Now that I’ve gotten my bitching out of the way, let’s talk tunes.

Saturday was the first day worth mentioning in my books. The weekend kicked of with my fellow San Diegan, Nathan Williams of Wavves. Television deserved a later playtime, but even people of their era barely know who they are. Die Antwoord was just, well, weird, but in a good way. It’s always good to get a little freaky at festivals.

Then it was time to bring on the mutha fuckin’ ruckus! Wu-Tang took the stage in a storm. Earlier in the year Wu-Tang made an appearance on the Daily Show to announce their reunion, so we’re sure to see more of them as the year crawls along.

Metric (fronted by my ultimate woman crush Emily Haines) tends to be too radio friendly. But Emily Haines is a former member of Broken Social Scene, arguably one the most talented musical groups of our era. Emily Haines also has great stage presence. She was able to poke fun at the crowd, commenting on how we’re all so emotional and the cloudy weather matched our mood.

The Flaming Lips performance was one the worst ones I have ever seen. Now, before you trolls start hurling insults, let me say this. I love the Flaming Lips and think they have made some of the best music of the last 20 years but, Wayne Coin has gone too far down the rabbit hole. He’s a bit of a megalomaniac and I think the shows have become more about the spectacle than the music. So much so that they overloaded their motherboard and almost couldn’t finish their set, which ended with “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” a track they share with Miley Cyrus. So that’s where their career is.

Many people either love The National or hate them, claiming that they are just be sad bastard music, which they are but I happen to love sad bastard music.  Matt Berninger’s baritone entrances and evokes so much in the listener. Each member of the band plays an integral part. The thing I love most about The National is that they are a band that with every listen you discover something you didn’t hear that last time. A guitar riff you didn’t notice, or how utterly bizarre some of Berninger’s lyrics are (“A ballerina on the coffee table cock in hand”) I think the only thing missing from the set was “Sorrow.” How could they not play “Sorrow” to a crowd of emo kids? C’mon!

Patti Smith has been my hero since I was a wee, chubby, pre-pubescent lass. To finally see her live was an invigorating experience that reminded me of how important it is to be a strong, sensitive, creative dweller of the earth. Patti Smith could lead a revolution. Patti called to her troops with growls of “ There is no such thing an un-cool people, you’re fucking free.” The day she played, September 14^th, was also the birthday of her late husband, Frank “Sonic” Smith.  She dedicated “Because The Night” to him. She also did a beautiful rendition of John Lennon’s “Beautiful Boy.”  By far, best set of the entire festival. Patti Smith has and always will be a force to be reckoned with. “I don’t fuck much with past, but I fuck with the future!”

Weezer is one of those bands that started it for a lot of people. For many millennials, this was the band that ignited their now deep-seated love of music. They kicked off their set with “Back to the Shack” and “Pork & Beans” and after about seven songs took a short intermission. It was a bit frustrating because I knew the blue album was coming but I also knew The Cure was happening, without me, and Disintegration is one of my go to fall albums. Finally, Rivers and the boys came back out on stage and broke into “My Name is Jonas.” The rumours were true. Unfortunately, I could only stay till the end of “No One Else” before bolting over to The Cure.

Robert Smith is a living legend. It’s kind of insane seeing a band like The Cure. They have influenced so many artists who are extremely relevant and popular today and they’re still around! I got there right in time for “Friday, I’m in Love.” The Cure is a great band to end a festival with. The end of the festival is always a bit sombre. The weekend is over, you have to go back to the real world, and you’re deaf. But Robert Smith is proof that even after the house lights come on and the last cymbal has been loaded in the van, there’s still more to come.

See more photos from Riot Fest 2014 here. 

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In an immediate break with the preceding paragraph, I’m going to compare the guitar sound on Wavves’ latest album Afraid of Heights to The Pixies and Nevermind. Whether Nathan Williams and his buds are toying around with early ‘90s vibes or fudging with distortion-heavy bedroom recordings, Wavves carve out a distinct album sound – one that proves difficult to recapture onstage. The damp fuzz that usually hangs over his albums evaporated in the afternoon sun, and the 20-foot stacks poured out track after track of nondescript guitar tone.

Listening to music is fun. However, the experience improves exponentially with each added serving of distilled alcohol. When a tall can of Bud – North America’s most ubiquitous beer – goes for $11, exponential growth tends to lag, and fun plateaus around “a pretty good time.” So when Earl Sweatshirt grumbled, “It’s okay to have fun guys,” two songs into his set, our answer was, “Thanks Fun Police, but my grandma only gave me a $50 bill in my birthday card this year, and I’m trying to stretch it all the way to 11pm. It’s 6:30 and I only have $18 left.

Beer gripes aside, Earl pounded out a minimal, grimy mix of RZA-inspired beats and Eminem-flavored darkness to an appropriately mellow audience. Playing between Palma Violets and The Gaslight Anthem wasn’t quite the right musical fit either. When his set was over, I thought to myself: “Earl needs a crew and a light show. A tiny little guy in a white t-shirt just yelled at 10,000 of us for 45 minutes on a sunny day.” Long story short, when it’s beautiful out, people have trouble listening to anything that isn’t “In The Summer Time,” so kudos to Earl for getting half of the crowd bobbing. The elements of summer were against him.

I mentioned the late ‘70s, early ‘80s puffing a cloud of smoke over the festival’s proceedings, and sartorial choices aside, the era hadn’t really made an impression until Girl Talk took the stage. The common gripe with Girl Talk is that “he’s just playing other people’s songs.” The trick to getting everyone to relax and enjoy 45 minutes of unbridled, idiotic fun is to warm them up with records like Paul’s Boutique and Odelay – reminders that we’ve been listening to collages of “other people’s songs” veiled as albums for almost 25 years. Personally, I find Girl Talk to be the opposite of Wavves: impossible to listen to on record, but unstoppable in a live setting. People generally want to hear the hits when they’re at a concert, and Girl Talk plays everyone’s hits. Channeling the spirit of my 53-year-old mother, his set began with AC/DC and was peppered with menopausal classics such as “Love Shack,” “Sweet Emotion,” and “Jessie’s Girl.” I’ll always vouch for his ability to evaporate music snobbery and force everyone to enjoy Alan Thicke’s son and The Breeders back-to-back.

Capping off the evening was Phoenix, our era’s version of Supertramp. Always catchy, always easy on the ears – they served as the perfect nightcap. Their huge catalogue tends to bleed from song to song as a result of a collective tempo, and at times it felt like I was listening to a 15-part Rush track without the complex time changes. However, their light show and accessible arena rock had girls hoisted atop many a shoulder and served as the perfect metaphorical bookend to a festival whose most successful vibes felt like they were curated by my mother.

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