Holy moly moly. So much happened this weekend, I barely remember what I saw or how it went. Every year in George, Washington (yeah, that's George comma Washington), there's a wide-ranging spring/summer cusp festival called Sasquatch! If you haven't heard of it, I suggest you look it up. It's big news, and it's on the Columbia River Gorge in a sort of natural amphitheatre. You just can't paint a prettier view. Unfortunately due to schooltime obligations by my Partner-in-Crime (hitherto referred to as PiC) for the weekend, we were unable to embark until Friday afternoon, the first day of the festival, which meant that, even racing as safely as possible through windy and rainy highways and mountain terrain, we didn't arrive at the Gorge until 8-ish or so. We picked up our camping passes and made our way in the waning sunlight past field after field of flapping colourful tents. Finally we located some other folks who'd also come down from Alberta to the fest who directed us to the campsite they had saved for us latecomers. Toss the tent up quickly, get butt to box office, acquire pass, off we go. Now unfortuantely due to space limitations in the media pit, the type of photo pass offered to yours truly just wasn't really gonna cut the mustard. You may at some point find here some photos courtesy of our lovely pal Derek, provided I can ever find a way to get ahold of him. Derek? You out there? [editor's note - we got 'im! Thanks to my trusty PiC for getting Derek in touch with me - read/scroll on for his photographic contribution!] 

Anyways, by the time we'd gotten the tent up and walked the 38 miles through rolling hillsides to the gate, we'd missed Bauhaus and H.I.M. (who I'd reeeeeally wanted to check out), but Nine Inch Nails was yet to go on. The path to the auditorium meandered between marshy ponds filled with croaking frogs, and over on the hillside across from the amphitheatre, a green Sasquatchy laser show was projected for our entertainment. I was filled with wonder at this place, in the best and most joyous possible company, and just not knowing which way to turn. The Wookie (aka 3rd) stage was dismally small, just sitting lonely in the middle of a small field just inside the gates. Advertising, myspace booths, food kiosks and many many HoneyBuckets (see Statistics/Seattle trip for more on those) were along the way. So much to absorb in the dark. But the most unreal thing is cresting that rise and seeing this vast space filled with people and descending down to the biggest damn stage I have ever seen, behind which loomed an impenetrable darkness. How appropo for Nine Inch Nails.  

Well, the stage was unsurprisingly industrial. A massive cage-like barrier was drawn across the front of the stage, with crews working behind it to set up for NIN. I wondered about this fencing. Was it a NIN thing, or was it there to prevent projectiles such as shoes or bottles of beer from being lobbed stageward? Seemed like overkill on the security, and it turns out it was. While getting our passes sorted out, we lost the Alberta crew in their eagerness to get inside, and at that point I was also ditched by my PiC, who informed me he was going to go in and "mosh his face off" while he had the chance. He ducked off and squirrelled through the crowd out of sight. I dashed about to the other side and encountered a barricade oddly in the middle of the crowd. The moshpit here is organized in two main parts - the front limited-capacity area which is closed off by security when it gets too full, then a barricade with the video camera booms and as a runabout for security and to shoo out crowdsurfers, and the back area which will hold as many people as feel like being in it. I settled into an empty space and yanked my camera out (having not known my limited camera access, I had brought my gear with me this night, so I figured I'd give it a whirl), only to be told shortly that NIN had changed its mind about any photographers at all. Dang! I was a bit miffed now as I'd rather have stuck by my PiC at this point but he was lost in a sea of sweaty bodies. So I hunkered down and prepared for NIN... and whoa.  

Big.  

Big.  

The cage thing was really a series of lightbars that produced this incredible effect, especially in combination with the liquidy light show and mirrored screen at the back of the stage. Trent Reznor was also big. His newfound gym-instead-of-drugs thing has turned him into one scary dude, even at this distance. The bald head doesn't help. But the voice is unmistakable - the sound was big. Painfully big. Sharp and big. Songs from all over the band's history, from the darkest of the early darkiddy dark dark, up to the controversially less-dark new stuff. And all the while that crazy segmented light screen thing would flash brilliant colours and chug up and down, Reznor would hang from it - like the thing had a life of its own. "Hurt" nearly killed me - such a wonderful song, and seeing it live was sensational, nearly overwhelming. Reznor was backlit by a fiery orange-yellow-white light. A few more songs and then we were left to the night. The exhausted and slick audience shuffled like cattle out of the moshpit, I found my PiC, and off we went back to the campground.  

Excited promises of drinking and partying and exploring and meeting strangers well into the night were short-lived though - after the drive that day, once we sat down with a drink at the campsite, exhaustion set in and we called it a night pretty quick. The folks in the campsite near us had other ideas though, hooting and guffawing until it started to get light out. One of them fell into the Alberta crew's tent. Then it rained. My tent, it seems, is not perfect, though it held up well considering the storm hammering down on us. All told we may have ended up with a cup of water pooled in the corner of the floor and dripping from the top. I must fix that (tent update : I talked the shop into taking it back after getting a professional tent repairman's word that it was a total piece of crap.). However, the morning was warm and sunny (sort of... in a lull I put the lucky extra tarp over the tent, and thank goodness...). Lounging in the tent lazily until 11-ish was pleasant and relaxing. Our cooler was stocked with buns, I started the party right with some rum, and then back to the trenches to start the day around noon. Again, I don't really know what we saw on what day anymore. Saturday was a long haul though and we took it pretty easy. Good weather, lots of beers. It was amusing to drink cans of *imported* Molson Canadian. All day long, the observational could play spot-Wayne-Coyne during many sets. The Flaming Lips front man was on the prowl both to take in as much of the festival as he could, already dapperly outfitted in grey-white pants, shirt and vest, and probably to start recruiting folks for his carnival-like stage show later that evening. He also became interested in things the crews were doing between sets, popping out from side stage frequently during set changes to ask the crew questions, point at things, and sometimes wave to the crowd.  

It was impossible to multi-task as much as I would have liked, not only because of the hefty uphill walk between the main and the second stage, but because leaving the crew would mean hours of separation, and really, what fun is that? So we abandoned plans to see Architecture In Helsinki, Sam Roberts, and the Constantines (which in the end didn't matter too much - keep reading to find out why) in order to stick at the main stage. The Main Stage had rotating pictures, that we all knew off by heart by the end of the weekend, projected on their big screens. The festival's Sasquatch mascot, Chewbacca the Wookie pitching at a baseball game, the abominable snowman from the Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer Christmas special, Strongbad (why??), and a photo of David Hasselhoff, Gary Coleman, and the famous talking car, Kitt (again, why??). Rogue Wave started off with some neat songs - we've reviewed them here, and we approve. Gomez was also pretty darn fun. I mean you all know by now they're a wonderful band, right? Unmistakable throaty-growly-husky vocals and indie toastiness? But they're also damn adorable. Standing up on the stage, wind tossing their hair, the seemed to glitter in the sunlight they looked so overjoyed. With never-ending smiles on their faces, they waved their arms and closely addressed the crowd. These guys love what they're doing.

  The audience went bonkers in anticipation then for Sufjan Stevens. For someone with so much hype around him, I still hadn't become familiar with his music, so I was waiting for some sort of Bright Eyesy brilliance. Tiny American flags popped up from the crowd, and the band trickled onto the stage. A good eight members or so were present, all colourfully dressed in 4th of July style regalia. Truly wholesomely American. It was seriously in overdrive but sorta cool at the same time, even though I would have of course enjoyed a Canadian version of the same. But Stevens himself... where is he? Quiet and unassuming, the spotlight was stolen easily by the two pretty girls who played xylophones and other quirky bits of percussion, singing sweetly. They were much easier to hear. But that doesn't change the fact that the set was pretty cute to watch. All the songs are about different states and America in general, and when the band started tossing inflatable Santas (that oh-so-American icon) and Supermans into the crowd, everyone was happier than anyone's ever been before. Some of the inflatable dudes bounced about on hands all over the audience, and some disappeared quickly, snitched as souvenirs.  

After all that patriotism, we needed a walk and a break, so up we went to the second stage to see Band Of Horses, and wouldn't you know it, so did Wayne Coyne! Band of Horses was pretty nifty - nothing overly telltale, just a solid band, but the Yeti (aka second) stage area was just a nice little cozy environment. A bit odd, it was in a plaza ringed by food vendors and other booths schilling various things. Very small plyboard stage, which if, as a Yeti stage band, you had the opportunity to view the main stage, you'd probably be a little disappointed to play on. While they were playing, you could see from over the hills well beyond the venue, a steel grey line of clouds advancing straight towards us. Doom was imminent. I couldn't have possibly known how doomy it would become. We walked back down to the main stage then to get ready for Neko Case. The wind had picked up, the sun was disappearing, but it was still good weather for concert-going. Case came on and started to sing in her sweet country-infused voice. She's so earthy and honest, and a pretty tough chick to boot. As she started to play, the wind really picked up, tossing her red hair about. I started to get cold, but I thought I'd wait til I really couldn't stand it until I started putting on the limited layers I had with me, as it would surely get colder as the night went on. I glanced up towards the stage as it began to rain, thinking that the drops seemed pretty huge the way they stood out against the backdrop of the black stage curtains.

  And then I got pegged. And again. And the crowd started whooping. It was hailing! Well that's kind of fun. People got out their umbrellas and rainjackets. I was for some reason happy about the hail. It just seemed fun. Oh but not for long. As the cheers for the stormy weather, bleak sky, vicious biting wind and increasing hail got louder, Case on stage and her bandmates began to chuckle. They were getting hit with hail as well. Someone from the side came out to hand Case a jacket (she even said 'ow' a couple times between song lines as she got whacked with ice). She gave it to her bandmate, who tossed it around and then draped it on a monitor. Already crews were frantically covering up musical gear on stage. It was a deluge now. Ridiculous. Case looked incredulous. I'd endured the icy beating for a while but now I was starting to get smoked in the face, and dammit, it hurt (my storm-facing arm was bruised afterwards - it looked like a bad rash). Lucky for me, my PiC is tall and in a waterproof jacket so he clustered over me to try and keep me dry. Waterfalls were cascading off his jacket hood and his arms all around me. I could no longer tell what was going on outside of our little huddle, as I was just trying to stay under the limited cover I was afforded by another human body (very very grateful, by the way, thank you for your selflessness, Bry). It fell silent, save for the beating sound of hail and peoples' exclamations of pain. The show stopped. Case herself made the announcement that because of safety/electrocution issues they had to wait for the weather to blow over. The crowd had dissipated. I imagine people were fighting over the HoneyBuckets for shelter. Wayne Coyne was handing out tarps off the front of the stage. What was previously a pleasant crush at stagefront had become a complete and utter wasteland. Sparse audience, some dancing like loonies, most hiding... and then salvation. While we would have loved to get back to the tent (see why the tarp was a good idea that morning?), it was far away. But a cluster of people beside us suddenly exclaimed, "Oh my god, we have a tarp!" They'd suddenly remembered the tarp in their bag, so they brought it out and offered it to us and Derek to hide under. And that's when it hit us - the other half of the Alberta crew, Nathan, had gone off on his own in his t-shirt and shorts for a walk. Oh where, oh where could that poor soul be at this juncture? But nothing could be done. We imagined him cold and alone in the middle of a field, clustered up as close as he could get to the tallest blade of grass... By the way, this set coincided with the Constantines, so they also got hailed off stage. I found out later from an anonymous tip (okay, from their manager) that the hail also destroyed the sound board and effectively cancelled the Sam Roberts Band set as well. Those guys just have crappy weather luck.    

Want to see how it all went down? Check out home videos on YouTube or the official Sasquatch! video on MSN. Go to the Sasquatch coverage and watch the Neko Case "Star Witness" video. Enjoy!

More and more people tried to cram under our little shelter. It worked all right. One girl had brought her bowl of teriyaki noodles in and was offering to share. I don't know how long the storm lasted - quite a while though. We realized were were standing ankle deep in slush and water runoff and garbage. No bone-dry feet tonight! Finally it subsided though, and the cleanup effort began. No more Neko Case though. The crews snowshoveled off the stage and then wiped it and the band gear down over and over to ensure no one would get zapped. Case came out to announce again what was going on, and then she left the stage. No more Neko. Sad. The cleanup after the storm ended up knocking us back a good hour or so.

My recollection of the rest of the show was patchy at best as most of my brain power was going towards keeping me warm. Thanks to my PiC for helping me greatly with that. The Shins came, went, I think they were really good. Our earlier collective thoughts of sticking around for the Flaming Lips and maybe a bit of Ben Harper turned into "Let's watch the Lips and get the hell back to the relative dry warmth of the tent." We were suddenly bounced into by a couple excitable girls. There's a couple in every crowd, isn't there? And they always end up beside you just in time to make your life miserable. They were rabid Ben Harper fans. One of them was all right - a bit boisterous, mostly just excited. But the other one was a sneaky and conniving little brat who tried every little trick to weasel in front of us. We told her to cool it, we'd leave for Ben Harper once we'd watched the Lips. She still pressed at it - trying to get in front to smoke cuz the smoke would bother us from behind instead of in front (logic please??), talking about how short she was. Anyhow, we watched the really lengthy stage set up disinterestedly. Hurry up and play, you know. I was chilled to the bone, that wet cold... by the time the hail stopped, the sun was setting so the breeze and nighttime cold started up immediately with no chance to warm up. Suddenly, we realized the stage set-up was not the Flaming Lips', but in fact, Ben Harper's. Oh man. Someone came out and announced that because of the delays, the two sets had been switched to keep Ben Harper's set on schedule (and because notoriously, the Lips sets take ages to clean up). Groan. Well, the Lips were necessary though. Ben Harper's not terrible, I mean he's an amazing musician, and heck I even have one of his albums. But it's not the most blood-warming tunes, and he honestly played for hours. And those two girls danced themselves to jumpy pieces beside us. It was far more of a spectacle than Harper himself was, squalling at him to take his pants off, sloshing their drinks all over us. Said drink was eventually dropped down my leg, and finally, the crew yoinked me back to get out of her way and just let her have the front spot, where she proceeded to bitch out people for talking, then bitch them out again when they bitched her out for talking, and coercing the security guard near us to hoist her towards the stage. It was disgusting.

That aside, Harper's set was fluid - he's a solid performer. Again not overly entertaining, but the musicianship is amazing and the clan of players he has on stage with him are peppy and pleasant folk. Finally, after the set, the girls leapt over the barricade towards the security guard who'd promised them... something... (ew!) and we got our reprieve back. Unfortunately the set change is again ridiculously long, but with good reason. Huge video screens were set up, lamps and streamer poppers (already being strewn into the audience by Wayne Coyne, who'd again appeared from sidestage to get the audience riled up and muse over the stage set up with the crews), and then when we were ready to go, a giant inflatable ball came out, Coyne was zipped into it, and off he was tossed to roll about on the crowd like a hamster while the video screens and the band sprung to life. Countless colourful images of dancing or eating or kicking girls, mostly Asian and wearing nothing more than a bikini bottom if that, paraded multi-multi-multi life sized behind Coyne, who had then rejoined the stage and begun to sing. His trusty mouth-cam was back, the video camera on his microphone linked to the big screen. Seriously creepy, entirely amusing. It's just a huge carnival! What joy it brings to a cold and day-weary crowd. Colours! Lights! Costumes! And between songs, Coyne continually explains things, about how no matter how long it takes, he is going to make sure we get warm, saying he'd play all night if he had to, getting us to dance and move about to get feeling back in our feet. Then he explained that instead of having many different animals on stage, tonight there would be Santas versus aliens. They stood on opposite sides of the stage, the people in the aforementioned costumes whom Coyne had picked up throughout the day for just that purpose, and battled each other with flash lights.

By this time my heels were starting to feel like they'd been broken and I could barely stand. I'd had that feeling only one time before in my life, when I'd gone with some folks to watch the fireworks in Vancouver on the roof of a school across the water. Afterwards, the simplest way to get down was to jump off the roof. I miscalculated, landed on a hill with full blunt force on the back of my heels, and was on my ass before I even realized what was happening. Here at Sasquatch, I was balancing on mounds of trash to boot, and was probably only standing by this time because my PiC was leaning heavily on me from behind and supporting me against the barricade. Man, I'm a wimp. These old bones don't hold up like they used to! But the Lips continued! More streamers into the crowd. The music is fun and chanty, party songs, pretty songs. It was a great way to end the evening. The music seems secondary to the show, but wow. There's no way this isn't fun. "Do You Realize?" came in closer to the end of the set. What a sweet song. And terrifying. Then there was the anti-war song with all it's nightmarishly gory-yet-real images of casualties of war projected behind Coyne. Scary. This was around the time we started to head up back towards the campsite. Seeing the entire stage lit up from farther back, hundreds of multi-coloured streamers dangling and billowing from the light rigging above the stage, was gorgeous. This beacon in the middle of black, a space ship floating in the night.

Well after a day like that, there's not much to do but go to sleep, so I nestled into the sleeping bag and cinched up all the strings to stop any cold air from sneaking in. Bastard cold air. I woke up uncomfortably hot ... the sun was beaming brightly down in the morning and hyper-heating the tent. Half-asleep, my PiC was sloughing off his sleeping bag, batting it away with tired hands and trying to absently unzip all the flaps on the tent. Half-asleep people are hilarious. Outside the tent, the wind was picking up, and we witnessed very near by a bonafide tent tornado whirling up into the air. One of said tents, fully set-up, mind you, blew up and over the field, bounced off a few cars and rolled away until someone finally caught it. Let that be a lesson to you folks - always stake your tent down! Another breakfast, some well-deserved toothbrushing, and back to the festival we go, this time with a bag packed full of way more clothing.

We got to the main stage in time for Pretty Girls Make Graves, who were hipstering it up happily in the bright sunlight. They brought up some friends to double-dutch jumprope along to their songs on stage. How cute. After that was Nada Surf. Yes, Nada Surf. I don't keep up on these things, did someone put them on a teenage drama or something? People have been saying they've been making great shoegazery indie pop for years but until someone sent me an album prerelease from their newest disc, I knew nothing of them since their over-the-top smash single "Popular." And I know you know the tune I'm talking about. Don't pretend you don't. Now what really surprised me is that they actually played that song, they even opened their set with it. I don't know if this was maybe a ploy to nab the attention of the tens of thousands of people who might not remember the band name but surely would remember that summer-defining song of yesteryear, but it was pretty unexpected. It seems like the sort of thing they might try to shrug of at this point, but apparently not. After that they whipped through a nifty and up-tempo set, with a very possessed-looking drummer. Dig it.  

Following those cats was the Arctic Monkeys. I'm sorry, world, I still don't get it. They just don't grab me. But we were gonna stick it out just to stay close for the Decemberists set which was to follow. Between Nada Surf and the Monkeys, we made some new friends, including a group of small and very-stoned dudes from California who would shortly prove to be absolute hellions. Well, it's all in good fun I guess. The second the Monkeys struck up, what had shaped up to be a jivey and dancey mosh pit (and I have to say, live, I would have happily grooved energetically to the band, as they do have a moveable sound) was opened right behind me into a violent circle pit. Faithful Cord readers, your editor is a weenie. Carrying a backpack that was dragging me down every time someone knocked me off balance, having my nose shoved clear into someone's shoulder blade, and having to spend the set staring behind me instead of watching the band to make sure I'm not going to be pummeled is no longer my idea of a good time. And I'm short. While my PiC attempted to keep people off of me, the ruckus got the better of him and he soon joined in with the shoving and leaping and slamming about. After one more elbow to the temple, I retreated to the outer skirts of the mosh pit to watch in relative peace. Folks, I urge you to enjoy your concerts however you see fit, but do respect your neighbours as well. The Monkeys looked bored to be there for some reason. Maybe it was that British disaffectedness, but they seemed to be going through the motions. The music served better live than on radio though, and I suddenly felt the urge to get back to the crew (plus my new vantage point really stunk). And I am proud to say I made it all the way back to the circle pit, this time carfeully standing behind it with the Alberta crew so I could keep an eye on the proceedings without diverting too much attention from the band that was boringly playing along. And, I thought, when this band is done, all the psycho Arctic Monkeys fans will retreat and we can all drop into the pleasant Decemberists haze.  

Not so! The Monkeys stopped playing, the shuffle began, and suddenly there was a HUGE solid shove from behind. Not a quick push, mind you, just a solid pressure, like having an elephant take a nap on you. Less than ten feet from rejoining my PiC, I got so thoroughly, unmovingly squashed against the sweaty back of some other guy that he didn't even see me. He waved earnestly to the Alberta crew that was right behind me, stated he couldn't move and turned back frontward. All right I must reiterate, I am short. Now if I can't see the band, have no control over the movement of my limbs, and have my arm-restriction claustrophobia lurking nearby, then I obviously won't be able to review the show at all, so I had to bite the bullet and wedge my way back out again. Thankfully I was able to relay my plans to the Alberta crew so I wouldn't have to spend the rest of the day wandering around lost. But, I still had the backpack with all the jackets and food. Mwahahah. I hold the power.

  Anyhow, the Decemberists came on. I can't believe how rabid those fans are, and what solid desire they have to get so physically close to the band. Weird. It's not like everyone was leaping and carrying on, they just leeeeaned in. I managed to catch my crew on the big screens a few times so I know they weren't swallowed up by the crowd at least. The band though was pleasantly-demeanoured and ridiculously cute. They spoke directly to the crowd, let audience members play guitar and sing, and gosh darn, everyone on stage was put to sleep! The mass appeal of these guys is apparent, even beyond the strikingly beautiful music they play. The stage show didn't seemed overly rehearsed or contrived, it was just... really cute. Pleasant set - kind of a crappy one to spend on your own, but sweet anyhow. After the audience thinned out a bit there, I was reunited with the crew, and after a bit of shoelace tying and readjusting, we retreated to the second stage area to nab some food and take in a bit of We Are Scientists.  

The food lines were huge and they were out of everything. Little spring rolls for the noodles - and yet no discount? And they were out of bacon, a fact that caused my PiC some measure of distress I'm sure. I launched myself up on a picnic tabel to jive along to We Are Scientists while I noshed on some noodles. This was not the place for them. A small, bad-sounding stage in the middle of food vendors? They really lacked a spark, but they're still such a great band. Following the chow, it was time to spend the rest of the day taking it easy. We walked back to the mainstage and sat honestly as far up on the hill as possible (well, there was a spot slightly farther back but it was out of bounds for some reason. Weird rules. You can stand here, but not two feet over...). Blankets and jackets were laid out to sit on and we caught the waning moments of the oddly-popular Matisyahu, the Jewish reggae guy or whatever it is. I remember seeing posters for this around Vancouver, but I'd never heard the guy before. But everyone was really into it, dancing all over the hills and cheering. Who is this guy???  

But hey, Queens Of The Stone Age was next. As the sun slowly sank down behind the jagged dry ridges of the Columbia River Gorge, the green laser lights sprung up on the adjacent hillside again, and the wind picked up, QOTSA came out to rock some serious sock. Okay, so the impact was felt a little less watching pinhead-sized dudes bounce around on a shoebox-sized stage, and the wind carried the sound all over the place so it sounded like a mouse trapped in a paper bag, but it was still QOTSA, and that just plain rocks. They played all the big singles, and wanked their way into our collective hearts. I kinda wish I would have taken the opportunity to get a bit closer to the action, but at that point, exhaustion was setting in anyhow.  

Following that was something I'd been waiting all weekend for. Death Cab For Cutie. Anyone who knows me knows my long-standing fascination for this band, which has accompanied me on solo road trips and soundtracked my most grievous times with their oddly-uplifting-yet-devastatingly-sad, silver lining music. It's been a strange comfort in many low points, dare I say I recently cracked out the catalogue again. And it's also a band I had never seen live before, largely because they seem to pick the most heart-breaking times to come to Vancouver, and I never felt I would actually survive watching them play. This weekend, amongst a comfortable set of companions and with not a care in the world, launching what was shaping up to be the most adventurous summer I've ever known, I would live through it. It was like a fantastic birthday present or something - a band to share and finally after so much waiting, a band to enjoy. Watching was unnecessary. We hunkered down under a blanket and shielded ourselves as best we could from the biting chill - the Alberta crew took off to watch Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! which I hear were great (and we could see the second-stage crowd leaping along to that band as a unit - I think they really were clapping their hands and saying yeah) - and just listened silently and snoozily to DCFC's charming music. Hilariously, one of the fellows in the band bantered between songs that he's never felt like more of  a wuss in his life after following QOTSA on stage. Oh that was gold, and so true. I adore my DCFC, but Josh Homme has more sheer cock-out man in his pinky finger than all of DCFC combined. The guys played a really wide range of stuff though, reaching as far back as the "Something About Airplanes" album. It's nuts how popular they are now. And I survived the set beautifully. The atmosphere, the company, the band, the night, the weekend - probably the best 40 minutes of my entire life right there. Glad you were with me. Thank you for giving me a perfect night.  

Capping the night was Beck. Beck! He's huge, right? You think this is the big thing that everyone's waiting for right? You think you're gonna be blown out of the water by his weird and crazy-cool character right?  

Wrong!  

I don't know why - maybe because DCFC was so good, maybe because of where we were sitting, maybe because of general fatigue, but Beck held little power over us, or anyone else for that matter. Within a few songs, there was a steady stream of patrons leaving the amphitheatre. It was a bit weird. We stuck around for a bit - I'm not the biggest Beck fan, but I think his quirky nature is great and I respect his penchant for charting new ground. And the set was amusing - a dressed-up and top-hatted Beck (think of Tom Petty in the "Don't Come Around Here No More" video as the Mad Hatter) stood near the front of the stage singing. He didn't move too much. His band was scattered around the stage. Some guy came out and danced, but I mean, he really really danced. He ran about tapping and leaping and spinning. I was idly watching the video screens, thinking, oh how cute, look at those little musician marionettes they made into a video for the live show. And then I spotted a group of people dressed in black standing at the back of the stage in front of a lighted box. And then I realized that those people in black were manipulated the marionettes, and that was what was being filmed and sent to the big screens! That was pretty wild. There was a full set-up replica of the stage and everyone on it, including the crazy dancing man, mimicing every second of the stage show. Later, some band members set up around a poker table to play spoons, and wouldn't you know it, the marionettes did too. So I applause and give kudos to Beck for an imaginative set up, but we too soon had to leave. The fading strains of Beck followed us all the way back to the tents.  

I would have probably opted to snooze at least for a couple hours but instead, we got to the campground, ripped it down, shoved it in the car, and abandoned Sasquatch for a traffic free trek back to Vancouver, featuring some annoying guy who refused to turn of his high-beams, and a curiously abandoned gas station. And 20 questions. It's a chestnut!  So anyhow, Sasquatch - worthwhile for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the view. Just go to the Gorge. And take advantage of this festival. There's so few of these honest to goodness multi-day music fests in North America. It's a great experience, y'all!                        

Elsewhere

By Andy Scheffler
Photos : Derek! If you want to see the rest, head to his Flickr account... And a couple by Andy Scheffler
Published : June, 2006.