All Points West Festival 8.09.08/8.10.08

SATURDAY: OK, Compute!

The ferry ride alone was a trip. What more could you ask for on a sunny late afternoon than a perfect view of lower Manhattan while crossing the river to Jersey City with Lady Liberty at your side. The ferry dock to festival grounds commute was equally deep-seated. Nearly one solid hour passed from the time we landed ashore to where I found Metric at the far Blue Comet Stage at day two of All Points West on Saturday.

Due to mile-long ferry lines, I arrived much later than anticipated and just in time for the finale of the Metric set with a hot American Apparel-ized Emily Haines in a teeny little gold number adequate for the hot summer day. As she gives a shout-out to a mutually personal fav – The Black Angels, I was focused on her demeanor. Perhaps she’s Canada’s answer to a Blondie for the new millennium. Microscopic gold space suits never hurt to add to the effect either. “I fought the war and the war won”, Ms. Haines proclaims during a rendition of the infamous tune by The Clash. “These days are almost over” she declares. The front-woman revels in tales of newfound hippie-dom that urged her to shed hipster blazers for peace ‘n love.

The crowd joined her in a slow sway handclap hippie-fest as she bid us a sunny adieu and jumped offstage into the pit. As she high-fived the audience I hung over the rail, holding out a peace sign congruent with her anti-war tactics. Stopping to reciprocate the gesture, Emily Haines grabs my hand to bid me the same. I found it a seemingly appropriate introduction to my weekend.

It didn’t take me long to discover that one show leads directly to another. I quickly regrouped with friends I had left behind unable to relish in the luxury of easy all-access entry, and we found ourselves at the Bullet Stage with New York new waves, The Virgins. Somewhat jaded by the same repetitive riffs pioneered some time ago by our old friends, The Strokes – I did however, note a slight AC/DC edge fused with Springstein-esque balladry. Suddenly I felt the urge to move on.

Making our way through a maze of carnival games, a Playstation Central, worldly cuisine, and of course, funnel cakes - I was tempted to hop on the pirate ship and ride the iron horse carousel that was bobbing under red Chinese lanterns complete with disco ball. Hot and thirsty, we stopped at a nearby quarantined drinking tent for a beer instead. With a five drink maximum per person, the forced regulatory prohibition kept most from getting too drunk under the sun.

Watching a show in broad daylight when you’re usually accustomed to the dark, forces one to really listen and pay attention. Take the likes of Animal Collective for instance. Not quite dark enough yet to hypnotize you with lighting visuals - I walked into a trance. Front stage on the left is where I typically find my spot. Hula-hooping Janis Joplin clones surrounded me, whom entranced in their acid-sway, had transcended into the otherworldly long before dusk. It was like a visit to my late 90s raver-girl past when time and space were irrelevant and song accompanied by dance were rudimentary. Animal Collective surely played a key role in all this. Dual keyboard/synth combos were hypnotic to the extreme. “I’m just gonna stay right here”, a friend of mine says as she plops to the ground. Unable to move her, and wishing it had been just a bit darker, I opted to move on and head back to the Bullet Stage to catch me some Black Angels.

Just when I thought things were somewhat back to normal, I arrived at The Black Angels set and a young pale-faced dude wearing a penguin suit covered in what appeared to be autographed graffiti shoves past me. However, it was the music that stopped me dead in my tracks and not the penguin. Dark, brooding trance rock at its finest, accompanied by a hard pounding she-devil vixen drummer on a gold sparkly kit mesmerized me like I was at a Tool concert. Dark, mysterious and mean like the devil (but with the faces of angels) this band just “Kill, Kill, Kill, Killed” me at hello. I was so lost in The Black Angels’ vortex that I unfortunately found Aussie-pop sensation Sia to be MIA at the neighboring Queen of the Valley Stage. I may have been just a little too late.

The late afternoon/early evening comprised of Radiohead prepping. I needed another beer. I managed to catch snippets of The Roots, just in time for a shout-out to the late Bernie Mac and danced bootay-Kahn reggae-ton style to electric sliding blues and a giant, almost platinum-looking tuba that bling-blinged in the setting sun. I caught a glimpse of the pretty boys/Kings of Leon and rendered their royal status justifiable. Sure, they were nice to look at, but I only had ample amount of time to make my way back into the beer concentration camp for another before the start of Radiohead. Selfishly I wanted them all to myself that night, as I was coping with the fact that they had already played Friday and I was unable to attend.

At close to 8:30p. my phone was dead and I had lost all of my friends. Choosing to avoid the “VIP” area, AKA, paparazzi pit - I decided to immerse myself in the crowd. I found myself at my usual front stage on the left locale in the thick of it all with some chicks from Scotland who rescued me from the annoyance of neighboring frat-boy types. From the time the lights went down, to when Radiohead took the stage, my notes are a jumbled mess. One of the last few words I can actually make it out is, “holy shit”. Opening with “Reckoner” from their latest, In Rainbows – euphonious ecstasy soared over the crowd of nearly 30,000. Like a crystal castle, icicle-like LED (light emitting diode) lights hung from the stage ceiling, generating every color of the rainbow, including white and ultraviolet. Enthralled by carbon-footprint reducing LED technology since the out-of-this-world display exhibited at the opening ceremonies at the Beijing Olympics, I was instantly hooked.

“15 Step” was as bombastic as I could have imagined it live, followed by a red, gold and blue zigzagging light show for “National Anthem” – a force (and bass-line) to be reckoned with. One song melted into the next. In Rainbows dissolved into Kid A lullabies, morphing back into more In Rainbows. “Weird Fishes” fired arpeggios, and rooted into the timbre of deep rhythm sections. The pot of gold then Hail’ed to the Thief and I found myself “up in the clouds” to the point where I wasn’t even sure if my feet were even touching the ground anymore. A splay of ultraviolet and grey light-bulb raindrops plummeted in “The Gloaming” and left us all gasping for air. Large screens on either side of the stage focusing on master of electronic gadgetry, Jonny Greenwood, as he strummed with fingers and bow on electric bass guitar cello during a break between “Bodysnatchers” and “Pyramid Song”. I found myself in a state of breathless aftershock.

As a majestic Lady Liberty shone in all her glory, a low-hanging perfect half moon glowed directly overhead. The lower Manhattan skyline filled the gap between the statue and the stage that was emitting supernova light and sound, all pointing west for all I know. This was “the most perfect day I’d ever seen”, as the lyrics of “Videotape” echoed throughout Liberty State Park. Thom Yorke broke this overtly powerful moment of silence without silence, by pausing between songs to reference the ole Kings of Leon. “If we were as good looking as them”, he jokes, “we’d be famous!”

I made my way through the cavalcade and managed to find my comrades again at the complete other end of the spectrum, somewhere between the pulsing hypnotic drumbeats of “There, There” and vast grand finale of “Idioteque”. The show ended with a breakdown so mind-blowing, it almost did not compute. I’m not sure if I was in Rainbows or in space or what, but nevertheless, it was the most perfect night, indeed.


SUNDAY: OK, Chill Out!

I woke up on a friends’ couch in Jersey City early Sunday morning with a killer headache and feeling not-so-ready to rock. After a quick trip to Historic Downtown J.C. for a new dress (I needed a change of clothes), I hit up a local Taqueria for some traditional huevos rancheros to combat the hangover. Without any cash left, or a cell phone to be my guide I began the trek towards the water, back to Liberty State Park. My official All Points West Passport in hand, I was ready to wing it and fly solo for the final leg of the weekend.

The journey back to the festival was cold and wet. Fortunately, my lucky hat managed to find its way back to me the night prior. I was rewarded more good karma when the yoga instructor I befriended over Mexican food had an extra umbrella (and some drinks) to spare.His good deed for the day was to, "save me from myself". For the duration of this day, time remains unknown and I dropped from the face of the Earth, unable to connect with any of my colleagues without a phone. Most cell phones rang dead the night before, constantly searching for signals amidst the sea of tens of thousands of concert-goers. Nobody could get any reception - it was total chaos.

I made it just in time to miss Flamenco guitar sensations Rodrigo y Gabriela. Total bummer. A wet Cat Power show was in the cards instead. And who said cats don’t like water? Chan Marshal struts onto the stage like the tall and lanky tomcat she is, dressed tomboy in an army green button down with black tie, white wing tip shoes and jeans. Me-ow! As the rain came down and wind blew through her ponytail, she paused during the opening of “Woman Left Lonely” to let us know she thinks the rain is on its way out.

Sure enough, the sky cleared after a few songs and things got up close and personal. The cat sport an ear-to-ear Cheshire grin throughout the duration, likely a direct result of recent sobriety. Marshall introduced her older gentlemanly band mates as “Mr. Pretty on the keys”, “Former Mr. 1964 on the bass”, “Mr. Nobody’s Fool on guitar” and “Mr Legit on the kit”. When Mr. Pretty reciprocated the introduction with, “Ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Chan”(pronounced Shawn) “Marshall”. I turned to the young teenage girls behind me to correct them that her name was not “Shawn” like a boy. I made conscious effort to correct many youngsters on Sunday, unaware of hipster indie pop culture knowledge. After all, it was Jack Johnson headlining that day. Cat Power ended her performance with a beautiful Spanish number and threw yellow and white daisies to the crowd, of course keeping one for herself as a memento.

There was no way I was going to miss The Secret Machines. As I exited the Blue Comet Stage I played messenger for more unsuspecting kids I had overheard asking who they were. “Go see them”, I insisted like a crazy fanatic, “they’re really good!” I entered the Bullet Stage during a lengthy opening number. I knew this because in true Floydian spirit, The Machines tend to drag things out. I was thankful for the dark grey sky that added to the ambience of their set. Again, these guys are much better to see in the dark. Grabbing us instantly like a magnet with incessantly progressive hypnotic beats, The Secret Machines didn’t even make eye contact until after three songs. With new radical guitar player in tow, no one moved a muscle except to shiver from the damp chilly air. It was like a cold electro-shock to my system that I never wanted to end. I woke up from a daze when it was finally over and was a bit confused when I turned around to see almost everyone had already moved on.

Freezing cold and exhausted, I bypassed the VIP tent where Sunday family fun picnics were raging and found myself in the massage chamber where the lights were low, and the padded cushioned chaise lounge beckoned to me like pillows of white fluffy clouds. Half asleep and fully sober, I listened to Ben Harper and the gang from there. Before going back out into the wild I was sure to re-layer my attire I had accumulated from the past two days, in order to stay warm. By this point my outfit had morphed five times. I made it six when a necessary purchase of a Radiohead In Rainbows T-shirt derived from space age recycled material was in order. Warm and cozy, I chilled out for Grace Potter’s cover of “Painted Black” and indulged on a funnel cake I purchased with my last six dollars. Anxiously, I awaited for Jack Johnson’s start time so I could then begin the long voyage home.

Right on the dot, I’m first out of the paparazzi gates to catch JJ in all his glory. I was put at ease with the soothing sounds of surfer rock that move as slow as the ocean on a calm Hawaiian morning. The only thing missing from the stage on Sunday, were the LED lights. Sigh. As I realize the waves of family fun that surrounded me, as if reading my thoughts, Jack sings, “You better hope you’re not alone”. Hey, at the very least, the guy managed to warm things up around there a little. Now where’s that damn ferry?

Soaking it in one last time as I made my exit, I give props to the lineup, the locale and well, the props! From the blue glass pyramid that reflected the Comet stage no doubt to summon the aliens via Radiohead, to sixteen large blue metal rods that chimed various bell pitches as they lit up, to a tall fuchsia and orange colored wooden post that served no purpose whatsoever other than it was nice to look at. Several weary (and some passed-out) festival-ers clung to the iron horses on the pirate ship and raver-kids danced to the techno bumpin’ at the neon parasol lantern area with glow sticks. I guess for some, the party wasn’t over just yet.

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