. Matos has written that Karen O seems to have only recently come into her own onstage, but I think she's been pretty fucking commanding for a while now, slumpy sophomore album aside. Her every "ah" was perfectly exaggerated, like she was drinking an unbelievably refreshing beverage. Her neon green tights were the exact same color as the xbox logo; I wonder if that was coordinated—probably not. Her outfit, a kind of neon Native American poncho over a dress made of tennis-bal-sized gold sequins, turned from day-glo to glow in the dark as the sun faded. There was a giant eyeball behind her and it didn't distract from her for a minute. She sang "Black Tongue," a scorching hell of a song, with a little bit of a valley girl inflection. The drummer played with a grinning enthusiasm of Max Winbergian proportions, even when he slipped at the end of one song and seemed to almost fall forward over his drum kit. Nick Zinner looked unbelievably cool, his hair perfect, always, with a little bit of a John Spencer Blues Explosion look to him. They have and played a grip of great songs, other highlights of which included: "Heads Will Roll," "Zero," "Y Control."

-Bon Iver sounded electric and epic for the brief minute I was walking by their stage.

-Crystal Castles sounded like pure ass. Sorry for erroneously recommending them, but, at least towards the back, Alice Glass' tuneless screaming sounded like a half second off from the music—not a good look. Their version of "Atlantis to Interzone," which they might call something else when it doesn't have the Klaxons lyrics to it and which they opened with, still sounds pretty sick, though. Also, the dance tent was overflowing, impossible to do anything but watch the strobe strafe over the crowd and onto the wall from afar.

-Mad Rad fucking killed it. You might not like what they do, but they do it fucking well. They came out sporting giant, oversized cut-outs of their faces. "Donut Truck" sounded all icy, bubble-popping synths and tom rolls. "We met on Capitol Hill," P Smoov said between songs. "We don't really play around there anymore...it's a long story." Buffalo Madonna got shirtless, panting, screaming, red-faced, into the crowd, back up on stage on all fours, then up on the scaffolding and the fucking roof! They got the crowd moving at noon in a major way; lots of pogoing for "My Prodcut." They played a new song for the first time, "Electric Jesus," with Madonna singing in an exaggerated, blown-out baritone over 8-bit synths and 808 snare snap, writhing like some poor man's Prince, pausing for a sort of Shakespearean sermonly interlude. "This next song is about weed and pussy," they said, introducing "Crack the Blunt." He looked like a god damn gargoyle barking up on that roof. Fuck.

-Looking down on the crowd for Street Sweeper Social Club all you could see was a sea of fists pumping in unison, against The Man. (Fuck that Man, dude.) One song sounded kind of "Square Dance Rap" meets Primus. Guh.

-The Walkmen somehow manage to sound both faded and rousing at the same time, always projecting moneyed East coast cool, killing it with "In the New Year" and that unfuckwithable "The Rat," whose bridge/coda must be one of the most beautifully bitter lyrics ever.

-Henry Clay People are playing a cover of Operation Ivy's "Knowledge" segueing into Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side" into Bowie's "Heroes" into "I Wish I Knew Then What I Know" into "Baba O'Reily" into "The Plan" by Built to Spill into "You Can't Always Get What You Want." Wow (but bad wow).

Yeah Yeah Yeahs by Jackie Canchola

Animal Collective kicked off their set with “Summertime Clothes,” and even though things sounded a little more thinned out than and less rainforest lush than I’d hoped for, I was totally stoked, lifted off my feet happy to be there in the sun watching this band. They segued into “My Girls,” coming out with the big guns blazing. Avey Tare, wearing a Gilligan’s hat that might have been borrowed from the dude in Excepter, ad-libbed echoing yelps and tics on top of the song’s harmonies, not really adding much. (He was much better on the songs where he was singing lead, and when he was playing guitar or percussion.) Panda Bear and Geologist stayed stationed behind tables draped in white sheets, Geologist manning gear, Panda Bear playing keys and singing. The whole set was a both lot wilder and rougher sonically and somehow more subdued than the band are on Merriweather Post Pavillion, and I’m not sure how much the newer songs really benefited from that treatment, although maybe old-school fans were pleased.

They played “Guys Eyes,” the whole thing swirling and hazing beautifully in the heat, mandalas strobing on the video screens to the sides of the stage (Travis: “that is your brain on Animal Collecitve”). The song lifted off with an extended “eeeeehhhhh,” the looping middle section around the word “need” was more muddled, less clean and forceful than on record, all extended howling. The outro refrain of “want” was stretched out, groovy. They played “Fireworks,” Tare taking his first lead vocal turn of the set; the intro was blurry, the guitar was fried and wailing, the synths started watery but turned acidic, the song's climax was epic—and, man, should this set have been at sunset rather than at 5:30. They played "Slippi," its unbalanced, skipping beat defying any kind of pogo logic. They played the afro-beat bro-down "Brother Sport," opening with some extra "oh-oh-oh"s, bouncing into its compelling chorus command to "open up your throat," airy key stabs falling over skittering percussion. The video screens played some footage of a native dance, as if we maybe didn't get it. There was an extended "yeahhhhh" bridge. It sounded a little like a life-savers commercial, in a good way, though. "Thanks a lot for having us," they said after the set, through a lingering reverb. "Hope you have a sweet night." (We did—more on the rest of it soon.)

Also, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs may have played a technically better or more professional set or whatever, but this was still my favorite set of the day, easily.

Photo by Sean Pecknold