Pitchfork

Crowd/tent photo by Jason Crock

Welcome to Jason Crock's Saturday Roskilde diary. Be sure to check out Jason's previous entries: Friday, Thursday. Also, don't miss Brandon Stosuy's impressions from Northern Europe's biggest music festival: Saturday, Friday, Thursday, Wednesday.

"A Quick One"

As my corresponding correspondent has already typed at you, the proximity of the stages at Roskilde makes it easy to get back and forth and therefore easier to catch fleeting moments of other band's sets on your way to the main attractions, making the musical buffet that most megalo-festivals purport to be more of a reality. I stopped into The Whitest Boy Alive at the Odeon stage for a brief half-hour before The Who, and to tell you the truth it felt a lot longer-- though the audience was rabid, cheering for every emaciated riff and even hollering when Erlend Øye removed his scarf (I imagine a large-scale medical evacuation if he took off any more than that), the moments of danceable delirium came so few and far between the band's stilted pop that I wondered if the crowd was watching something I wasn't. They've got their aesthetic nailed down, I suppose, but Øye is obviously capable of much more.

120 Days fared much better on the same stage, gathering a crowd just as dense while keeping the beat coming fast and heavy, making the late-night atmosphere a little more ominous and all the better for it; it was exactly what I needed around midnight to keep me going. I throw my hands up in defeat with Diplo, who competed with the Chili Peppers from the Cosmopol tent at one in the morning: he played every gimmicky remix he always does, and I danced to every last one.

The National [Odeon Stage; 2:30 p.m.]

Photo by Terje Sørgjerd

Let me give it up to the MCs at Roskilde; when they try to work up an English audience, something's gained in translation. "Hellllllllllo Roskilde!" Shouted the slender, scarved woman who introduced the National. "Are you ready for some melancholyyyyyy??" The crowd roared affirmatively, and sure enough, the National kicked off their set with the tentative "Start a War", while the crowd clapped along with every muffled, hesitant beat. If you haven't heard the band live, they tend to stretch and explode their songs with louder interludes (aka short bursts of jamming) that release much of the tension of their records, and that was just as true at Roskilde as they found new ways to move the crowd on songs like "Secret Meeting", "Slow Show", and "Squalor Victoria".

They lost the crowd a bit midway through their set, and "Lit Up" sounded sluggish rather than the ace-up-their-sleeve it should be-- although starting "Apartment Story" with some sharp unaccompanied harmony suggests they've found some new cards to play, by which point they'd won everyone back. It's nice to see a crowd just as patient during songs like "Sons and Daughters of the Soho Riots" as "Mr. November", but the National seem to have just as strong a European audience as an American one. (Oh, the band dedicated "Baby, We'll be Fine" to my comrades-in-mud, Brandon and Jane, for "caring about us before no one else did... now they just fake it," according to singer Matt Berninger. Apparently, Mr. Stosuy booked the National's first show outside of New York back when they'd released their debut. I guess I should start paying attention to the guy's writing...)

The Flaming Lips [Orange Stage; 6:30 p.m.]


You'd think with all that room on the main stage, the Lips would be a little more in control of their usual spectacle, but this year's Roskilde set really seemed to slip out of their hands. It wasn't quite a trainwreck, but it was certainly a bit sloppy, with ringleader Wayne Coyne more meandering than usual and spending more time explaining how GW Bush is the inspiration for "The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song" than actually playing the song-- even losing his fatherly patience for a moment in his efforts to motivate the massive mid-day crowd. (Coyne: "I know you guys are out there smoking pot and...buying weird shoes and shit, but c'mon, mothefuckers.")

It was otherwise another day at the office for the Lips, with enormous confetti-filled balloons, dancing volunteers in alien and superhero costumes, confetti cannons, smoke that obscured the view for likely the entire side of the audience stage left, a gong, a giant Santa Claus, and more confetti as they stumbled through a set that leaned on their latest record with enthusiastic versions of "Pompeii Am Gotterdamerung" sung by Steve Drozd and "The W.A.N.D."

Photos by Terje Sørgjerd

Well-meaning absurdity goes a long way with a hundred thousand wasted people, and an enthusiastic woman in a muscled Captain America outfit worked up the audience for the band's encore, a beautifully somber version of the Rolling Stones' "Moonlight Mile" before which Coyne said something revealing: "We hope to always play Roskilde, and we hope to grow up with you." It figures that the man cultivating this mania for a living would be in a kind of arrested development, living in a world where politicians can be chased away by singing "yeah" seven times. Were Coyne to look around, he might realize Santa Claus is imaginary, Captain America is dead, and he's already grown up and then some-- but let's just never tell him, ok?

The Who [Orange Stage; 9:30 p.m.]




I anticipated the Who with a mix of curiosity and dread, convinced they'd play last years Endless Wire in it's intolerable entirety, before a certain Pitchfork staffer reminded me that the band had played a festival or two, and probably knew to stick to the hits. He wasn't wrong: save for one new song, a dense crowd on a field of wet sawdust was treated to "The Seeker", "Won't Get Fooled Again," "Baba O'Riley", "Who Are You", "My Generation", and pretty much any others you can think of before an encore of "The Kids Are Alright" and "Pinball Wizard".

Photos 1 and 2 by Thomas Kjær; photo 3 by Terje Sørgjerd

Singer Roger Daltrey complained that his voice "crackled a bit" from the weekend's rain (that must explain the ascot he was wearing), and while it held him back a bit on "Baba", most songs benefited from him sounding a little grizzled. We all know how long it's been, but guitar windmills are ageless, and Daltrey sounds a lot better than he looks...and dances...these days. (He even managed an almost tender mic swing in the final moments of "Pinball Wizard".) But, even if you're Pete Townshend, how do you avoid the crushing irony of singing a line like "I hope I die before I get old" when you're...well, old? Apparently, you point at Daltrey and sing, "I hope I die before I get old as you." Daltrey shook it off in good fun, which is what their set delivered.

Grizzly Bear [Pavilion Stage; 12 a.m.]

Photo by Jason Crock

As much as I like Yellow House, I dreaded a midnight set from Grizzly Bear, certain it would put me to sleep where I stood. I almost didn't go, but thankfully I did and was proven wrong. They didn't quite rock out, though singer Ed Drost did jump for a few windmill chords as the other members laughed, nearly mortified, as if that had never happened before in their career. Their set was more affable and enchanting than lulling, with strong, pulsing rhythms and heavy yet clean guitar; ghostly vocals drifted over the crowd and the mobile-like statuettes dangling from the ceiling of the Pavilion stage made it all the more otherworldly. The set split the difference between their two albums, with songs ranging from the gentle "Lullaby" to the messier material like "Fix It", as well as a crooning, bass-heavy cover of the Crystals' "He Hit Me (It Felt Like a Kiss)".

Diplo [Cosmopol Stage; 1 a.m.]

Photo by Jason Crock

Girl With Umbrella

Photo by Thomas Kjær