The cold, overcast weather yesterday seemed to bum the hell out most of the Bumbershoot crowd, which appeared to be the biggest of the weekend, if frustration levels regarding moving from one stage to the other was any gauge. Why the hell was I wearing gloves in early September? Raining and temps in the mid 50s? Summer FAIL. I took it as an ominous sign when I walked onto the Seattle Center grounds while the Minus 5 were covering the Dream Syndicate’s deeply moving Lou Reed-ian classic “Tell Me When It’s Over.” Yes, do tell.

The gloomy climate influenced my choice to check out Akron/Family indoors at KEXP’s Bshoot lounge. I arrived to see the group’s drummer and bassist engaged in a rimshot and tiny tin percussion toy duet, evoking a horse’s canter, while the guitarist strummed a gentle folk motif. Then with little warning, the song erupted into a rumbling, slashing noise rocker somewhere between Neil Young’s “Hey, Hey, My My (Into the Black)” and Mercury Rev’s “Syringe Mouth.” The song, like much of A/F’s material, evolved unpredictably. Metallic percussion solos, abstract noise breakdowns, tribal tom-tom hypnosis, Native American chants, trad alt-country tropes, primal screams all factor into A/F's mongrel approach. One song during A/F’s later set at the Broad Street Stage featured the beat to Sly & the Family Stone’s “Dance to the Music” and warped guitar radiation redolent of ’80s Butthole Surfers. “I think we scared the rain away,” guitarist Seth Olinsky announced, before A/F broke into "Woody Guthrie’s America." Based on what I saw, I’d have to rank Akron/Family Bumbershoot 2009’s second-best act. (See previous Bumbershoot posts to determine #1.)

Another slot in KEXP’s lounge featured Malian guitarist Vieux Farka Touré. Playing an acoustic, he was accompanied by an electric guitarist, bassist, a guy who sat on the floor and tapped what looked like a turtle shell with chopsticks, and a young, long-haired white dude on many percussion implements. Focusing on his new CD, Fondo, Touré and company play a form of blues that relies on brisk, cyclical riffing and complex chording, often augmented by Touré’s plaintive, mildly pained wail. The tunes ramble, undulate, and mesmerize, and mostly end on a dime, to breathtaking effect.

After that, Leeds, England’s the New Mastersounds coolly whipped out tight, trad funk instrumentals on the Fisher Green Stage. It was nothing new, but it sounded very good in a reverent yet urgent way. I will never tire of hearing funk played by excellent musicians, be they the genre’s pioneers or earnest, skillful disciples like the New Mastersounds. Seattle saxophonist Skerik joined the quartet on covers of James Brown’s “Get on the Good Foot” and Sneaker Pimps’ “6 Underground” (!). The latter was much better than it had any right to be.

In the SkyChurch, Champagne Champagne eschewed corny hiphop artist/crowd interplay and simply ground out primo space-age funk courtesy of Mark Gadajhar and rapped. MCs Sir Thomas Grey and Pearl Dragon dragged on Thee Satisfaction for the finale, the great Public Enemy-ish pressure cooker “Magnetic Black,” during which Pearl walked on the crowd’s outstretched palms. This was my first time catching Champagne Champagne, and they impressed the hell out of me.

Back at Fisher Green, the weather became really miserable for Janelle Monae, who went on about 15 minutes late. She came across as an African-American Lene Lovich, mixing jittery new-wave inflections with OutKast-tastic funk. A weird, arty diva, Monae's definitely worth following—preferably in warmer weather.

Truckasauras in the SkyChurch slayed, improving as the set progressed. They’re video-game nerds who somehow possess mass quantities of bleepitude and funk, and thus carnal knowledge (the latter quality being not exactly common among video-game nerds)—or at least the sonic means to inspire carnal knowledge. Their music got one dude poppin’ and lockin’ with a fierce intensity and another trying to jump through the SkyChurch’s dauntingly high ceiling; he didn’t make it, but A for effort.

Truck’s set was heavy on new material, much of which is robotically funky and movingly melodic. One newer track boasted a poignantly gorgeous melody that made it seem like everything is going to be all right, even though it most certainly is not. Now that’s an amazing feat. I’ve a feeling Truckasauras' new full-length is going to be crazy good. Look for them at Decibel Fest on Sept. 26.

By the time Sly & Robbie and the Taxi Gang took the Fisher Green Stage at 9:30 (again, 15 minutes late), I felt like I’d run a marathon in quicksand and was hanging on by the most tenuous of threads, both physically and mentally (the hieroglyphics scrawled in my notebook can attest to the latter condition). I caught about 20 minutes of their roots rock reggae from Jamaica before I had to bail, but I felt fortunate to hear one of the world’s most potent rhythm sections rough up my headspace (drums like cannon shots, bass tones like Brontosaurus borborygmus). If you were there till the end of Sly & Robbie’s performance, please let me know if they covered Miles Davis’ “Black Satin,” so I can decide whether to sulk for the rest of the week.

Bumbershoot, you kicked (and froze) my ass, and I enjoyed most of it. Till next year...