As much as Pitchfork gets a bad rap these days (I recently asked a “too-cool” friend of mine if he wanted to go see Pharmakon and Wolf Eyes, making the mistake of mentioning it was a Pitchfork sponsored event. He loves both acts, but responded, “that sounds like the worst thing ever,”) it’s hard to doubt the staff’s intentions and love of music. Even with all the ugly talk of “politics,” “agendas” and “taste making” surrounding their buzz band-birthing empire, you have to give them credit for building a truly devoted monument to the artists they cover. They do it all; interviews, music videos, cover stories, in-house sessions and more. Best of all, they put on the Pitchfork Music Festival every July at Union Park in Chicago.
Last year’s Pitchfork fest, which I attended as a lowly civilian rather than a member of the press elite, still ranks among the most fun I’ve ever had in a single weekend. The music was certainly part of it; from a 15 plus minute rendition of Cloud Nothing’s Wasted Days in the face of water-drenched technical difficulties to a crowd-crushing, Chief Keef-backed AraabMuzik rendition of “Don’t Like,” everything just gelled. I also finally got to see Godspeed You! Black Emperor live, a longstanding dream of mine that proved as epic as 16-year-old me imagined. Vampire Weekend also proved they were finally a competent enough live act to headline a stage.
Returning for my third year this weekend, it’s now safe to say that 90% of my excitement always comes from the diverse and unconventional booking. Compared to, say, Lollapalooza’s predictably burnt out alternative/”hippest of the mainstream” platter of headliners, Pitchfork goes for depth over breadth, selecting artists that generally aren’t as prominent on the festival circuit.
Last year there was Godspeed, Feist, Purity Ring, Grimes, Vampire Weekend and The Field, a few of whom had never played a stage that size before—Purity Ring, for example had only formed two years earlier. Then on smaller stages there were Kendrick Lamar, Tim Hecker, Nicholas Jaar, The Atlas Moth, Thee Oh Sees, A$AP Rocky and so on. Even if you have a gripe with most of these bands being “pitchfork certified” (which you shouldn’t, because you’re an adult and not a petulant child) there was certainly something for everybody.
But it went past that, too. To wax pedantic, there was something in the air that weekend—and it wasn’t just the stifling heat and rainy deluges. Even the tiny bands at the start of the day drew massive crowds of people all singing and dancing along, eschewing the dreaded “standing still” that the Dismemberment Plan lamented during their opening song at the 2010 Pitchfork Fest. When Cloud Nothing’s vocals cut out in the middle of a huge storm, a jubilant crowd screamed the ending of “Wasted Days” for them. Kendrick’s set had kids bumming joints and shouting “HIII POWER” at the top of their lungs—Lady Gaga was apparently off to the side doing the same. Thee Oh Sees shouted greetings and jokes to fellow garage junkie and close friend Ty Segall across the field.
And no matter what negative stereotypes you might associate with Pitchfork’s indie-blog monopolism, there was hardly a drop of snobbery to be found anywhere. The rigidly hip and the decidedly normal showed up in equal measure and mingled with pleasure. The majority of the crowd was just happy to be roaming around Union Park, soaking up all the rain and sun, food and beer and sights and sounds. When their favorite band played their favorite song, they cheered. When there was a song they didn’t know, they still cheered anyways. The joy was downright infectious and I loved every moment of it.
This summer’s outing promises to bring much of the same. Aside from an apparently annual markup in price (ah, the joys and tribulations of something you like getting bigger) everything seems remarkably unchanged. Poster vendor Flatstock will once again be making an appearance peddling all sorts of wonderful gig prints from all sorts of bands, and the giant Chirp Record Fair will once again bless/curse festival goers with its irresistibly deep collection of CDs, vinyl and cassettes. The Coterie Craft Fair features a wide palette of hand selected artists selling their clothing and art and the Book Fort promises to provide a bastion for all those craving independently published books in the July heat.
Then, of course, there’s the music. Any gushing might come across as premature at this point, but I can at least say I’m terribly excited. What other festival could see me reunited with Joanna Newsom’s quietly immense live show while catching the sonic apocalypse of Swans just a day later? Where else could I see Belle & Sebastian play a headlining set one night and R. Kelly the next? You can make a case for other events this summer, sure, and I won’t dispute them. I’m excited for Lollapalooza’s “AAA” booking and I’m still ticked I missed out on the sheer spectacles of Coachella and Bonnaroo. But at the end of the day, Pitchfork Music Festival will always have a special place in my heart, and it will always be my favorite.
