V-fest

Many of you may be pining by your computers wondering "what's Greg up to?", "why hasn't he posted anything?", or "where's my child support?"; well, here it is.

Chris, Steph, Katie, Alicia, Sharan and I went to v-fest last last weekend, meeting at the skytrain station at 11, because doors opened at Thunderbird Stadium at 1. If you remember, it was a particularily wet Sunday; the kind of wet that makes you wonder what would happen to you if your skin wasn't waterproof, and the french kind of Sunday that starts a new week on the calendar. We took a bus at Joyce-Collingwood, the 41. I managed to get out of paying for a ticket, by looking confused and asking the bus driver what day it was, then walking in. It took us all the way to the concert gates, or it would of, had we not gotten off when everyone else did-at Dunbar, which is not even in the UBC endowment lands. So after getting passed by a couple too-full-to-stop 41s, we legged it down long, curvy West Marine.

After we had been walking 40 minutes (it was still pouring), a jogger in turquoise spandex shorts informed us we were almost there. Triumf said the billboard overhead, and Triumph yelled we until we saw the line snaking into the distance like a spiky river of piercings, mohawks and punk stripes.

Fortunateley for us, we know Adam West, because he happened to be near the front and we surreptitiously sloshed into the stadium. Veer or something was playing, and we veered away to the main stage, where we watched the Stars of Track & Field finish off their set. It all seemed too melodramatic to me, but I could probably listen to them from inside a building on a rainy day.

Snippets of TV Heart Attack, The Look, and The Junction flash by now, I wish I had been paying more attention-but no one blatantly sucked-The Bled played like they were killing and eating animals onstage, and for all I know they were, because I didn't actually see the stage.

Then Mute Math were up, and I squirmed my way into the cloud of steam and sweat at the front of the stage. If you don't know Mute Math, go on youtube and look up Typical, then reunite your lower jaw with your face. To me, the New Orleans quartet were who I most wanted to see, and they didn't dissapoint. They started with Typical and Chaos, and the set periodically dissolved from the normal rock-construction to orgiastic percussion jams. Halfway through a song, the drummer (who taped big headphones to his head because they kept falling off) broke his hi-hat, and instead of returning it to him, the stagehand gave it to the bassist, who played it and the extra bass drum behind the drum kit. The singer got his piano stool up to the mic and tapped out some morse-code rhythms, while the guitarist set down his guitar to just play with his effects pedals. The sun came out. It was just about perfect.

So, good mood, warm, saw Rise Against and Billy Talent. I did my homework and knew both the albums inside-out beforehand, and so knowing what comes next is an added little thrill even if Rise Against is a little too hardcore and Billy Talent has bizzare computer references in their songs ("control-alt-delete it", "throw your inbox out"), it was a good, polished show. Billy Talent was immeasurably better than other times I'd seen them live.

MCR fans scare me, and the general vibe was that it was too wet and cold to stay til 10, so we took in Jets Overhead and scrammed. The singer was wearing the same jacket that I bought for 10$ from Mark's Work Warehouse, which I found funny, but they are an amazingly talented band.

Second day, sunny and warm, no problems getting there, bought a calzone, then music. Mother Mother's yodeling too much for Chris, I walk away with my neck swivelled, a little sad. Yuca on the small stage, an anthemic sound as though they are the aerosmith of modern rock. The guitarist had a striking resemblance to the guitarist for "No Vacancy" at the end of School of Rock (the one in the leather half-shirt), while the drummer was a dead ringer for Pauly Shore. To round things off, the bassist was Screech from Saved By the Bell. A good group.

Saw Smoosh and marvelled at how they managed to get onto the main stage... they're three 15 year old girls and sound it. They must have a very good manager, but still I would have been nervous doing that at fifteen. They played a clumsy cover of "Modern Love" which nevertheless reminded me of how good the real song is. Then Metric, a band I feel like I should know better than I do, because everyone seems to love or hate them.

After they finished, I was walking up to the small stage when I noticed the frontman of the band wasn't wearing pants. He was wearing turquoise and tropical boxer shorts, the companion vest to those boots of Megans, and what can only be described as molester sunglasses. During the first pause between songs exclaimed: "Wow, my legs are tired. It's amazing how taking off a pair of pants can fuck that shit up." Because this was Sebastien Grainger, one half of Death from Above 1979, and now fronting himself "et les montagnes". In all seriosity, it is the best stuff I have ever heard live in my life. One of the best at home, too. And for the first time ever, I find myself anticipating the release of a debut cd.
http://worthourweight.org/files/aman/mp3/sebastiengrainger/
Listen to "I'm All Rage" if you want to know what I'm talking about.

The rest of the day kind of blurred by after the shock of that set. Hot Hot Heat, AFI, and then Illscarlett, who were feel-good, smell-the-sweet-smoke ska music from Toronto. The Killers, mega ultra superstars that they are, had a 10-minute video intro with dramatic orchestral music, which reminded me that a band's public persona sometimes gets in the way of the music for me-Sam's Town is ambitious, but the whole production irks me somehow. Still, recognizable, pop rock hooks and anthemic choruses, easy words and general catchiness make their music hard to dislike.

That's it.