Now, in its fifth year, the Pitchfork Music Festival has finally accepted that it’s a bona fide festival. As indie rock’s first million-dollar event, there always seemed to a bit of hand-wringing around the festival, as if it was hemming itself in so as not to appear ostentatious, corporate or uncool. At first, the festival used a P.A. so small that you could have a normal conversation 150 feet from the stage. This past weekend, however, the three-day festival, held in Chicago’s Union Park, was unapologetically un-DIY, from the crane-cameras sweeping over the audience’s heads to the Jumbotron screens and the ubiquitous reek coming from the AXE Body Spray misting tent.
This year’s lineup was more balanced than in the past, with more hip-hop acts and female artists, some even appearing toward the top of bills. Friday opened with Oakland, Calif.-based guitarist Erika Anderson, a pop-minded shredder who performs as EMA. She strutted coolly around the stage, a natural-born rock star. Lifting her long, bleached bangs from her eyes to see the large crowd that turned out for her set, she closed with a panting version of her best-known song, “California,” with its luscious feedback-driven guitar din replaced by two overdriven, dueling electric violins. It was chancy, doing her hit as a dissonant dirge, but EMA’s audience seems to follow her wherever she goes.
Even with a strong bill, no one else on Friday matched the power of EMA. The excitement for Tune-Yards was muted by an audience much too large for the third-tier stage she was shunted onto — fans were hemmed in by trees and an unfortunate ring of portable toilets. Sonic Youth’s Thurston Moore teased the crowd at the start of his set by saying, “You guys wanna hear some songs about rape, lust and carnage?” (It was unclear whether he was alluding to the controversy over the festival’s booking of rappers Odd Future — which was being protested by queer and feminist groups — or his own penchant for dark material.) Moore’s quiet acoustic set, replete with harp and string accompaniment, was drowned out by the sound of roughly 18,000 people talking over his performance. Neko Case and her melancholy country band were perfectly set against the dusk, though her set overlapped with James Blake’s on the third stage, and his rattling sub-bass and synthetic squeals undercut Case’s soft harmonies. The Brit trio led by Blake approximated a dubstep version of Coldplay. Their set was certainly inspiring to some, as there was a much-remarked-upon rocking Porta-potty near to the stage. Animal Collective closed out the night with a mix of their old, noodling noise and precise, house-y songs as well as a couple of new tracks that split the difference.
Saturday’s bill was tepid until L.A.’s No Age took the stage at 3:30. The guitar-drums duo recently toured as a trio, but has since replaced the third member with Randy Randall’s punishing wall-of-amps (six in all, including four Marshall half-stacks). Drummer Dean Spunt remarked that their sampler was broken, so they were forced to do a set of early material, much to the delight of sweat-soaked fans, who, despite the nearly 100-degree heat, were crowd-surfing and pelting each other with water. Brooklyn weirdos Gang Gang Dance debuted their newest addition, a dancing shaman, who was draped in a white towel and floated around the stage with branches of burning sage in each hand. Reunited D.C. art-funk band Dismemberment Plan had the entire crowd singing along — their fan-base has only continued to grow since their breakup nearly a decade ago. Another ’90s revival act, DJ Shadow, closed out the night with a comical allusion to Spinal Tap: He was set to play from inside a large white cocoon, which, if it had been dark by then, would have appeared to be illuminated by a light show. Instead it just looked like a giant golf ball sat on stage while the music of DJ Shadow played. Fifteen minutes in, Shadow relented and flung the contraption’s doors open, to cheers. Sometimes you just gotta give the people what they want.
This year’s lineup was more balanced than in the past, with more hip-hop acts and female artists, some even appearing toward the top of bills. Friday opened with Oakland, Calif.-based guitarist Erika Anderson, a pop-minded shredder who performs as EMA. She strutted coolly around the stage, a natural-born rock star. Lifting her long, bleached bangs from her eyes to see the large crowd that turned out for her set, she closed with a panting version of her best-known song, “California,” with its luscious feedback-driven guitar din replaced by two overdriven, dueling electric violins. It was chancy, doing her hit as a dissonant dirge, but EMA’s audience seems to follow her wherever she goes.
Even with a strong bill, no one else on Friday matched the power of EMA. The excitement for Tune-Yards was muted by an audience much too large for the third-tier stage she was shunted onto — fans were hemmed in by trees and an unfortunate ring of portable toilets. Sonic Youth’s Thurston Moore teased the crowd at the start of his set by saying, “You guys wanna hear some songs about rape, lust and carnage?” (It was unclear whether he was alluding to the controversy over the festival’s booking of rappers Odd Future — which was being protested by queer and feminist groups — or his own penchant for dark material.) Moore’s quiet acoustic set, replete with harp and string accompaniment, was drowned out by the sound of roughly 18,000 people talking over his performance. Neko Case and her melancholy country band were perfectly set against the dusk, though her set overlapped with James Blake’s on the third stage, and his rattling sub-bass and synthetic squeals undercut Case’s soft harmonies. The Brit trio led by Blake approximated a dubstep version of Coldplay. Their set was certainly inspiring to some, as there was a much-remarked-upon rocking Porta-potty near to the stage. Animal Collective closed out the night with a mix of their old, noodling noise and precise, house-y songs as well as a couple of new tracks that split the difference.
Saturday’s bill was tepid until L.A.’s No Age took the stage at 3:30. The guitar-drums duo recently toured as a trio, but has since replaced the third member with Randy Randall’s punishing wall-of-amps (six in all, including four Marshall half-stacks). Drummer Dean Spunt remarked that their sampler was broken, so they were forced to do a set of early material, much to the delight of sweat-soaked fans, who, despite the nearly 100-degree heat, were crowd-surfing and pelting each other with water. Brooklyn weirdos Gang Gang Dance debuted their newest addition, a dancing shaman, who was draped in a white towel and floated around the stage with branches of burning sage in each hand. Reunited D.C. art-funk band Dismemberment Plan had the entire crowd singing along — their fan-base has only continued to grow since their breakup nearly a decade ago. Another ’90s revival act, DJ Shadow, closed out the night with a comical allusion to Spinal Tap: He was set to play from inside a large white cocoon, which, if it had been dark by then, would have appeared to be illuminated by a light show. Instead it just looked like a giant golf ball sat on stage while the music of DJ Shadow played. Fifteen minutes in, Shadow relented and flung the contraption’s doors open, to cheers. Sometimes you just gotta give the people what they want.
