Primavera Sound Day One

Between the two of us, Laura and I had been to just one major music festival before Primavera Sound. Right after graduating from high school, I went to the 2006 Lollapaloosa fest. At the time, the road trip to Chicago with three of my best friends to see a giant music festival was the ultimate feeling of freedom and independence. Three years later, I'm flying to Spain to meet my girlfriend for a bigger, less mainstream festival. The headliners for the three-day Lollapaloosa (Red Hot Chili Peppers, Kanye West, Death Cab) were in a (laughably) different class than those for this one day in Barcelona (My Bloody Valentine, Aphex Twin). In this light, I felt a new found sense of maturity, accomplishment and independence.

That was before I stood next to an Irish punter with the exact same Urban Outfitters t-shirt I was wearing. We were waiting in line for our pre-ordered tickets in what appeared to be fencing used to get cows into a trailer. I was right next to him! Both of us with our stupid fucking Berlin wall shirts. There was nowhere to go. We played charades for the hour we stood in line, both us us knowing exactly what was going on with the other guy's wardrobe and both refusing to acknowledge this. It was a spectacle for the rest waiting I'm sure: a short Irish guy and an American in tube socks spinning in circles, avoiding eye contact. It didn't help the girl behind us was wearing the same Urban Outfitters dress I gave Laura for her last birthday. It's official: the more indie you become, the less independent you really are.

We got our tickets, along with earplugs ("these are for My Bloody Valentine") and made our way into the park. The festival sat right on the edge of the sea, with two stages looking out over the water. As the sun set, the breeze came up over the water and you never got as hot as you should have at an outdoor festival in Spain. There were five stages in total, all housing acts till early the next day.

We had planned to see Women, but had not planned on waiting so long for tickets, and missed that show. There was a small tent set up where bands were playing short unplugged sets for Ray-Ban. The schedule said Phoenix was playing, which I was excited about because their show later in the day conflicted with Andrew Bird's time. We poked our heads into the crowded room and four guys were banging on shit and strumming things. On guy had a saxophone. I knew they were French and had heard only a few of their songs but wasn't sure if this was indeed Phoenix. I asked around, completely forgetting I was in Spain. Most people shrugged and then left. The guys ended their set, smoked cigarettes and sat down on colorful cubes, waiting for an interview. They were shown a selection of Ray-Bans to wear for a photo-op. I come to find it was Phoenix and seeing this up-in-coming band in a relatively intimate setting was the (good) surprise of the festival.

After that we rushed to see The Vaselines, an Irish '90s band who counted Kurt Cobain as one of their fans. It was cute and consistently solid, but like alot of the more simple pop-rock bands of the '90s, it all kinda sounded the same. Next we came to our first scheduling conflict: Yo La Tengo vs Bowerbirds. We watched the very beginning of YLT and it was phenomenal. They started out improvising a noisy instrumental that blew me away. It was almost Sonic Youth-esque. I hated to leave, but we couldn't miss a chance to represent a North Carolina band in Spain. We got to the Pitchfork tent a couple minutes before the Bowerbirds were set to begin. There were maybe five other people there, not counting the early burn-outs collapsed against pillars. The crowd filed in after they started and soon the area was filled. I started smiling as they took the stage and maintained it throughout the show. Maybe it was the strange sensation of traveling 5,000 miles to see a band from your hometown. Maybe it was the simple, modest attraction of Phil Moore, the shy, awestruck guitarist/singer and Beth Tacular, dressed like a gypsy, swaying with her accordion and smiling at certain lyrics like they were part of an inside joke. Maybe it was seeing Laura, excitedly watching them perform for the first time, singing along to every song. Whatever it was, the Bowerbirds were my favorite performance of the night, hands down.

We left as the Bowerbirds closed their set with their wonderful new song "Northern Lights" and made or way to see Andrew Bird. Having recently seen him perform with his full band, I was a bit disappointed to see the Bird pull a solo show. Tracks from his new album, in particular, are breathtaking live with his whole band. That said, he still put on a stellar show. What's remarkable is that he's been touring almost non-stop since his November and barely shows it. His whistling, as clear as ever, soared across the crowd and I became exhausted just watching him maneuver between instruments for his layered sound. We fled the nest to catch some of The Bug's performance. I was sad to see Warrior Queen not gracing the stage. We walked past Phoenix to get to where My Bloody Valentine would perform.


My Bloody Valentine, was, for all intents and purposes, the reason I wanted to come to Barcelona when we did. After their reunion tour last year at major cities and festivals ended, I resided myself that I would never see them live. EVER. I have come to terms, similarly, with Daft Punk, Television and Pearl Jam, among others. I am not alone in my belief that their album Loveless is crafted about as perfectly as an album can. It's right up there with OK Computer and Forever Changes. It took two years, $250,000 (almost forcing the band and label into bankruptcy) and enough creative exhaustion for MBV to never release another record. If you ever want to compare music with the best visual art, how Kevin Shield's created Loveless is as good an example as you can find. Not only is it one of my favorite albums, but it launched the careers of thousands of "shoegazing" bands like M83 and Deerhunter. The term came out the stillness in these band's live show as they gazed at towards their shoes and effects pedals, concentrating on creating that perfect layered sound.

All that said, My Blood Valentine's live performance was one of the most disappointing events in my life. Their guitars were so loud, it's as if they said "Fuck your ears. We're taking your brain hostage." I've never worn earplugs at a live show before that moment. I had no choice. In turning everything up to 11, they effectively destroyed what was so great about them in the first place. Fucking KORN can be loud. I wanted to hear subtleties. I could barely distinguish one song from the next and you couldn't even tell they were singing (in fact Laura asked me, nay yelled at me, during the show if My Bloody Valentine has vocals in their songs). This was perhaps most troubling, because the vocals are astonishingly beautiful on record. Bilinda's layered vocals on "Blown A Wish" is comparable to the Cocateau Twins and anything Shields did on guitar for the record. It was a giant clusterfuck of sound that didn't sweep over me like some ecstasy-induced epiphany. It was as special as hearing the inaudible thumping bass of a passing car. There were sound issues through the day, but this was no accident. This is exactly what they planned, hence the earplugs. If I could have seen Shields after the show I would have punched him in the ears repeatedly and thrown him some band-aids and said "these are for Ryan." Worst yet, this shit is praised by the likes of Pitchfork, who in their review of this year's Coachella festival ended with "Please avail yourself of the opportunity to see them." Well I did and I'll end this rant with: please don't see them and preserve the respect you have for their deserving studio work.

Thank God that wouldn't be the last show of the night. At 1:30 Aphex Twin braced the stage to the delight of everyone's ears. The dude knows his electronica and has a vast collection to pull from. I'm not going to pretend to be an expert on his stuff, but I will say his shit was tight and easily danceable or chillable. After what felt like a scene from "OZ" during My Bloody Valentine, we chose the latter and took a relaxative on the steps. Squarepusher was set to come on stage at 3:50 in the morning, which would have been amazing I'm sure, but we were both worn out and I personally wasn't in the mood for more blips and bleeps.

We passed by Wavves on the way out, but didn't stay long enough for their epic breakdown. Wavves are two dudes from California that are alot more popular than they should be. Wikipedia hilariously describes their genre as "shitgaze". Pitchfork is somewhat responsible for grooming and publicizing the band, so it was awesome to see Wavves fall apart on their stage and have it reported by their creator. Basically, singer/guitarist Nathan Williams mixed way too much drugs with not enough talent and acted a total douche-bag. The drummer ended up pouring a full cup of beer on Nathan's head and someone threw a shoe at him. He fell to his knees, sank his head into his hands and the show ended prematurely. However, when we left the park, I could hear their song "So Bored" being played to some degree of success. I sang along happily and told Laura that was the one song I learned to play on guitar since I've been overseas. The chorus is simply "I'm soooooooo boooooored." Really creative stuff, no? But it's fun to sing when, well, you're bored. If there was one take away from the first day of the festival is that there just weren't enough of those shared moments between the bands and the large crowd. Maybe it was the language barrier. Or maybe that's just, unfortunately, the culture of today's "indie" scene which thrives on obscurity and closeted personalities.