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Riot Fest Review: 9/14-9/16

Beck

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Was it back to chaos for Riot Fest, which seems to find itself in some sort of trouble every few years? Okay, it’s not like they were in trouble with the city aldermen as in 2015. But they were facing lots of backlash from fans waiting ever so patiently for that second wave only to find out that previously announced headliner Blink 182 would be replaced by Weezer, Taking Back Sunday, and Run The Jewels--less than two weeks before the festival. The aftershows, daily lineups, and schedules were announced shortly thereafter, leaving full-time workers like me without time to hatch a plan to skip work and catch Liz Phair and Speedy Ortiz Friday before 2 PM. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be an out-of-towner.

Nonetheless, at the actual festival, Riot Fest went on mostly smoothly. Lines for the entrance, port-a-potties, and beer were never excessive. The vibe was chill and strangely devoid of explicit contemporary politics. (I saw just as many awesome Mars Attacks! t-shirts as I did ill-advised joke MAGA hats--the count was, thankfully, a mere one). Per usual, the music was embedded in a previous era, bleeding down to even the stages you came across: I walked by right as K. Flay covered “Flagpole Sitta” and The Frights covered Shaggy’s “It Wasn’t Me”.

But perhaps the most important difference was whereas in past festivals, I found it easy to be cynical, judgmental of empty punk idealism about being whatever you want to be in the face of more concrete structural issues relating to class, race, and gender (ok--Suicidal Tendencies signer Mike Muir offered plenty of eyeroll-worthy motivational speeches), this time around, the words and actions of many bands, plus their gratefulness and desire to put on a great show for the crowds, offered more weight than making a statement. Whether it was Weezer’s classy move to cover Blink’s “All The Small Things”, Father John Misty’s surprising lack of sarcastic banter, or the sound of classic Smiths songs coming from someone who isn’t an insufferable blowhard, Riot Fest this year seemed--dare I say it--nice? Of course, there was worthwhile activism. Pussy Riot’s performance (shouted out by Front Bottoms lead singer Brian Sella) carried weight due to recent news of a poisoning of spokesperson Pyotr Verzilov by the Russian government. Superchunk’s Mac McCaughan urged the crowd, simply, to “vote.” But the most inspiring was the simple earnestness of the bands, a feeling that came across as actually genuine.

Run The Jewels

Riot Fest 2018 celebrated music and life--and no set did so more effectively than Run The Jewels. “We came to burn this stage to the fucking ground,” declared Killer Mike before the duo (and their venerable DJ Trackstar) launched into Run The Jewels III highlights “Talk To Me”, “Legend Has It”, and “Call Ticketron”, the crowd embracing every opportunity presented to go nuts. “Gold” was dedicated to “the better half of the human species;” at various points throughout the night, Mike and El-P told the crowd to keep their hands to themselves, unafraid to point out that harassment predominantly affects women. (They missed an opportunity to perform sex positive anthem “Love Again”, though.) And then “Down” was dedicated to Mac Miller and, accordingly, anyone who has left the earth too early. Mike shared a moving, powerful story of visiting the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and reflecting on his mother’s suicide attempt, imploring the crowd to reach out and take care of each other.

Beck

With the other headliners, Weezer and Beck, you knew what you were gonna get--a nostalgia trip, a good time, great bands, and unselfish frontmen. Rivers Cuomo and company burned through their hits, good and bad, and the hits of other bands, whether they were slated to play Riot Fest (the aforementioned Blink cover) or not (Green Day’s “Longview”, A-Ha’s “Take On Me”). Of course, Weezer proved they were still goofy, inevitably playing their hit cover of Toto’s “Africa” and ending their set with a minute of Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid”. Beck’s set, meanwhile, was all sheen, even the former fuzz and buzz of songs like set and Odelay opener “Devil’s Haircut” falling into the adept hands of dynamically smooth musicians. Beck’s harmonies with the synth, keytar, and tambourine players/backup singers thrived on songs that aren’t even really sung, like “Loser” and “New Pollution”. Midway through the set, the band went acoustic for “Lost Cause” and Morning Phase standout “Blue Moon”. Sure, the set was almost entirely lacking surprise, Beck introducing songs with unambiguous puns containing the titles. But the thrilling encore, which included “Where It’s At”, an introduction of every band member with an interpolation of a song showcasing their skills (Gary Numan joined here for his “Cars”), and “Where It’s At” again, was what truly merited the plethora of beach balls that were previously bouncing throughout the crowd during lesser, newer, poppier songs.

The Front Bottoms

Many bands earlier in the day brought the same level of positive energy. The two best pop punk sets I saw were from The Front Bottoms and The Wonder Years. The former band changed time signatures expertly, their secret weapon Jenn Fantaccione, who played everything from trumpet (“Vacation Town”) to ukulele (“Maps”) to violin (“The Beers”). Drummer Mathew Uychich, wearing a Cubs shirt, led the band’s disco breakdowns with fervor, while Sella, armed with an acoustic guitar and the power and clarity of his voice, brought the basement show to a stadium sized sound on “Cough It Out”, “Au Revoir (Adios)”, and “Twin Sized Mattress”. The Wonder Years were certainly less instrumentally dynamic but no less exhilarating, celebrating the release of this year’s Sister Cities by working the crowd to jump and scream along. Lead singer Dan "Soupy" Campbell did a little too much letting the crowd sing for my taste, but at least the band’s setlist was structured admirably, saving highlights from their previous three albums, like “There, There”, “Cardinal”, and “Came Out Swinging” for moments of equal reflection and excitement. And Superchunk, while not quite pop punk, played a set that was nonstop anthems. Many of the songs from this year’s What a Time to Be Alive stood out, Jon Wurster effortlessly translating the title track’s beat, Jason Narducy’s high notes filling in admirably for Katie Crutchfield on “Erasure” (the crowd did the baritone of Stephen Merritt) and Laura Ballance on “Break The Glass”.

Superchunk

Now Cat Power was there for those who craved something different. Very soft, admittedly better for Pitchfork, Chan Marshall’s buttery, beautiful voice isolated amidst hints of synthesizer, guitars, and drums was nonetheless a refuge from sets that lacked subtlety. She started with a couple songs from Moon Pix and the title track to her upcoming Wanderer, which features Lana Del Rey (Marshall covered Del Rey’s “White Mustang” during her set). Marshall has a known history of stage fright due to substance abuse, which has subsided and been replaced by a funny and empathetic stage presence. For some reason, she pretended to hit baseballs into the crowd during “Metal Heart”--it was wonderful. Any sound issues that came up were resolved with sensitivity among band members. The crowd was enraptured. Marshall left the stage with a salute, mentioning that you’re supposed to salute a certain way to signify you’ve never lost a war. Well, she’s lost a few wars but is all the more powerful for it.

Cat Power

HEALTH put on an obliterating set laden with sound issues to the point the band had to cut it short. They claimed the heat was affecting their guitar pedals and synths but didn’t really offer excuses. Instead, they made it work, grateful for the crowd’s patience and devotion to the spiraling head-banging of John Famiglietti and pouding drums of BJ Miller. The tender, soft vocals of Jake Duzsik undercut the darkness of the music on songs like “New Coke”. Even Elvis Costello, recovering from cancer treatment, found a way to overcome his obstacles. If he had trouble keeping up with his own verses, his voice and guitar playing were still on point, making you realize why “Miracle Man”, “Pump It Up”, and “Radio, Radio” were classics in the first place.

There are always bones to pick with a festival. Mostly, as compared to previous years, this year’s full album plays were underwhelming, and the fest missed out on opportunities for other full plays (Interpol doing Turn On The Bright Lights instead of half of their set being post-Antics material would have been amazing). But considering the circumstances, Riot Fest--like its best performers--went on despite odds and troubles and succeeded through its unselfishness and confident curation.

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