Fans get double doses of rain and Radiohead at All Points West
August 8-10, 2008, at Liberty State Park
By Dominick Mastrangelo & Andrea Rice
Published: August 12th, 2008 | 11:45pm
DAY ONE: STORMS AND SUN LEAVE APW-GOERS 'IN RAINBOWS'
The inaugural All Points West Music and Arts Festival got off to a literal bang on Friday when the first of two waves of storms rolled through, bringing lightning and thunder shortly before Pawnshop Roses kicked off the East Coast cousin of Coachella. But the skies cleared, a rainbow arced over the Manhattan skyline and Radiohead put the first day at Liberty State Park in the books with an In Rainbows–heavy set that lasted two hours. And, oh yeah, they were amazing.
But these three-day festivals are much like marathons and with songs in its catalog like “Panther Dash” and “Huddle Formation,” Brighton’s The Go! Team was a natural choice to christen the Blue Comet stage (a.k.a. the main stage) in the early afternoon. However, the six-piece resemble more of a sprint relay team, which one could call the 6-by-6 relay. Members dashed to and fro between songs handing off instruments, headphones, and drumsticks. Vocalist Ninja certainly was the most fit rocker out there, as she sang, chanted, danced, skipped rope with her mic cord, and coaxed her newly dubbed “All Points Westers” (the crowd) to dance and sing along to “Ladyflash” and “Doing It Right.” Exhausting? Sure. But the day was just getting started.
By contrast, Mates of State were always going to look a bit static with Kori Gardner behind her keyboards and husband Jason Hammel behind his drum kit. Their set at the Queen of the Valley stage was also a contrast in weather. The hot sun that cooked attendees just 30 minutes earlier gave way to dark, gathering clouds, gusty winds, and a rapid dip in temperatures. Gardner and Hammel opened with “Fraud in the '80s” from 2006’s Bring it Back and closed with “The Re-Arranger” from their new record Re-Arrange Us. Wind gusts ripped one of the big APW banners lining the side of the stage, and right after they finished “Ha Ha” the skies opened up and out came the umbrellas and raincoats. By the time the set finished, though, there wasn’t a drop in the sky and it would stay that way through the end of the day. Cue rainbow.
Grizzly Bear strode to the QOTV stage next and the influx of new songs and the ever-present harmonies that all four members contribute made their set one of the day's highlights. The beautiful, upbeat “Two Weeks” featured Daniel Rossen dropping back to the keyboards and tapping out the melody as frontman Ed Droste showcased his rich, effortless baritone as he sang the chorus. The set closed with another new song, the already fan favorite “While You Wait For The Others.” Rossen fired off crunchy "Hey Joe"–like riffs as his bandmates backed him with soaring ahhs and ohhs.
Andrew Bird followed on the same stage and his first whistles were greeted with rousing applause. Birds buzzed between his guitar, a microphone behind him, his violin, and the xylophone he had set up next to his mic stand. Bird proved to be sort of a musical mad scientist, with a little whistle on a loop here, a little violin plucking looped there, or a bit of guitar somewhere else. His intensity on stage is evident in everything he does and with the ferociousness in which he swings his head from side to side, you’d not be surprised if he snapped his own neck. And his voice and the ease of which he moves up and down the register is highly underrated for the complexity of his arrangements.
And as the setting sun reflected off the Manhattan skyline, Radiohead took the Blue Comet stage and opened with "15 Steps," then launched into “There There,” both Ed O’Brien and Jonny Greenwood banged away a two-drum set, while drummer Phil Selway hammered away on his full kit toward the back of the stage. As Thom Yorke’s vocals trailed off and the song kicked up another notch, the stage went up in a fireball of red and orange as the chandelier-looking columns of LED lights hanging down and the massive walls of lights behind the band flashed and swirled in random formations.
Yorke leaned closely into the camera on the upright piano prior to “You And Whose Army?” and sinisterly bellowed, “Welcome to our world.” He stared down the camera while singing the song’s baiting lines and raised his eyebrows up and down in eerie, Orwellian fashion. It was as comical as it was creepy.
The set leaned primarily on post-OK Computer tracks, but when they did step further into the catalog, “Lucky” and “Climbing Up The Walls” were standouts. Those looking to go even further back had to wait until the last song of the first encore and the first notes of “Street Spirit (Fade Out)” from The Bends.
The second encore and set finale was Kid A’s “Everything In Its Right Place.” Greenwood’s sample of Yorke’s voice looped over and over again and one by one they left the stage. — Dominick Mastrangelo
DAY TWO: FANS GET HYPNOTIZED BY TRANCE ROCK, NEWFOUND HIPPIE-DOM, AND MORE RADIOHEAD
I arrived to Jersey City on day two of All Points West much later than anticipated and just in time for Metric's finale, featuring Emily Haines in a teeny little gold number adequate for the hot summer day. Perhaps she’s Canada’s answer to a Blondie for the new millennium. Microscopic gold spacesuits never hurt to add to the effect, either. “I fought the war and the war won,” Haines proclaimed during a rendition of the infamous tune by the Clash. “These days are almost over,” she declared. The frontwoman reveled in tales of newfound hippie-dom that urged her to shed hipster blazers for peace and love.
The crowd joined her in a slow-sway handclap 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, Haines grabbed my hand to bid me the same. I found it a seemingly appropriate introduction to my weekend.
After the set I quickly regrouped with friends and we found ourselves at the Bullet Stage with New York new wavers the Virgins. Somewhat jaded by the repetitive riffs pioneered some time ago by our old friends the Strokes, I did at least note a slight AC/DC edge fused with Springsteen-esque balladry.
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 usually accustomed to the dark forces one to really listen and pay attention. Take Animal Collective for instance. Not quite dark enough to hypnotize with lighting visuals, I walked into a trance. Hula-hooping Janis Joplin clones surrounded me, whom, entranced in their acid-sway, had transcended into the otherworldly long before dusk. Dual keyboard/synth combos were hypnotic to the extreme.
I opted to move on and head back to the Bullet Stage to catch me some Black Angels. Dark, brooding trance rock at its finest, accompanied by a hard-pounding 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.
The late afternoon/early evening comprised of Radiohead prepping. I managed to catch snippets of the Roots just in time for a shout-out to the late Bernie Mac, and danced bootay-Kahn reggaetón–style to electric sliding blues and a giant, almost platinum-looking tuba that bling-blinged in the setting sun. I caught a glimpse of pretty boys Kings of Leon before making my way back into the beer tent 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 8:30 p.m., my phone was dead and I had lost all of my friends. I found myself at my usual front-stage-left locale in the thick of it all with some chicks from Scotland who rescued me from the annoyance of neighboring frat-boy types. Opening with “Reckoner” from their latest, In Rainbows, euphonious ecstasy soared over the crowd of nearly 30,000.
“15 Step” was as bombastic as I could have imagined it live, followed by a red, gold, and blue zigzagging light show during “National Anthem,” which proved to be a force (and bass line) to be reckoned with. “Weird Fishes” fired arpeggios and rooted into the timbre of deep rhythm sections. A splay of ultraviolet and gray light-bulb raindrops plummeted in “The Gloaming” and left us all gasping for air. Large screens on either side of the stage focused on master of electronic gadgetry Jonny Greenwood as he strummed with fingers and bow on electric bass, guitar, and 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 perfect, low-hanging 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.
I 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. — A. Rice
DAY THREE: THE FEST SLOWS DOWN, BUT SOME REVELERS KEEP THE PARTY GOING
I woke up on a friend's couch in Jersey City early Sunday morning with a killer headache and feeling not-so-ready to rock. Without any cash left or a cell phone to be my guide I began the trek toward the water, back to Liberty State Park. My official APW Passport in hand, I was ready to 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 had an extra umbrella to spare. 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 amid 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 (pronounced Shawn) Marshall strutted onto the stage like the tall and lanky tomcat she is, dressed in an army green button-down with black tie, white wing-tip shoes, and jeans. 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. 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 Marshall.” Cat Power ended her performance with a beautiful Spanish number and threw yellow and white daisies to the crowd and kept one for herself as a memento.
There was no way I was going to miss the Secret Machines. I entered the Bullet Stage and was thankful for the dark gray sky that added to the ambience of their set. Again, these guys are much better seen in the dark. Grabbing the crowd instantly like a magnet with incessantly progressive hypnotic beats, the Secret Machines didn’t even make eye contact until after three songs. With a new, radical guitar player in tow, no one moved a muscle except to shiver from the damp, chilly air. 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.
Half asleep and fully sober, I listened to Ben Harper and the gang from the VIP tent. After going back out into the wild, I chilled out for Grace Potter and the Nocturnals’ cover of “Painted Black” and indulged in a funnel cake I purchased with my last $6. I anxiously awaited 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. As I realized the waves of family fun that surrounded me, as if reading my thoughts, Jack sang, “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?
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 16 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 goers 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. — A. Rice
Issue #35
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