All Tomorrow’s Parties 2002

March 21, 2002

Three days after the truly immense rock festival that was All Tomorrow’s Parties, I’m finally fully recovered. For the bargain price of $100, I enjoyed over 20 hours of live music this weekend. At a breakdown of $5 an hour, I was basically paying all these great acts minimum wage to entertain me. Located on the UCLA campus, the festival was remarkably well organized, with bands coming on and off stage like clockwork. Being located on campus also let all the festival goers use the UCLA facilities and vendors without getting gouged like a regular festival. Even concessions that were available in the concert halls only had a small premium on them (more than usual, but less than any concert or sporting event or movie theater you’ll go to) Overall, the three days were enjoyable, a bit grueling, but all together quite satisfying.

Friday – Day 1

The first day of ATP started at 6:00pm, with acts going on at Royce Hall and Ackerman Grand Ballroom simultaneously. For those unfamiliar with UCLA, Royce is a classic concert hall that seats about 2000 people with proper seating and a balcony. Ackerman Grand Ballroom (AGB) can fit a bit more, and was used as general admission venue. The organizers set it up so that Royce had the more laid back, atmospheric acts while AGB would have all the upbeat rock, hip-hop and dance performances.

For the first three acts of the night (Quixotic, Christina Rosenvinge, Kim Gordon’s side project) until now, Royce was about half full. With Eddie Vedder taking the stage next, that wouldn’t last for long. Apparently there was a huge line outside waiting to get in to see Vedder. This was really the only miscalculation of the weekend for the ATP planners. With the other venue featuring mostly unknown performers, the majority of fans showed up at Royce to see Vedder, Cat Power, Television and Steven Malkmus, causing a human traffic jam at the front gates.

Vedder took the stage and played a passionate set of mostly new material composed and performed entirely on a solo ukelele. Yes, you read that correctly. All the ukelele songs had a rare, simple beauty to them that complemented Vedder’s melodies well. He eventually did pick up his guitar, knocking out a few tracks with an accompanying violinist. It was a mesmerizing hour of acoustic material that stood completely apart from his Pearl Jam catalogue. For his big finale, Vedder borrowed a page from Pete Townshend and smashed his ukelele in a celebratory stomp on the last note of his last song.

Cat Power (aka Chan Marshall) followed Vedder, showing up only with her acoustic guitar. Cat Power has released four albums, despite only learning to play guitar a few years ago, and has put together a nice catalogue of intriguing folk. She has one of the most gorgeous voices in rock: a smoky tenor that can both generate incredible power and shake with genuine frailty within the same measure. Cat Power also has debilitating stage fright. Her hands shake while she plays and she constantly stops in the middle of songs. Her on stage breakdowns are commonplace and her performance at Royce was unfortunately no exception. Struggling through her 45 minute set, Marshall was frustrating to watch. Of course, the drama also makes her oddly compelling, and thoroughly captivating. Those who weren’t put off immediately by her nervous tics spent most of the set on the edge of their seats, trying to absorb the rare bits of music that were offered.

After a night of mostly quiet music, the first real rock act showed up in the form of the legendary Television. This wasn’t some huge emotional reunion, as Television has been performing together off and on in recent years. Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd were both in good form, showing off the complex, intertwining guitar figures and angular riff work that is their trademark. Technical difficulties marred their set though, and their hour slot featured only five or six songs.

The next break was the first real dilemma of the festival. Stephen Malkmus was set to play in Royce, but over in AGB, they were staging a mini-Stooges reunion, with Mike Watt and J Mascis joining the Ron and Scott Asheton to cover nothing but Stooges songs (without Iggy Pop). I bolted for AGB. By the time I arrived, the band was already burning through their first song. As the lead vocalist and bass player, Mike Watt was already bathed in sweat, his effort pouring through his fingertips and his throaty yell. Iggy’s shoes were hard to fill, but apparently Watt was ready to die trying. Luckily, he did have some help, as Thurston Moore came on for a song. Kim Gordon came on stage for her turn, where she blasted a wicked rendition of “I Wanna Be Your Dog.” This was pure rock at its finest: huge drums, incredibly tight bass, loud guitars and no vocals that stopped short of a full tilt scream. With Gordon channeling Iggy Pop, the battering ram performance was easily the best of the night and possibly the entire festival. Eddie Vedder showed up again to take the stick on “No Fun.” Vedder left the uke at Royce and closed out the show with conviction and yes… wait for it… Raw Power.

Saturday – Day 2

With a slate of nine acts for the second day, Saturday would prove to be the most arduous day of the festival. While I showed up for the very first act, I bounced in and out all day long and skipped a few acts entirely.

AGB brought the first hip-hop of the weekend, with Cannibal Ox and Madlib both putting up good shows. Unfortunately, it was mostly to an indifferent crowd filled with people waiting for Aphex Twin. Hip hop simply doesn’t play that well without the right crowd, and it’s even harder when you’re throwing rhymes with the lyrical density of Cannibal Ox. Madlib fared a bit better, but not by much. Towards the end of the Madlib set, turntablist wunderkind A-Trak took a turn behind the decks and wowed everyone with an incredible demonstration of cutting, scratching and beat juggling.

As the day progressed, the ballroom filled with people waiting for Sleater-Kinney and Aphex Twin, who were slated towards the end of the bill. The programmers played a cruel practical joke on everyone by slating Japanese noise act Merzbow right before Sleater-Kinney. With the front of the stage crowded by rock fans, Merzbow proceeded to show off his skills. Apparently, Merzbow’s skill is to click on one button on his laptop and play one low pulsing tone at ear-splitting volumes for 20 minutes straight. I clearly don’t know how to appreciate the genre of “noise,” because I found the experience to be pure torture. Dozens of people in the crowd were literally covering their ears, pronounced grimaces on their faces, not leaving only because they didn’t want to give up their spot on the floor. Thankfully, it finally ended. I won’t be ordering any Merzbow CDs any time soon.

After being put through Merzbow, the crowd was finally rewarded with the long awaited Sleater-Kinney. The all girl power trio from Olympia, Washington has been riding a wave of good press since they released “Call The Doctor” years ago, and deserves every word of praise they’ve gotten. They have been arguably the greatest band in the world for the last five years, and have been saving rock long before the likes of the Strokes and the White Stripes. With only a drum set and two guitars, Sleater-Kinney brings one of the loudest, densest walls of sound anywhere. Sleater-Kinney showed up to ATP armed with a bunch of new songs ready to go to record, and played them instead of familiar hits. Surprisingly, this didn’t kill the crowd at all, and Sleater-Kinney ripped through the new material with the power and finesse that is so familiar now. On the new stuff, Janet Weiss’s drumming has taken on a marching, militaristic feel, and the patented interlocking vocals and guitar work of Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein is stronger than ever. Brownstein in particular is a bonafide guitar heroine with her innovative and concise riffs, her phrasing and melodic choices unlike any other. On stage, she brings hips and lips to the old Berry/Townshend stage prowling and is a genuine, honest to goodness, Rock Star. In concert, Corin Tucker is the quiet one, rarely engaging in stage patter or conversation. This image completely falls apart once she starts singing: she sings as if lives were at stake, like she’s single handedly holding back the apocalypse. If this show is any indication, the new album will most likely punch me in the face and leave me for dead.

I jumped ship after Sleater-Kinney to go see Big Star at Royce Hall. For such a rare appearance, Alex Chilton and company played a fairly mild set, containing all the standard hits and a few covers (Todd Rundgren’s “Slut” and the Beach Boys’s “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”). The set showed off the perfect pure pop that made Big Star the single most influential power pop act of the 70′s, despite the fact that they sold virtually no records. Thankfully, championed by the likes of the Replacements and R.E.M., Big Star finally did get their recognition years later, and it was a complete honor to see them play.

I closed out Saturday night with Wilco. Wilco played one of the most technically impressive sets of the weekend, with a great sound mix and note-perfect playing. Even still, I found myself struggling to get into the show, as Wilco just lacks that certain something for my taste. Either that or I was just too tired by that point.

Sunday – Day 3

By day three I was struggling to hang in there. The card for the day featured Peaches, Mike Watt, Stereolab and Sonic Youth, but I wasn’t particularly compelled by any of them. I milled around during the undercard, until Peaches finally took the stage.

Peaches is one of the most ridiculous acts I’ve ever seen. She is a German rapper that works over Kraftwerkish beats, throwing simplistic rhymes that carry a certain pornographic charm to them. If that weren’t weird enough, she comes out dressed like Olivia Newton John in Physical and cuts her hair into a long brown mullet. Her skills at beatmaking are questionable compared to someone like Timbaland, and you’ll never mistake her flow for a real MC. So how the hell does someone who can’t rap, can’t dance, can’t make beats be so damn entertaining? I have no idea. Words just can’t express what it’s like to see Peaches, but if you get a chance to see her… YOU MUST DO IT. You will laugh and dance and laugh and for about 40 minutes, you may actually like Germans.

Mike Watt and Stereolab performed just like you would think. Watt played hard and fast covering a little bit of everything, including Television’s “Venus De Milo.” Stereolab filled their hour with gorgeous, multi-instrumented pop, in languages I could not understand. I hear some of their songs are in English, but I honestly had no idea. They were great.

By the time Sonic Youth finally showed up to finish the festival, I was pretty much spent. Regardless, Sonic Youth still blew me away with a remarkable performance that balanced great pop melodies with extreme white noise breakouts. I’ve never been into Sonic Youth that much, and I just realized how much is lacking in their recorded material. I’m not sure it’s even possible to record the amount of detail that the Youth put forth during their live show. Sonic Youth spent their 90 minute set crystallizing the entire festival into their setlist. From Merzbow’s pure noise to Television’s tandem guitars, Sonic Youth’s music showed just how they came to their choices when programming the festival. It is their influences and their mix tapes, and it is their dream festival.

Posted in From Blown Speakers