Virgin Fest | 8.09 & 8.10 | Baltimore

Words by: Eric Zimmerman | Images by: Kenny Pusey & Michael Jurick

Virgin Mobile Festival :: 08.09.08 & 08.10.08 :: Pimlico Race Course :: Baltimore, MD

Virgin Fest 2008 by Jurick

The Virgin Mobile Festival takes place annually at Baltimore’s Pimlico Race Course, home of the Preakness. The infield is transformed as two monster stages, at the north and south ends, host some of the world’s biggest acts in music. But, as the name suggests, Virgin is also one of the most corporate-infused festivals you’ll find. Sponsors abounded, from the “Toyota Green Spot” to a humongous Kyocera-logoed balloon to the “California Tortilla Wrap VIP Shuttle.” I forced myself to overlook this relentless shilling, however, so that I could enjoy the festival’s all-star lineup.

Saturday, 08.09.08

Saturday afternoon, I arrived about ten-minutes into Cat Power‘s set. Dressed in an army fatigue shirt and loose black tie, Chan Marshall looked exactly as her music would imply: relaxed but precise. Covering Jessie Mae Hemphill’s “Lord, Help the Poor and Needy,” Marshall shuffled clumsily around the stage. Her performance throughout the set was notably body-centered. She nodded to the beat, twitched violently to the music and doubled over in agony while singing the most poignant lyrics. Yet her emotion did not properly transfer to all her songs. Her cover of “Fortunate Son,” for example, conveyed none of John Fogerty’s raw anger. Marshall’s version lingered amid nowhere. Her voice could not keep pace with her band, which seemed anxious to rev up the song to its proper pace.

Eugene Hutz – Gogol Bordello by Pusey

Following Marshall on stage was Duffy, who, from the first note she struck sounded like a cheap imitation of her predecessors. With her red cocktail dress and doo-wop sway, she tried desperately to recapture an era when either of those things was stylish or novel. “Serious” featured a cooing chorus of back-up singers and a string of cheap, mid-lyric banalities from Duffy: “One more time now!” “Hello Baltimore! You’re all beautiful!” Forgive my partiality, but it was more than I could stand, and soon I headed to the North Stage to catch Gogol Bordello.

Gogol Bordello is a kitschy, world music troupe of sorts that seems to revel in their flagrant eccentricities. Their back-up singers were styled in roller derby apparel; the lead singer, Eugene Hutz, wore Capri pants and a long headband, and his thick East-European accent flavored his lyrics. Violinist and singer Sergey Ryabtsev opened a bottle of wing to celebrate “American Wedding,” and a small but intense portion of the audience jumped and pointed in rhythm with the music. Gogol Bordello plays up its foreign identity. “Have you ever been to American wedding?/ Where is the vodka? Where’s marinated herring?” Hutz sang. At times, their act wears on the listener, but if you can overcome their over-enthusiastic air guitars, there’s an authentic core to their performance.

As Gogol Bordello’s set ended at one stage, The Swell Season began at the other. The Swell Season provides a dilemma for the listener (and the critic). Gaining fame as musical partners and romantic interests in the movie Once, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova adopted the moniker “Swell Season” as a real life duo, capitalizing on their cinematic success with a trip to the musical stage. But how does one listen to songs that originally existed within the context of a fictional drama? (A few of the songs in Once had been previously recorded, but the audience Swell Season is now targeting largely caught wind of the music from the movie.) Personally, I found myself unable to listen with fresh ears to “Falling Slowly,” the near-anthem from Once. I could not re-interpret it from the narrow, romantic function it served in the movie. And so this may have been the first live performance I would have enjoyed more had I known less about the band in question. The duo’s cover of Van Morrison’s “Astral Weeks” was a bit fresher, but only reminded the listener of the vast distance between Morrison’s voice and Hansard’s.

Glen Hansard – The Swell Season by Jurick

My trek back to South Stage was slightly more fruitful. Bloc Party played a tight, compact set, and if one ignores the polarizing, emo-like voice of lead singer Kele Okereke, their performance had a lot to like. The steady drum and bass combo was soothing, and the guitarists twitched to their own chords, showing an involvement and investment in the music that seemed self-conscious but nevertheless endearing.

Before long I was back at the South Stage for The Offspring. The Offspring is the kind of band whose once-ubiquitous hits remind the listener of a certain time in his life, if only because songs like “Pretty Fly For A White Guy” were once inescapable on the radio. But believe it or not, they’ve got a new album, Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace. Of course, what was most memorable from their set were the classics: “Pretty Fly,” “Want You Bad” and “Why Don’t You Get A Job.” The last of those, I somehow only realized when hearing it live, borrows heavily (to put it generously) from The Beatles’ “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.” “Self-Esteem” featured a heavy bassline, amplified by the festival’s monster sound system. And fittingly, frontman Dexter Holland‘s voice had the same attitudinal, punk edge during mid-set conversation it has always had in song.

As the sun began to lower over Pimlico Race Course, the Virgin audience was treated to one of the most bizarre performances imaginable: Chuck Berry and the Silver Beats. I say “bizarre” for two reasons. First, the two artists played separately, never appearing onstage together. This alone was intriguing, but the whole scenario was made even more confounding when you consider that The Silver Beats are a Japanese Beatles cover band! In a perverse sense, this pairing makes sense. Chuck Berry, of course, was one of The Beatles’ most immediate influences. But, to pair the godfather of rock ‘n roll with an artificial (though indulgently entertaining) cover band of rock ‘n roll’s most important band, seems incongruous.

Chuck Berry by Jurick

The Silver Beats draw their name from The Beatles originally moniker, “The Silver Beetles.” The four performers on Saturday donned black suits with slender ties, The Beatles’ trademark look circa 1964. Opening their set with the ever-recognizable intro from “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” The Silver Beats quickly segued into “Day Tripper” followed by “Drive My Car” and “I Feel Fine.” These were all satisfactory and actually – blasphemy! – entertaining. But the further into the Fab Four’s repertoire these cover artists dove, the more unbelievable they sounded. I’m thinking primarily of numbers like “Glass Onion,” “Come Together” and “Hey Jude.” These are late-era Beatles songs that require more than a superficial knowledge of technical skills. They are historical, speaking to the ethos of an era and demanding a degree of seriousness not possible from a lighthearted cover band, no matter how entertaining. Of course, early Beatles are similarly significant, but those songs are ultimately accessible pop, indicative of a band still toying with its own skills and, in the end, just having fun. Nevertheless, that the four Silver Beats – from halfway across the globe – knew every word of The Beatles’ lyrics, despite their admittedly broken English, was both respectable and poignant.

Of course, The Silver Beats were a mere prelude to the event that was to follow: Chuck Berry. Berry sauntered onstage in a sparkly red jacket, a sailor’s cap and a lariat. Launching into “Roll Over Beethoven,” Berry initiated a surreal moment. The Virgin Festival included artists from Andrew Bird to The Black Keys, meticulous indie to raw blues. All of the weekend’s artists, however, would not exist in their current form if not for the indelible influence of Chuck Berry. Seeing Berry perform on the same stage as these artists was both wonderful and awful. The man is a true living legend, and so it was hard to judge his performance on its own merits, to separate the music from the event of his appearance. But Berry successfully made each song sound fresh despite their ubiquitous status in popular culture. “School Days” was as energetic and inspirational as ever, especially Berry’s now legendary refrain, “Hail! Hail! Rock ‘n Roll!” Hearing “Sweet Little Sixteen” reminded one of how constant certain cultural tropes are: we’re still scandalized by youthful sexuality, and it’s only the decades that have passed since this song was first released that make it non-threatening and non-subversive. “Sweet little sixteen/ She’s got the grown up blues/ Tight dress and lipstick/ She’s sportin’ high heal shoes.”

Wilco by Jurick

In one of the tougher decisions of my life, I left Berry’s stage early to catch Wilco on the north end of the field. I arrived in the midst of “Handshake Drugs.” Like many of my Wilco favorites, the song lulls the listener into a soothing state while simultaneously shaking their sense of identity: “Livin’ poorly, I felt like a clown/ I looked like someone I used to know/ Was feelin’ alright/ And if I ever was myself/ I wasn’t that night,” Jeff Tweedy sang. It was the perfect song for dusk on a summer evening. Accentuated drums added an edge to “I’m The Man Who Loves You,” and Glenn Kotche seemed to revel in his heightened role, standing up with his arms in the air during a brief interlude. My personal favorite, however, was “Hoodoo Voodoo,” a Woody Guthrie composition from Wilco’s collaboration with Billy Bragg on Mermaid Avenue. Tweedy’s slight rasp, coupled with the playful and almost nonsensical lyrics were the perfect accompaniment to lukewarm beer and a trampled grass field.

Of course, evening time at a music festival means headliners, and soon enough Foo Fighters took the South Stage for an intense though slightly disappointing performance. I’ve always had a bit of tolerance for Foo Fighters if only for Dave Grohl‘s past membership in Nirvana. But Grohl’s performance Saturday demonstrated all the worn out stereotypes of a rock frontman either past his prime or pandering in the worst way. Clad in all black, Grohl sprinted back and forth across the stage, climbing on speakers and spewing out gratuitous curse words for really no reason. I’m not being a prude – his vulgarities really were pointless. “Fuck YEAH!” the red-faced Grohl would yell randomly. “Times Like These” stood out, if only because the intro chords echoed crisply through the massive crowd. The same was true for “Learn To Fly,” but, for the most part, Grohl’s exaggerated effort came off as a bit outdated and a bit too eager.

The second Saturday headliner was Jack Johnson, an artist I’ve always had a fairly paradoxical relationship with. On the one hand, I tolerate his somewhat monotonous surfer-chill aesthetic more than others, but I’m repelled by the banality of his lyrics, especially his more recent work. His performance Saturday only reinforced my more negative perceptions. The substantive fluff of “Sleeping Through The Static” – “Who needs ‘please’ when we’ve got guns?” he sang, taking a bit too seriously his faux-profundity – was made all the more unbearable by his near comatose state. In a surfer t-shirt and baggy jeans, Johnson spent the entire performance in a two-foot radius, swaying back and forth in a daze. “Flake” and “Sitting, Waiting and Wishing” maintained their floating-in-the-breeze pleasure, but even the meager hour and fifteen minutes organizers provided Johnson was far too much, and I left actually despising the idea of a Hawaiian vacation.

Continue reading for Sunday coverage of Virgin…

Sunday, 08.10.08

Virgin Fest 2008 by Jurick

The Go! Team opened Sunday’s lineup. Their mash up of late ’70s TV show anthems accompanied by two guitars, a bass and either one or two drum kits made for an extremely rich (and loud) sonic experience. The bass was too high in the mix, overshadowing some of the group’s musical texture, but for the most part their sunny, energetic aesthetic shone through. Lead singer Ninja wore an aerobic outfit and busted out retro dance moves with reckless abandon. She leaped in the air for a scissor kick during “Grip Like A Vice,” and beckoned the crowd with call-and-responses. “Where my ladies at? Where my fellas at?” Love them or hate them, The Go! Team is quite unlike any other group on the indie scene, and I observed more than a few looks of giddy discover – “Who are these guys!?!” – in the modest Sunday afternoon crowd.

I stayed put at the South Stage for Andrew Bird. As he emerged wearing a crisp blue linen utility shirt and aviator sunglasses, I soon realized he’s as meticulous with his fashion as he is with his compositions. Bird opened with “Fiery Crash,” a standout track from Armchair Apocrypha. “To save all our lives, you’ve got to envision the fiery crash,” he sang, one of his characteristically obscure but mysteriously potent lyrics. “A Nervous Tic Motion Of The Head To The Left” displayed all of Bird’s formidable musical talents. Playing the violin, he alternated between standard techniques, pizzicato (plucking) and simply strumming the instrument like a guitar. In a typical flourish, he raised his bow in the air and whistled a short coda to the melody. Throughout his performance, he toyed with time-changes, falling behind and then catching up to his band again. Closer “Fake Palindromes” was far and away the highlight of the set. As if he’d been hoarding creative energy throughout the set, he launched into “Palindromes” with a burst of fervor absent from the rest of his performance.

Lil Wayne by Pusey

Following Bird on the South Stage was She & Him, a pairing of M. Ward and actress Zooey Deschanel. The duo drew an outsized crowd for their modest stature, perhaps due to Deschanel’s celebrity. “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here” was an up-tempo standout, with Deschanel recounting the sentiments of an unused play-doll of some sort. “This Is Not A Test” was a simple and well-executed country number. But Deschanel’s country twang felt a little contrived throughout the performance, and her stilted stage demeanor did little to liven up the afternoon.

And then there was Lil Wayne. While every other performer during the weekend arrived onstage within 15 minutes of their scheduled slot, Lil Wayne arrived an hour late, pushing back performances for the rest of the day. This is understandable, of course, when you consider the fact that his entourage needed sufficient time for a pre-concert victory lap, which they performed with leisurely style. Just as the “boos” were reaching a fever pitch, Weezy himself appeared onstage to thunderous applause from one of the biggest audiences of the festival. Opening his set with “Full Clip” (“I’m the shit and they just poop stains”), Weezy continued the performance in proper narcissistic form. I’m not a veteran of hip-hop concerts, so I’m not sure if rapping over one’s own record is standard fare or simply laziness on the part of Lil Wayne. He closed his set with “Mrs. Officer,” a tongue-in-cheek tale of romance between a criminal and a cop. “This is dedicated to all the police officers out there!” he barked.

Iggy Pop by Pusey

I left halfway through Lil Wayne’s set to catch Iggy and The Stooges, a far more rewarding performance. Iggy appeared in incredibly good shape for a 61-year-old, muscular and energetic as he waded as close to the crowd as the stage barrier would allow. “I Wanna Be Your Dog” was as debauched as ever, and Iggy belted out more than a few vicious groans as sweat covered his chest. “Real Cool Time” found Iggy writhing onstage in a mixture of agony and ecstasy. “This is fucking music time!” he screamed at one point.

Soon enough, however, I found myself facing another unfortunate scheduling crunch, and headed back to the South Stage for The Black Keys. A duo from Akron, Ohio, The Black Keys have released album after album of visceral, rowdy blues-rock. Their latest, a collaboration with Danger Mouse, marked a slight stylistic departure but retained the Keys’ signature aesthetic. Guitarist Dan Auerbach appeared in jeans and a denim jacket, the cool and collected rocker of the duo. Starting with “Girl Is On My Mind,” drummer Pat Carney pounded away with a red face and flailing arms. “Thickfreakness” featured a particularly vicious guitar solo from Auerbach, and the two complemented each other perfectly on “Busted,” with Auerbach finishing the song with double-time chords. After six or seven songs, Auerbach announced their set was nearing an end. “You can thank Lil Wayne for that one,” he said, to a mixture of laughter and boos from the crowd. After a few more songs, the duo closed with “I Got Mine,” a standout track from their most recent album, Attack & Release. Carney dinged away on a cowbell for a bit of percussive detail, but the song was most notable for Auerbach’s almost evil sounding vocals.

Scott Weiland – Stone Temple Pilots by Pusey

I could have darted off after the set to catch a few minutes of the Stone Temple Pilots, but that would have meant sacrificing my third-row spot just as Bob Dylan was slated to appear. A price too high, I decided, and stayed put. Dylan kept the audience waiting 15 minutes or so, but that’s only fitting. The man is one of the most enigmatic figures in rock history. He simply doesn’t show up on time. Dylan eventually strode out, fashionably late, in a black suit, lariat and a Stetson hat. Word has it that Dylan’s arthritis prevents him from playing guitar live, and so Sunday’s performance found him once again behind the keyboard. Dylan’s performances over the last twenty years have featured radically different versions of his most notable songs. This is understandable; Dylan’s songs are so ubiquitous that the standard versions would lose their potency when played live. Yet on Sunday, I’m afraid, each song was characterized by the same warm, spry tone; well executed but unremarkable. Songs that should sound nothing alike – “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35” and “Highway 61 Revisited,” for example – sounded disappointingly similar. “Spirit On The Water” was true to its original sound, but perhaps only because it’s swaggering pace fit into Dylan’s preferred average for the night. Yet, it wasn’t all bad. Dylan’s voice still punctures the listener to the core. Though now, instead of the mid-60s nasal (but beautiful) rasp, it’s all gravel and dust, smoked-out and raw. It’s an agonizing but amazing thing to hear. I stood in awe if only to hear that well-worn groan communicate through its texture.

Virgin Fest 2008 by Jurick

As Dylan’s set came to a close, I once again made the trek back to the North Stage for the first of the evening’s headliners, Nine Inch Nails. “1,000,000” was an electronic-infused and angst-ridden lament: “I don’t feel anything at all,” Trent Reznor cried. But the show’s lights were nearly as remarkable as the music. Powerful beams shot down from above in pairs – reds and whites, blues and greens, and the occasional explosion of orange flames or even pure white. Under certain lights, one could only make out Reznor’s silhouette against the blue and black lights behind him. It all added a powerful visual dimension to the performance.

The final headliner Sunday was the one I’d been waiting for, if only out of childish curiosity. I’d read about Kanye West‘s marvelously narcissistic live performances, and though I rarely listen to his music, I couldn’t help but find myself drawn back to the South Stage as his set time neared. And I must say, Kanye did not disappoint. Blue and white lights illuminated a screen of smoke out of which his back-up band emerged – wearing imitation Daft Punk masks, no less. After a brief instrumental, Kanye strode out and launched straight into “Good Morning.” The eerily harmonious background vocals gave the song a dark vibe, and Kanye stood alone onstage as his back-up musicians receded into the fog. Throughout the set, edgier percussion added a livelier texture than West’s recorded work, and Kanye, though no doubt attempting to remain cool, gave the performance a Herculean effort. By the time “Diamonds From Sierra Leone” rolled around, West was sweating profusely, kneeling on the stage to belt out lyrics with his eyes closed. Kanye West is no doubt a self-absorbed narcissist, but he’s a talented narcissist, as Sunday evening proved.

Continue reading for more images from the Virgin Mobile Festival …

Images by: Kenny Pusey

Cat Power

Cat Power

Duffy

Eugene Hutz – Gogol Bordello

Chuck Berry

DeadMau5

GrandChildren

Lil Wayne

Lupe Fiasco

KT Tunstall

Iggy Pop

Paramore

Rabbit In The Moon

Rabbit In The Moon

Soulwax

DJ Tent

Scott Weiland – Stone Temple Pilots

Scott Weiland – Stone Temple Pilots

Continue reading for even more images from the Virgin Mobile Festival …

Images by: Michael Jurick

Gabriela Quintero – Rodrigo y Gabriela

Citizen Cope

Duffy

Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings

Gogol Bordello

The Offspring

Wilco

Jack Johnson

Jack Johnson

Foo Fighters

JamBase | Sunny Baltimore
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