Treasure Island Fest | 09.20 & 21

Words by: Dennis Cook & Kayceman | Images by: Dave Vann & Josh Miller

Treasure Island Music Festival :: 09.20 & 09.21 :: Treasure Island :: San Francisco, CA

Justice TI 2008 by Vann

In broad strokes, Treasure Island Music Festival was a super cool country fair for freaks, complete with a Ferris Wheel that overlooked a truly bucolic San Francisco Bay. Strong breezes tousled the hair of the psychedelic fueled masses, many of who wore stretchy DayGlo outfits, fur Mohawks and all manner of eye-grabbing oddness. T-shirts ranged from the blunt (“I (heart symbol) pussy”) to the political (“Who can’t get married now, bitch?” with the date same-sex marriage was legalized in California), and the general freedom lovin’ vibe was deeply contagious. In addition to fourteen acts per day on two alternating stages (allowing no overlap and a smooth, immediate handoff between sets), there was a tightrope, interactive art installations, double-dutch jump rope, live painting, stilt walkers, good food and a mingling mutant tribe that looked like the offspring of H.R. Pufnstuf and a daytime hooker – vaguely sebaceous and unwholesome beings that left one to wonder if they’d just caught Herpes by hugging one of these anthropomorphic pustules. Anchored to a forward thinking lineup, this festival felt like a getaway, especially since the vast majority of us arrived via shuttles that left from the parking lot of the S.F. Giants ballpark. Taken out of our cars, forced to pause for a moment, one settled into the experience before they even walked through the gate, taken on a small journey into a really colorful, well assembled daydream.

Saturday, September 20

Words by: Dennis Cook | Images by: Dave Vann

The Frail – Tunnel Stage – 12:30-12:50

Loquat TI 08 by Vann

Proffering a post-MDMA throb, The Frail invited us to, “Feel free to step up closer. We won’t bite. We won’t bite.” Thankfully, they do have teeth, shiny, modern ones, too. A three-man backline of keys/laptop, bass and drums fronted by charismatic lead singer Daniel Lannon left some scratches and bite marks in their shimmying passing. “Addicted” was real hip lubricant, and proved jauntier and sexier than the few tastes of their studio work I’d heard. There’s a physical presence to these S.F. boys’ disco light musing that works well live. They have the smart dance pop sensibilities of say Human League or Madonna but nicely rusted with post-millennial worry. There’s a lot of skill and smarts to their chick-chick-bang groovers, and they succeeded in making a strong impression in only twenty minutes.

Loquat – Bridge Stage – 12:50-1:15
Much of Loquat’s set was a pleasant, morphing haze, where tintinnabulous piano moved over stuttering rhythms until widescreen guitars and heartthrob bass expanded the cloud cover, the keys falling like rain on the lush landscape conjured by the others. Being absolutely honest, there’s not a lot new about their sound but they stir up a nice alternative rock mood. The second tune suggested P.J. Harvey if she smoked more weed, a roots undertow adding warmth to the slinky foreground. An up-tempo closer with bigger guitar squall broke the often mid-tempo evenness, and there’s no denying the appeal of lead singer Kylee Swenson, whose interestingly curved pipes recall The Innocence Mission’s Karen Peris. Nothing really to dislike but few of the songs planted in a way that stuck out from their self-professed pedigree of The Cardigans, Stereolab and Cat Power.

Chester French – Tunnel Stage – 1:15-1:40

Aesop Rock TI 08 by Vann

It’s never a good sign when a band’s opening number builds the chorus around a high fashion shoe brand (“She got the Jimmy Choos”). I’m all for getting one’s fingers dirty in pop culture but this just felt like an audition for a TV commercial. And it didn’t get any better during Chester French’s set. I take no pleasure in tearing down any band but there was something actively irritating about this VERY young band built around Harvard grads Maxwell Drummey and D.A. Wallach, who recently signed to Pharrell Williams’ label. Like Dr. Dre, Williams probably knows moneymaking white boys when he sees them, and there’s little doubt those with less than two decades under their belts will take to Chester French like, well, rich girls to Jimmy Choo. However, their sound is a godawful derivative of ’80s acts (The Fixx, Jesus and Mary Chain, Sparks, Echo and the Bunnymen) paired with lunkhead lyrics and frat boy cockiness. “Do you get hyphy, San Francisco?” inquired their lead singer before offering up such gems as “You’re just a little girl who misses her dad/ and all the toys that she had” and “I like to drink with hot girls/ but I don’t mess with no sluts.” Besides the not so subtle misogyny, there’s a dick swinging, in-your-face energy that’s just exhausting. But hey, a strobe light will get your attention whether you want it to or not.

Aesop Rock – Bridge Stage – 1:45-2:25

Nortec Collective TI 08 by Vann

“Let’s put those hands in the air as high as they will go. Big smiles up like this,” instructed Aesop Rock as he used his fingers to lift the corners of his mouth. Before a note, he was pulling the strings of the enthusiastic crowd. With as commanding a voice as hip-hop has seen in years, Aesop, in his husky, rubber-tongued way, brought brains to the party. While fairly limited musically (just a DJ, pre-recorded bits and a hype/harmony man), he meandered pleasantly through his catalog including early great “What You Got,” which he introduced, “This shit is a decade old, so that means I’m an old fucking man.” The now San Francisco resident did a fine job of cold rockin’ his neighbors on the Island, though one wonders how much more effective he’d be with a smokin’ live band behind him instead of such limited backing.

Nortec Collective: Bostich + Fussible – Tunnel Stage – 2:25-2:55
Collective co-founders Fussible (Pepe Mogt) and Bostich (Ramon Amezcua) created a fabulous mélange that blended traditional Tejano instrumentation with laptop triggers, robot vocals, silvery trumpet and alien accordion. It’s still border music but the country on the other side is somewhere other than the Mexico most of us know. They made Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass skip in fresh latex skin, playful in the end of summer winds, dancing like browner Laurie Andersons, coaxing strange noises from a computer etch-a-sketch they handed around like a hot potato. Some hybrids just work, and their mingling of South of the Border folk shapes with modernity’s restless exploration was a hugely winning one.

Antibalas – Bridge Stage – 3:00-3:45

Amayo – Antibalas TI 08 by Vann

Farting baritone sax gave way to a slowed down D.C. go-go feel that later surged like the welcome heat of a fine narcotic rush. This set showed Antibalas has shed their “U.S. Afrobeat” tag, less emulators now and more smooth distillers of agit-prop grooves from James Brown to Fela to Sly Stone to Bob Marley to Art Ensemble of Chicago. They largely avoided the blunt sloganeering of their past – who likes being scolded at a concert? – though between songs we were asked, “You guys believe in democracy? Well shit, you better vote!” They welcomed us to their unifying party, stirring dancers and setting even the lethargic lawn sitters swaying.

Foals – Tunnel Stage – 3:45-4:15
What an off-kilter, funky bit o’ stuff is the Foals. With a gripping oonka-choonka bottom and super fast guitar lines that suggest African High Life on meth, Foals barked and snarled in very English voices while their music pulled us like stiff taffy, finding tension and loosening but never entirely breaking it. As absorbing to watch in their bold physicality as their music was to take in, this Oxford-based group mined contemporary anxiety in palpable ways. Clearly their own band, it’s not hard to imagine someone who digs the Liars or Secret Machines jumping on board this modern rock locomotive with great enthusiasm.

Hot Chip – Bridge Stage – 4:20-5:10

Hot Chip TI 08 by Vann

Kicked off with a batucada beat that was rapidly molested by squiggles, electrons crashing in the distance, and then “Shake A Fist” carried us off: “I’m ready to try this/ The centre’s a sea pit/ I could be wealthy/ With nothing to stop me.” The only Brazilian remnant by the end of the opener was the persistent tinkle of a thin cowbell. Again and again, Hot Chip added fantastic complications and fresh arrangements to a catalog that few acts working in a heavily electronic realm can boast. Alexis Taylor and Joe Goddard are stellar songwriters, and the high level of musicianship and Taylor’s thoroughly winning voice further set them apart from the pack. The set, drawn mainly from 2008’s fab Made In The Dark, was exceedingly modern music that retains a great deal of human mess, mistakes and misdeeds. “Hold On” was transformed into a 21st talking blues given electric piano stomp with quite a few people chanting the chorus, “I’m only going to heaven if it feels like hell/ I’m only going to heaven if it tastes like caramel,” while their hands twirled fabulously through the salty air. “Out At The Pictures” was stripped down to a mean, sexy blur and “One Pure Thought” suggested what Marc Bolan might sound like if he’d come of age today. “Thank you for having us on your island, a treasure island, if you will, and the treasure is all here,” quipped Taylor. An unexpected cover of Prince’s “Nothing Compares 2 U” done is a very Sinead-y fashion closed their all-too-brief set, and confirmed suspicions that Hot Chip bear serious watching in the future.

Amon Tobin – Tunnel Stage – 5:10–5:50
Tobin is an engrossing turntable storyteller, abandoning all familiar audience reaction buttons for darkly hued music of his own design. That said, giving him a late afternoon set between Hot Chip and Goldfrapp was a total buzz kill and a poor fit. None of this reflects on Amon Tobin, who spun brilliantly but against a backdrop of increasingly loaded patrons anxious for quick stimulation it just didn’t jive. His emotional, patient builds and sometimes outright difficult sound collages were little match for the roar of fest chatter as the sun began to dip into the San Francisco waters.

Goldfrapp – Bridge Stage – 5:55-6:45

Goldfrapp TI 08 by Vann

This set got better by and by, at first sounding like the soundtrack to some low budget ’50s sci-fi movie (close your ears and you could see the bubble helmeted astronauts in their silver phallic spaceships), then a high end TV commercial or big budget Hollywood drama score but ultimately revealing Goldfrapp’s easy-to-like core as today’s answer to Dusty Springfield and Sandy Shaw. Alison Goldfrapp has an irresistible voice that’s part chart topping chanteuse, part Kate Bush (with 50-percent less crazy!), and her music mate Will Gregory keeps finding cool new settings for her. I kept thinking I’ve bought body wash or maybe some electronic device that was promoted by their music but ultimately let my natural resistance to overtly commercial stuff slide because they’re really damn appealing. When Goldfrapp asked a lover, “How’d you get to be happiness?” it landed on the grass with a “I’d like to teach the world to sing” effervescence. In the end, it seems silly not to let their bubbles tickle your nose.

Mike Relm – Tunnel Stage – 6:45-7:20
This S.F. DJ “master of the mashup” was the absolute opposite of Amon Tobin, relying almost completely on familiarity to achieve crowd buzz. It was what you recognized that you responded to in Relm’s pop culture collisions. To my ear, it was mostly clunky and kind of obvious but maybe that’s just the mashup thing. A decent crowd seemed to be diggin’ the snippets of Rage Against the Machine and others but it never reached me on more than a surface level.

TV On The Radio – Bridge Stage – 7:25-8:25

TV on the Radio TI 08 by Vann

“How big is this band?” asked a friend, and even from the back of the field it was obvious the quintet had brought reinforcements, namely the horn section from Antibalas, who lent breath and wind as much as brass accents on a few selections. TV On The Radio is, by nature, thick music and they’ve getting even better at translating the density of their studio work to the live setting. This hour was a total immersion experience, a diving bell into human consciousness that tickled the subconscious if you really let your ears roll back in your head. A freshly shorn Tunde Adebimpe moved with animal grace, fully inhabiting his frontman/singer role, yet never taking anything away from the crushing wall of sound rippling around him. Touchstones are never easy to pinpoint in TVOTR so hearing a few blues echoes on newer songs was downright strange, but worry not because they were still hellhound chased blues, hot breath on our heels as the horns squirted and moaned. “Wolf Like Me” was played with an electric punk chop, a drill bit drive burrowing right into our frontal lobes. If you managed to tune out most of the increasing distractions of nightfall (a gorgeous S.F. cityscape in the distance, the twinkling lights on the Island coming to life, the denser crowd), these guys offered something you could really fold yourself into, an enveloping, ever-thoughtful environment too full to really parse but also not so obtuse you couldn’t dance to it.

CSS – Tunnel Stage – 8:25-9:10
Unrepentantly hedonistic, CSS encouraged the gathered throng to strut, lead singer Lovefoxx punching lines like “I’m gonna jump onto the table and shake my ass off till I die.” Conjuring joyful wildness in a punked-up Studio 54 vein, Cansei de ser Sexy (“Tired of being sexy,” a Beyonce comment that tickled them enough to name their band after it) recalled vintage Stranglers or even Stop Making Sense-era Talking Heads, in short, a well played good time that made you want to join them on that table. “Where are my bitches at? Where are my gays at?” asked Lovefoxx. “That’s all we need, gays and bitches. And bitchin’ gays and gay bitches.” Cheeky. Drowning us in wonderful fuzz, they yelled for us to dance together. It’s a simple enough cry but one seemingly out of reach for many in the largely motionless audience. It’s hard to fathom how one stands still when the beat is this crucial, the band so anxious to tickle your pleasure center and the night so pretty and full of stars. What ultimately fascinates with CSS is the complexity below the party, the shiver inducing realization that a song like “Rat Is Dead” is about an abused woman and the man who will never hurt her again. CSS reconciles some strange bedfellows in their path to the dance floor, and managed to do so with great flair in this set.

Justice – Bridge Stage – 9:15-10:30

Justice TI 08 by Vann

During CSS’ performance one noticed people staring back towards the main stage with mouths agape. Before they set foot onstage, Justice made an impression with their humongous, glowing center stage cross and mountain high Marshall stacks. Borrowing heavily from metal’s long history of tweaking religious iconography, Justice knows how to make people stare. Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay make a massive sound for just two guys, burying us in dance noise and prickly God poking antics. It’s a hell of an experience and they succeeded in making the masses roar and bounce with their fractured, dark hued groove. However, on purely musical terms, they often sounded like someone just toughened up Jean Michel Jarre, merely updating his electronic driven pomp with better gear and an inspired stage show. A buddy I trust deemed it “sick, sick, sick, evil goodness” so maybe it’s just not my thing. I enjoyed the spectacle but couldn’t imagine throwing on one of their albums.

Continue reading for Sunday’s coverage of Treasure Island… Sunday, September 21

Words by: Kayceman | Images by: Josh Miller

Treasure Island 2008 by Miller

Sunday is God’s Day. And for those Bay Area folks lucky enough to worship at the Temple of Sound, we gathered at the idyllic Treasure Island Music Festival. Lodged between S.F. and Oakland, a more beautiful spot would be hard to find, and when God lets the glorious sun breakthrough the fog bank and pour down upon thee, warming the face while the temperate ocean breeze cools it just the same, there are few more wonderful places to spend your time.

The day began at 12:30 with local country-tinged roots act Or, The Whale and ended in triumphant fashion at 10:30 with rock & roll superstars The Raconteurs. Packed between were twelve other bands making this a fourteen act full day of sonic bliss. While not every artist had the glow of God ringing through their amps, we were treated to a few Higher Power minstrels. The Fleet Foxes‘ heavenly harmonies, Dr. Dog‘s biblical references, Jason Pierce’s Spiritualized (come on, the name says it all!) and good ole devil boy Jackie White and his Raconteurs. God’s no fool; he wants White on his team. Jack may have traded spit with Satan but he’s still on his way to the pearly gates; God loves him a mean guitar player. So with perfect weather, a perfect sized crowd and a stellar batch of bands, we pray for more days like this one.

Okkervil River – Bridge Stage – 3:05-3:50
One of the premier songwriters hovering just below the cusp of stardom, Will Sheff led his band Okkervil River through a blistering set of jangly, fuzzed-out rock & roll stories. With Sheff primarily on acoustic guitar, the swaying rhythms were propelled by a giant kick-drum thump while the “la-la-la” melodies softened its blow. Amongst the six rowdy players onstage, the gal to the left swapped between dissonant guitar wails, banjo, lap steel and handclaps to give nuance and shading to Sheff’s manic, almost neurotic (in a good way) delivery. There were few solos, the band instead electing to build tension by playing together and for each other, always finding the right spots – not just looking for the hot ones. With the blazing sun creating beads of sweat upon each and every face, Sheff closed the set by leading the crowd in a fast-paced, clap-along, throbbing reading of standout track “Unless It Kicks.”

Fleet Foxes -Tunnel Stage – 3:50-4:25

Robin Pecknold – Fleet Foxes by Miller

As you ride that escalator up to Heaven, it’s Seattle’s Fleet Foxes who will be providing the score. Built on lush harmonies, earthy rhythms and beautiful compositions, there’s really nothing not to like about the Fleet Foxes. With the sun behind him, lead singer-acoustic guitarist Robin Pecknold began the set by leading his bards through the appropriate “Sun Giant.” With his unique voice, Shakespearean imagery and almost medieval song structure, Pecknold gives Fleet Foxes a timeless aura that’s difficult to pin into any one category. The harmonies remind one of CSNY, but the musical accompaniment and casual, almost shy stage demeanor set them in another, truly unique place altogether. If there were a complaint it would be the amount of stage banter between songs. Not that it was annoying (like a band soon to be discussed), it was just a short set and we wanted more songs. With only 35-minutes to perform (that’s all most side stage acts got), there was no time for chitchat, but it was well worth waiting for songs like the show-stopping “Blue Ridge Mountains.” Next time around, Fleet Foxes deserve a spot on the big stage.

Spiritualized – Bridge Stage – 4:30-5:15
Just as the Fleet Foxes were trying to squeeze in one more delicate song, the giant fuzz of Spiritualized covered the island. Switching from the swooning church harmonies of Fleet Foxes to the devastating drone of Spiritualized surprisingly wasn’t a stretch at all. This was just a different take on communion. Huge distorted guitars tore at eardrums as the two black backup singers pushed the set-opening “Amazing Grace” above the wall of noise into what could be considered garage-gospel. Easily the loudest band of the day (and for the most part in a good way) with seven people onstage, bandleader Jason Pierce is still going for volume, and here he let it scream with primal indulgence. Perhaps the most impressive thing about this squall of noise is that it contains a secret overdrive. There is a whole new level of loud that they go to long after you think the noise has been maxed out. A fun, bone-shaking trick if you can pull it off. While the sheer power of the sound waves moving at the listener are critical, what gives them context is the gorgeous counterpoint of the backup singers and the layers of instrumentation (like a healing slide guitar, for example) that are sparingly allowed to pop out from under the guitar wail. During a stellar version of their smash hit “Ladies and Gentleman We Are Floating in Space,” Pierce sang, “All I want in life’s a little bit of love to take the pain away,” which eventually drifted into an interesting take on Elvis’ “Can’t Help Falling In Love” before the whole set melted down with a heated “Come Together” (their original song, not the Beatles track) that left most in the crowd with their mouth open and ears ringing.

The Dodos – Tunnel Stage – 5:15-5:50

Ezra Koenig – Vampire Weekend TI 08 by Miller

Another rising San Francisco act, The Dodos are officially the duo of acoustic guitarist Meric Long and drummer Logan Kroeber but are often joined by a third member on percussion who adds a nice touch with the vibes. Watching the local boys bang out an urgent blend of indie pop with tastefully muddled hooks in front of the city skyline was a cool visual to compliment their sound. Much of the vocals were difficult to discern in the rowdy live setting, but it didn’t make much difference – this is all about rhythm. From the syncopated drumbeats to the rhythm guitar to the rhythmic singing, The Dodos were clear in their intentions. Not overly impressive but good fun nonetheless, and their set-closing selection, “Jodi” (with the refrain “We can do this on our own”), proved to be the catchiest of the bunch.

Vampire Weekend – Bridge Stage – 5:55-6:40
Here’s the thing about Vampire Weekend: They’re really not that bad. Obviously lots of folks think this. They get good slots at lots of festivals, sell tons of albums, play big rooms and get an insane amount of press including the cover of Spin magazine at the beginning of 2008 with the words “The Year’s Best New Band… Already!?” next to their cute little prep school picture. Best New Band of The Year? Hardly. They aren’t even the best new band at Treasure Island. Hype can be a real bitch. After all the buzz fell flat when everyone saw a half-baked Vampire Weekend at SXSW there was a backlash that is still being felt. For every college coed who praised their bouncy indie pop there were three dudes in black t-shirts talking shit. Giving the guys another chance at Treasure Island, it might have been the drummer’s Phish shirt that received the most interesting commentary, but it was their infectious African guitar lines that had folks moving. There was plenty to enjoy, but just like most flash in the pan, overexposed new acts, it was thin like a wafer. From the songwriting to the delivery to the actual sound, it was almost transparent. No meat, no juice, no umph, no texture. It’s nice and can work in the background, but does anyone really want their music described like that? This is a classic case of the need for maturation, hard knocks on the road, some life experience and dirt-under-the-nails struggle. If the band can make a second and a third album that keeps fans glued to their boyish looks, well, then we may have to reconsider; but for now one assumes Vampire Weekend will be in the “where are they now?” category in less than five years.

Dr. Dog – Tunnel Stage – 6:40-7:20

Scott McMicken – Dr. Dog TI 08 by Miller

If Vampire Weekend is the product of an ailing industry, built up by the hype-machine and an A&R rep that knew they had the look, Dr. Dog is the exact opposite. They don’t have the classic good looks that fit on glossy mags and they don’t make shiny pop that your mom would play at her cocktail party. The Dog are retro-rockers who have been grinding it out in Philly for almost a decade, cranking out weirdo home recordings, packing CDs with sprinkles and constantly creating exciting albums and putting on cathartic shows. At Treasure Island, they came out swinging with “Hang On,” the second song off their stellar new album, Fate. Usually a five-piece, for this festival set they swelled to seven, adding an extra acoustic guitarist and a tambourine man. Switching from the gritty, husky vocals of bass player Toby Leaman to the quirky (a compliment here, for sure), higher range of guitarist, and sometimes pianist Scott McMicken, this is a band in the truest sense – full of subtle dynamics, shifts in focus and intricate moments of brilliance where everyone knows their place and pushes their section to the edge. With rarely any attention paid to the limelight or gratuitous dialogue, they milked every second of their 40-minute slot on the smaller stage. Playing a wide range of material but sticking most closely to the newer songs, the comparisons to The Beatles and The Beach Boys (a lo-fi version) were apparent in the vocal harmonies and interplay between musicians, but trying to pin them under any one umbrella would be foolish. Dr. Dog is their own band, and this day they were huge, the rhythm section swinging with big brass balls and a thick, heavy backbone while every solo and every word were delivered with the utmost passion and emotion. Songs like “Worst Trip” and the thundering, apocalyptic “The Ark” displayed the secret ingredient that truly makes Dr. Dog special: song craft. Like any band they’ve ever been compared to, these guys know how to write a song. The instrumental sections are laid out well but are never sterile. The vocal parts lean on harmonies but also allow for guttural screaming. Everything this band performs is built incredibly well. Dr. Dog was the best set of the day up until this point.

Tegan & Sara – Bridge Stage – 7:25-8:20

Tegan & Sara TI 08 by Miller

As day turned to night, the weather continued to be a source of joy. The cool breeze that kept the hot sun from being too warm fell calm as the night air blew off the ocean for a mild night framed by the lights twinkling off the San Francisco business district. Everything was going great and Tegan & Sara were off to a fine start with “You Wouldn’t Like Me.” But then it just got ridiculous. I had never seen these identical twin Canadians before and apparently the between-song banter is part of their deal, but good God, I was ready to throw something at the stage during their repeated dialog about the fucking Lost Boys movie. I shit you not, between every song there was at least a few minutes of pointless dribble – talk about the Ferris Wheel and vampires and premature ejaculation and then The Lost Boys again and more ejaculation. It was ridiculous. When they actually played, it was okay, maybe not my bag, but I could see how the actual music would appeal to some folks. A quick cover of Rihanna’s “Umbrella” and a nice rendition of their song “Where Does The Good Go” were solid, but the damage had been done. I spent most of their set thinking about Jack White and laughing at the twins, not with them.

The Kills – Tunnel Stage – 8:20-9:00
The Kills are a punk rock, electro garage duo consisting of vocalist-guitarist VV (aka Alison Mosshart) and guitarist-drummer-vocalist Hotel (aka Jamie Hince). Playing atop preprogrammed synthetic drumbeats, the duo utilized heaps of guitar distortion and drugged out vocals to create a rather interesting, mysterious vibe. The duo configuration brought to mind Ghostland Observatory, but the music was less disco funk and more dirty punk with chunky guitars. That and Ghostland just puts on a far more interesting show with way more stage presence and visual components. With The Raconteurs about to start, The Kills also had me thinking about just how powerful Jack White is in his other band. Of course, they aren’t going for the same thing, but watching The Kills really made it clear what a duo that includes Jack White can do. He and Meg make more noise than The Kills could make if they doubled their numbers – but then again, it’s not fair to compare anyone to Jack White.

The Raconteurs – Bridge Stage – 9:05-10:20

Jack White – The Raconteurs by Miller

Less than two-minutes into The Raconteurs’ set and it was clear this was their night (but when isn’t it Jack’s night?). Walking out to strobe lights and a huge feedback jam full of thrashing drums and punishing guitars, it was finally time to rawk. Starting with the beefy combination of “Salute Your Solutions” and “Level,” the band’s 90-minute set never waned. There were tempo changes and slower ballads with Jack on the piano (“Blue Veins,” “You Don’t Understand Me”) or acoustic guitar (“Top Yourself” including beautiful slide work by Brendan Benson) but every song, solo and note was electrified with intensity.

It’s not hyperbole to say that Jack White is one of the greatest axe-slingers alive. His solos, while often not overly technical, are so overpowering and full of hard to discern sounds, one often finds themselves just staring at the man asking, “What the fuck?” White does depraved, dirty, mean things to his guitar; making it squeal and cry in the most obscene ways. But what makes The Raconteurs so fucking great is that they are a real band. It’s easy to assume this is Jack White’s gig, but it simply isn’t true. Brendan Benson sings at least half (probably more) of the songs, and dude can play a mean guitar as well. But it’s not just that he sings and plays guitar, it’s HOW he sings and plays guitar. Benson and White have that thing, that energy, that dynamic, that ability to really play off one another while never overstepping. There were times when White would be taking a filthy guitar solo and Benson would weave his guitar around White’s, creating a braid of notes that blended together in a blur that made it impossible to distinguish where one man started and the other stopped.

Backing White and Benson were the banging rhythm section of Jack Lawrence (bass, banjo, backup vocals) and drummer Patrick Keeler as well as touring stud Mark Watrous who added beautiful keyboards, percussion and stunning violin on the country-laced “Old Enough.” Towards the end of their set they launched into a long, multi-part version of “Rich Kids Blues.” About halfway through the song it began to devolve into a fuzzed-out, slow-burning instrumental jam that had me thinking we had walked into a new song. But before long, Jack brought it back to “Rich Kids Blues” and dumped it into a visceral “Steady As She Goes.” During “Steady,” they pulled the tempo way down, almost giving it a sped-up reggae vibe which found White with his back to the crowd, singing into a mic at the rear of the stage that sent his vocals through a heavily processed, totally watered-down psychedelic warp. Continuing to mix vast instrumental sections with fist-pumping choruses, they soon went into a mean version of “Broken Boy Soldier” with everything covered in filth. It was one highlight after the other, and the encore did not disappoint. Playing a three-song banger to close the night, it was the final song off their 2008 release Consolers of the Lonely which brought another facet of White’s genius to the forefront. With his acoustic in hand, White walked us into “Carolina Drama” and proved himself to be one of the best storytellers in the game. Keeping every fan rapt to his every word, the band gave White’s tale of families, priests, murder and milk emotion and context as they blew it out and closed the show, making a bid for one of the best live bands around.

Continue reading for more images of Treasure Island… Images by: Dave Vann

Saturday, September 20







Loquat
Chester French
Aesop Rock
Nortec Collective
Antibalas
Foals
Hot Chip
Amon Tobin
Mike Relm
Tunde Adebimpe – TV on the Radio
Antibalas Horns with TV on the Radio
TV on the Radio
CSS
CSS
Justice
Justice
Justice

Continue reading for more images of Treasure Island… Images by: Josh Miller

Sunday, September 21



Morning Benders
Okkervil River
Will Sheff – Okkervil River
Robin Pecknold – Fleet Foxes
Fleet Foxes
Jason Pierce – Spiritualized
The Dodos
Dr. Dog

Tegan or Sara (not really sure to be honest)
Brendan Benson – The Raconteurs
Jack White – The Raconteurs