Sunday 30/07/06 Day 2 @ Pitchfork Music Festival, Union Park, Chicago

“If bands had cocks, this band’s cock would be huge.”  So says the webmaster for Tapes n’ Tapes. Having to follow an introduction like that’s a tall order.  Oasis would be up for it.  Kasabian, too.  Towers of London?  No doubt.  Tapes n’ Tapes?  The jury’s still out on America’s Arctic Monkeys (not in sound, in the Internet sensation-sense).  That name, Tapes n’ Tapes – it’s sounds like a throwaway lyric to 'Born Slippy'.  Doesn’t help matters that their album shares its name with the pub round the corner from our residence, beside the train tracks, Guinness on tap, haunted by pensioners – The Loon.
 
Impossible to comment on Danielson without mentioning the way they have chosen to cover their bodies. It’s like a post office uniform and a Boy Scout outfit mated, had a baby, and Danielson thought it’d make great stageware.  Beats flannel and shorts, sure, but, I don’t know, it’s all just a little too stark, a little too…white.  When they start snapping fingers, it’s time to get out of there.  Danielson, get a tan.  Brazil owns the day.

First up, Bonde Do Role.  Baile-funk troublemakers.  There’s Kylie by the gate.  So who’s your best from yesterday?  Spank Rock.  It’s unanimous. 

Should we go in now?  Let’s wait, by the gate.  Don’t push it.  Who knows, they might not let us in today.

All clear, access granted. Okay, you delirious Brazilians, show us your stuff.  Spank Rock left Godzilla-sized shoes to fill when he left the Biz-3 stage yesterday.  here’s a lot of gyrating and twirling of microphone cords, especially by Marina Ribatski, but no grit beneath. Marina might’ve sensed it.  Or she could’ve been stone drunk. Either way, she’s crowd surfing. Coming back to the front now, almost over the edge, there yet?  Got her? 

Bam.

Marina falls smack on the speaker at the front of the stage.  She’s lying on the floor in tears and pain. Backstage fixture Carlos in his Scissor Sisters T-shirt, he’s cursing himself for not catching Marina. “You guys suck!” he yells, as the guys in Bonde Do Role scramble for something to do but he’s not talking about the band, he’s talking about the kids in the crowd who neglected to catch Marina when she fell. 

“I saw her arm,” says Kylie.  “The bone was showing.”

I tried to look away, but couldn’t. Left arm dislocation at the elbow. Loose skin flaps gelatinous, wobbly.  A horrible sight.  Right up there with the naked guy at the Bonnaroo set by dios (malos).

I need a drink.

But there’s only water in these coolers.

Note to bands that play Chicago: if you can help it, don’t require the services of an ambulance. It took upwards of fifteen minutes for the sirens to reach us. In the meantime, there’s Marina, sitting under the tree, crying.  What about the First Aid tent?  Can’t they help?  We’ve only been reminded that there’s a First Aid tent on-site at least twenty times already. 

The remaining members of Bonde Do Role finish out their set with some help from Cansei de Ser Sexy.

Popular culture may no longer apply to Eddie Argos, but it’s the engine that drives Cansei de Ser Sexy.  Both Paris Hilton and Death From Above grace their song titles.  And like Shakira, singer Lovefoxxx pronounces her R’s hard – not hard like a pirate, but hard with intent, a moderate growl, that succulent South American purr that turns a white man’s knees to gelatin.  If you’ve heard their songs on MySpace, you’re gonna be knocked out when you hear them live. Stadiums cannot contain them. For a band that reportedly knew not how to play its instruments when it formed, CSS has evolved to pro status in no time. Deep in the Amazon, I’m guessing they encountered a monolith, a la 2001, and got enlightened. Lovefoxxx, a whirl of hair and rainbow tights, has stolen Karen O’s mojo.  Beanpole bespectacled bassist Ira has the stance thing down pat.  And I’m so hungover that I actually mistake drummer/guitarist Carolina for The Editor.  Man, guess you really do know people, Editor.  Only later in the Biz tent, when Carolina, together with guitarist Ana, comes over for a beer do I realize that this is in no way the gurning Editor.

“So how’d you guys like Texas?”

“Texas – good,” smiles Ana.

“Austin,” nods Carolina, with a Macca thumbs-up.

“Kansas?”

“So-so,” says Carolina.

“It was like a lecture hall,” says Ana.

“So what do you think of Paris Hilton’s single?” I ask.

Ana takes this one.  “’Stars Are Blind,’" she nods, “It sounds like Blondie, after a tsunami, in a pickup truck.”  

“I read on your website about your friend, Cynthia. You say she was ‘womaned’ by Vincent Gallo? How’d that come about?”

“She went to a show,” says Ana, “one of his shows, took his picture, and afterward, they had sex.”

“He ‘womaned’ her,” smiles Carolina, “new verb.”

Ana, I just went to one of your shows and I took your picture – do I get to ‘woman’ you?

Jesus in the Garden of Gesthemane, why, O Lord, did I not ask that question?

Ana and Carolina depart to tend to official interviews, but not before telling me, no, they didn’t get to meet soul schmaltz crooner Brian McKnight when they were in Buffalo.

“He was in LA.”

Eddie Argos is considering a move to LA. Gigwise is considering a move to SA…O PAULO.