@amelia.moseman

My first time was hot and emotionally exhausting with a jaded soundtrack. Maybe it’s because it was on a Sunday. Or maybe because I wasn’t ready. Even if it wasn’t all it’s chalked up to be, there were still moments to remember. 

No, I’m not talking about my virginity on the internet, I’m talking about Pitchfork Music Festival.  I attended Pitchfork for the first time last Sunday, broken collarbone and all, and here’s how it went. 

My WIIT correspondents and I reported to the scene around 2:00, a little later than we wanted (thanks a lot guy who took the last Divvy scooter even though he had TWO working arms and could’ve easily ridden a bike) but still in time to witness the pureness of a Joanna Sternberg performance. When the set was over, my companion Mason said his “heart was whole now”, and I had to agree. Joanna charmed the small crowd with both their music and their good nature. Much of that charm I attribute to their incredibly apt lyricism. Joanna’s lyrics speak to people because they’re relatable and stick because they’re genuine. The performance was also brave. For one, Joanna had just themself and their guitar. For two, they were dealing with both a tongue dilemma and a scary type of bug that comes out day and at night, a riddle I’m still trying to solve. You just had to be there. Sternberg’s set, and the picture I snagged with legend MJ Lenderman of Wednesday during it, might be where my day peaked. 

After falling in love with a boob-shaped ceramic cup in the vendor tent and vowing to return for it, Cole and Mason dragged me back out to the red stage to see what Model/Actriz was up to. Maybe it’s because it was still early in the day and my energy was high or maybe because I had no expectations or maybe just because it was good but what we saw of this show was a highlight for me. I was thoroughly entertained. After one song of prancing around stage, lead singer Cole Haden jumped right into the crowd, dancing and making intense eye contact with a lucky(?) few. This type of all-in performance dares you not to engage in a way that is both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Model/Actriz and Haden bring an openness and expression that’s often missing from a punk scene riddled with homophobia and homogeneity. I did find there was still something mildly unsettling about being a woman in that space but that’s a topic for another article. Maybe I’m projecting. 

We pulled away from the spectacle of Model/Actriz to find some shade and sustenance, as it was still early in the day. This was a common theme— saving energy that never seemed to be expended but rather slowly sapped by our perpetually lazy approach to the day. There lies the fallacy of the music festival. If you try for the best concert experience, you’re too exhausted to enjoy it but if you take it easy, there’s a sense of missing out on the excitement of the moment, of the reason why we’re all here. Maybe I’m projecting again. 

The rest of the day floated by: An easy breezy performance from the crooning Jessica Pratt in the peak heat of the day. A disorienting walk to get food with Mannequin Pussy’s commanding catharsis in one ear and Grandmaster Flash’s Top 100 Hits Playlist in the other. We kicked it with Crumb then checked on the boob cup to make sure it was still there. 

By this point, the majority of our entourage had left, tired and staring down the barrel of the workday. I stood alone for the early portion of Brittany Howard’s set, swaying and dancing along. Any performance that encourages collective movement is one I want to be at and Howard was doing just that. The sheer majesty of her voice along with the honesty of her newest record freed me of any of the day’s demons, even if only temporarily. We stuck around until I concluded we wouldn’t be hearing any Alabama Shakes songs and then, too tired to stand still, Cole and I headed back to the merchants quarters one last time. The boob cup beckoned. 

As if to punish me for a day of being noncommittal in all aspects, my beloved boob cup had packed up and gone. In my sorrow, I found myself wondering first if I could buy it online and second if only I was to blame for my subpar music festival experience today. Here was another case of getting in my own way with too high expectations and too little initiative. Aside from maybe a better red/green stage set up, Pitchfork in itself did nothing wrong. 

We could have a conversation of if the music festival in its modern state is a good experience for fan and artist. There are any number of pros and cons. But at the end of the day, as with most things, a music festival is what you make of it. At Pitchfork, you’re presented with: manageable crowds, local vendors of both food and art— including all the shapes of boob cups you could imagine, plenty of free stuff, and most importantly, a selection of musicians dedicated to their craft and determined to make worthwhile music. You don’t get commercialization and you don’t get bored! What do you make of that?

The first time may not have been life-changing, or even that memorable. But I do know my relationship to Pitchfork won’t be a one night stand. See you next year Pitchfork!