It's the time of year when 'music blogs' focus on Bonnaroo, but since I didn't go, I can't tell you how it was. Well, I could, but it would be fibbing, and you wouldn't want that.
So I'm going to defer to John Roderick of The Long Winters. I interviewed John via email last year and enjoy his writing just as much as his music. Last year, he covered Bonnaroo for CMJ, and this year he's working for MSNBC.
Here are some highlights:
The White Stripes: Jack White does the work of Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John Paul Jones and half of John Bonham, and somehow manages, at times, to surpass them all. He’s an American treasure and should be awarded a Congressional Medal of Freedom for the work he does on behalf of us huddled masses. Oh Lordy!Also, check out Largehearted Boy, for downloads and such, and You Ain't No Picasso for another point of view - Feist is just adorable. If she and Regina Spektor ever shared a stage, I think it might rain puppies.
Wilco: Jeff Tweedy made the Bonnaroo mainstage feel like somebody’s living room sofa, and that is an amazing feat. They played rock and they played country and they played folk and it all felt intimate and real, not at all contrived, which is hard to do even if you’re ON somebody’s sofa.
Feist: I didn’t hear cheering anywhere else like the cheering for Leslie Feist — she’d arch her eyebrow and the place would blow up — which always makes me wonder what the heck is going on. Her songs are minimalist and inventive, and she has a good voice and a good ear, like a PJ Harvey who’s not so mad at boys, but the rabid fandom is usually about something else. She must be code for something that I haven’t figured out.
The Flaming Lips: The audience was packed into the field — maybe the same number as saw Tool the night previous, in half the space — and the atmosphere was one of joyful celebration. Surprisingly, I noticed for the first time how much Wayne Coyne’s voice sounds like Jerry Garcia’s. It can’t be a coincidence.
Regina Spektor: She sat at a piano with a backing band of New York hipsters and basically had a candid conversation with the sun-baked crowd, singing in a pretty voice about some thoughts she had. That qualifies her as “quirky” I guess, but it felt like honest artwork to me, and when she sang a verse in Russian the hair stood up on my arms.
Gogol Bordello: The show was like a revival meeting in the Church of Dante, except Mephistopheles looked like Borat goofing off playing an overturned bucket.
Gillian Welch: I didn’t expect the pure acoustic folk of Gillian Welch to translate well in a giant, outdoor tent, but hers was the first set to truly captivate me. Gillian and her partner David Rawlings harmonized and played acoustic guitars in a style that originated not far from where we stood: Appalachian hillbilly pickin’ and grinnin’, in the style of the Carter Family.
