FYF Fest - LA State Historic Park - 9/5/09 - Part 1

Now in it’s sixth year, the festival, boasting 30 plus bands, is kind of a royal sampler of what’s happening in a variety of the best fringe music scenes. The day has its’ share of triumphs (No Age, Crystal Antlers, the afore-mentioned Fucked Up), and misfires (Stand-up comedy), but all in all, for 20 measly bucks, it’s hard to complain. (Don’t worry, I will.)

My goal is to see as many bands as possible. In the interest of semi-reliable reporting, every time I crave a beer, I decide to have something else from the concession stand instead. By the time the Black Lips have played their last note, nine hours after the concert has begun, I’ve consumed three slices of pizza, a lemonade, two ice cream bars, three iced coffees, a hamburger and a churro… Oh yeah, and several beers.

It’s a hot day, and I’m thankful not to have a beard.

You’ll be hard-pressed to find a review of the festival that doesn’t mention the horrendous line to get in. The (dis)organizers opened the doors late, and it seemed as though the box office waited for the doors to open before dispensing tickets - in effect causing people to have to wait in two long lines. (I think all tickets had to be picked up at will call, so there was no way to avoid both lines.) When the doors finally opened, it appeared as though the line extended from the north end of Chinatown, past Olvera Street, and all the way down into Little Tokyo. An hour and a half later, estimates had 1,000 or so in the park, and 1,000 or so still in line.

The first bands - Avi Buffalo on the Redwood Stage, Grabass Charlestons on the Oak Stage, and Eat Skull on the Sequoia stage - probably would have appreciated a more effective door situation as well; Each band playing to relatively small crowds. None of them seem too discouraged though. Eat Skull pounds out a blissfully trashy, chaotic art-noise that’s garage-heavy and full of energy. The lead guitar player sports a majestic plumbers crack, and seems stunned to be awake at 3 in the afternoon, let alone performing on a stage. It seems very possible he doesn’t know where he is. Down the way, Avi Buffalo play thoughtful, catchy indie-pop, not totally unlike the Shins, but distinct and quirky enough to merit their exponentially-growing momentum as a worthy buzz band. (former LAist coverage here and here)

Next up is Woods, whose sound builds on the indie-pop template of their lead-in. Tasteful guitar leads and ambitious arrangements hint at something greater, but only occasionally get there during the short set. The band’s penultimate tune has a lengthy coda that soars, and suggests a possible Television influence. Meanwhile, back at the Sequoia Stage, “Philly’s Constant Hitmaker” Kurt Vile plays a low-key set of psych-folk that’s as raw as it is dreamy.

Darker My Love is recommended to me as a “good bar rock band”. Indeed, they are super-tight, and have really good something that starts with the letter “M”. (I can’t read my notes… Moustaches?) Sonically, though, the band is a little all over the place. They open with a slow, quiet groove that evokes Neil Young or Built To Spill. The guitar adds a nice jangle, but the song is relatively straight-forward. After announcing that was just a soundcheck, the group rips into a more upbeat tune that might be a more appropriate opener, but still feels a little plain. The organ high in the mix gives the band a 70’s vibe that’s hard to shake during their performance, and ultimately, I’m left feeling that the band didn’t really have a cohesive sound. The Carbonas follow with a rocket-fueled set of high-energy ’77 punk that’s fun and, when the crowd starts to jump around, literally leaves their predecessors in the dust.

Crystal Antlers are a pleasant surprise with a big sound that’s expansive, intense, and more effective than on record. The songs blend seamlessly from one to the next. Challenging arrangements, powerful musical accents, tasteful percussion (courtesy of the awesomely-named Sexual Chocolate) combine to create a grand noise - kind of a Punk Floyd. For me, it’s one of the day’s highlights. (Former LAist review here)

Not one of the day’s highlights is comedy hour. Ouch. It’s a nice try, but a sweaty outdoor stage in the blinding light of day isn’t an atmosphere conducive to laughs. The small crowd of “beautiful hipsters”, as the MC refers to them, is mostly silent. Nick Kroll, after a bit about Latin radio, elicits a few chuckles with an off-the-cuff remark about how he can’t believe he’s doing these jokes in front of “Latin security guards who won’t look at me”. It’s only one laugh, but that’s one more than Lizzy Cooperman gets. I get queasy watching comedians tank, so I high-tail it back to the Redwood Stage in time to catch the highly-touted Wavves. The two-piece stumble through an inconsistent set. The muscular, almost-metal drums are sloppy, and an odd contrast to the chug-chug lo-fi skate-punk songs of main man Nathan Williams.

Dan Deacon is a no show, so Times New Viking are up next, and just like that, the show is back on schedule. Times New Viking’s brand of noise-pop draws a line from the Breeders to Sonic Youth. Their record “Rip It Off” was one of my favorites last year, but today’s set is marred by a bad mix that renders the band more cute than potent. Conversely, The Thermals, whose sound seems similarly informed, are loud, solid and totally rock. Bassist Kathy Foster’s infectious pogoing gets the crowd hopping along to the bands hook-laden angular riffs. (former LAist coverage here)

Back at the Redwood Stage, The Strange Boys seem to be taking their band name a little too seriously; affecting uncomfortable personas, rarely smiling or talking, and taking way too long between songs as if they don’t really know what they’re doing. They dress as if they don’t care how they look in a way that can only mean they care how they look. Singer Ryan Gambol’s raspy voice wavers between whiny-grating and smoky-cool. They play a country-tinged set, heavy on the harmonica, that at its best sounds a little like Thelonious Monster. I’m thinking that this band is probably a lot more fun to listen to than to look at. Then suddenly, the band suddenly becomes “electric” - kicking into a cool 60’s Nuggets garage tune, and closing out the set with a stomping Nuggets rave featuring whacked-out lead guitar. This is more like it, but it’s only the last two songs. As they play their final notes, a helicopter flies dramatically overhead. The sun has started to set, and the day is barely half over.

Coming up in Part 2 - Lightning Bolt, Fucked Up, Lucero, Torche, Peanut Butter Wolf, Cold Cave, Tim & Eric, Dillinger Escape Plan, No Age, and Black Lips.

photo by Heath Biter for LAist