All photos courtesy of Daniel Jackson.
The weather in Austin for the second day of Fun Fun Fun Fest could only be described as impeccable. The sun glistened across the lake making it look silver, and temperatures hung out in the low 70’s. Logistical issues which forced will-callers to stand in line for hours down Riverside and around 1st street the day before had been resolved.
At the Orange stage, Kyle Thomas rocked in front of a large skeleton-clad King Tuff tapestry, dressed in faded black jeans and a black denim vest adorned with pins and patches. Thomas’ frizzy hair stuck out from underneath a “Surf School Sharks” cap and he and Magic Jake were all smiles as they played their bratty, stoner garage rock for an anxious crowd. The nasally vocals from Thomas resembled what Ira Glass might sound like if he had been a grungy musician who passed up the podcast mic for a lo-fi Copperphone and had a Marc Bolan obsession. The crowd sang along to the catchy “Bad Thing” chorus and lead the band to their epic “Black Moon Spell” from the album with the same title, released in late September. Magic Jake wearing a robust and perfectly groomed mustache kept the beat steady on bass while Thomas played the hypnotic guitar riff on his Gibson SG to close out the set.
After King Tuff, as I made my way over to the Black stage, I could hear the distinct vocals of Glassjaw’s Daryl Palumbo transmitting his manic energy across the lawn. When I arrived to the outskirts of the large crowd filled with dedicated fans in their GJ t-shirts and tattoos, I saw a thin and energetic Palumbo in a tight white tee two sizes too small, torn skinny jeans and a studded belt. I also immediately recognized Justin Beck dressed in a rugby shirt and green baseball cap on lead guitar. In my late teens and early twenties, Glassjaw was the band I wanted to see more than any other. After three times I mistakenly thought I had my fill, until the raw power of “Siberian Kiss” shot through me with the strength of two defibrillator paddles. Palumbo’s vocals plummeted to low beastly growls, ascended into a lush melody and then exploded in larynx-straining screams. The dynamic frontman stomped across the stage like a baby T-Rex, he held the mic tight in his fist as he curved his back into a C, exposed his belly and primed himself for the next aggressive and guttural roar. The guys moved on to their second studio album, Worship and Tribute, and slowed it down a bit with “The Gillette Cavalcade Of Sports.” The crowd sang along “this isn’t where I found you” to one of the progressive hardcore band’s more approachable tracks. Although Glassjaw continues to remain elusive about a third studio album, after their FFF performance there is little doubt a giant army of loyal GJ fans are eagerly awaiting its release.
Back at the Orange stage, a blunt-banged Courtney Barnett took the stage in a blue t-shirt with rolled up sleeves. The witty Aussie was effortlessly adorable as she played tracks off her Double EP, A Sea of Split Peas. She was comfortable and confident on stage, performing spectacular guitar riffs on her black Fender with ease. Barnett’s approach to music falls somewhere on the pop culture spectrum between the apathetic cadence of Velvet Underground and the comically mundane Seinfeld plotline. Her Lou Reed-likeness came across on stage as she performed “Don’t Apply Compression Gently” with a perfect mix of ennui and self-deprecation. She moved on to her wildly popular single “Avant Gardener,” the entire audience eager to sing along to the approachably prosaic lyrics, “I’m having trouble breathing in.” She thanked Austin for the warm acceptance and left the stage as cool and casual as she had arrived.
I bounded over to the Black stage where Iceage, a hardcore band from Copenhagen, had started their set. I was immediately caught by surprise at how boyish the Danish foursome was, none of them appeared old enough to enjoy the same Shiner that sustained the fest’s buzz. The lead singer, Elias Bender Rønnenfelt, had the long locks, light eyes, and pouty mouth of a young Brad Pitt. The distractingly attractive frontman crouched down on one knee, held the mic with a white-knuckle fist and emitted from his throat vocals which sounded like Joe Strummer with a half-severed tongue. They performed “Coalition” off of You’re Nothing with an infectious vigor, their band’s raw energy emanating through the crowd. The breathy and often unintelligible lyrics sung by Rønnenfelt felt dark and depressing while the noise created by the band behind him amplified his pure angst. Even when Iceage moved on to the less hardcore punk tracks from their new album Plowing Through The Fields of Love moshers still raged below, Rønnenfelt got low and kneeled to be face-to-face with the throbbing pit. It was easy to see just how earnest and passionate this youthful band is and when the handsome lead sings “I am god’s favorite one” you can’t help but to believe his cherub-like face.
As the evening rolled in fellow Scandinavians, First Aid Kit, took the Orange stage. A pair of sisters from Sweden whose country-folk sounds more like it was honed in Nashville than Stockholm. The gorgeous, princess-haired duo came out dressed in gold and conjured images of royalty as they occupied both ends of the stage. Johanna Söderberg stood behind a keyboard and shook her golden tresses vigorously throughout their opening track, “The Lion’s Roar.” Klara Söderberg wore a long golden coat and strummed her guitar as they sung “and I’m a goddamn coward, but then again so are you.” Warm yellow lights made the girls appear majestic as they pierced through the fog backdrop. Goosebumps spread across my arms, caused by a blend of the cool breeze brought on by nightfall and the delicate, feminine harmonies of the two sisters. When Johanna and Klara stopped to introduce themselves it was hard to detect any sign of a Swedish accent, the lack of which inspired the crowd around me to joke about a rumor the girls were actually from Tennessee. Before we could get carried away however, the girls interrupted us with a Jack White cover, “Love Interruption.” The First Aid Kit version was energetic and on point, a few patches of the crowd sang along as the two ladies performed the Blunderbuss track they also did for Triple J’s cover series “Like a Version” earlier this year. The girls closed out with the heartfelt and sentimental “Emmylou.” It was impossible for anyone in the crowd not to sing along when they stopped their instruments short for an intimate acappella finish. A blanket of warmth thread itself between the bodies standing together as one massive “just single little darling, sing with me” concluded the set.
The intimacy conjured up by First Aid Kit didn’t last long when the eager crowd pushed forward for the day’s last set on the same stage. It was impossible to move as Modest Mouse’s Isaac Brock took the stage in a cactus-covered button-up and a red knit cap ala Steve Zissou. The indie rock veterans opened up with “The World at Large”, the first track from their most commercially successful album, Good News for People Who Love Bad News. The crowd was attentive, captivated by each beat. I thought back to 2003, the last time I saw Modest Mouse, and compared the engagement from the audience then with those pressed close against me now. At a small venue in West Texas, each person’s attention was split equally between the band, a drink, and the friend who dragged them there. Now, over ten years later, Modest Mouse owned every single dancing body as the whole mob shouted “fire it up!” They continued on with “Dashboard” also from their last studio release, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank. During “Dark Center of the Universe” a meteor shot across the dark sky, to oohs and ahhs from the crowd, it was a moment so perfect it couldn’t have been planned. The vibe mellowed a bit during “Night on the Sun” from 2001’s EP Everywhere and His Nasty Parlour Tricks and my heart swelled as I sang along to one of my favorite indie songs of all time “hopelessly hopeless, I hope so, for you.” Before long we were rewarded with “Float On” which expectedly caused the entire crowd to explode with an ecstatic mix of jumping and dancing. An encore brought Brock back on stage for a soft “The Good Times are Killing Me” which, by the end of the set, my feet eagerly sympathized with.
