Roskilde Festival III

--This is part three (Saturday). Make sure you read parts one (Thursday) and two (Friday) first.--

Saturday was my longest day. (I didn’t go Sunday, for those who are wondering -- there wasn’t anyone I particularly wanted to see, and I decided I’d rather go back to Sweden.)

Anyway. I arrived around three thirty and spent the next hour or so wedging my way into the Astoria tent for Efterklang’s show. Astoria was one of only two stages with walls, meaning you had to be inside to see the band. And a lot of people wanted to be inside for Efterklang. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so hot. It was stifling. The veins on my arms were so close they almost looked like they could have been outside the skin. At some points, I felt almost like I was standing inside other people, we were so close. Eventually I wound up inside the tent -- although certainly nowhere near close -- due to space opening up as other, closer people had to leave due to heat exhaustion.

They started late and I remember dozens of bands going through my head as I tried to think of who they reminded me of. The only ones I can think of right now are Typhoon and Patrick Wolf. And also -- after some thought -- of Montreal. They were all dressed in white suits, and for some reason, that made the of Montreal connection. But as for the others, I don’t remember what I thought was similar, and I don’t remember why. I liked them, though. They were more orchestral than I’d expected, but orchestral’s not the right word.

I just looked them up in my database, and found one of their songs -- Step Aside. In the comments box, I’d written, “you don’t really notice it.” I feel like that’s kind of true of their music in general. I mean that in an entirely good way, because I did like them. And a mega-packed house can’t be completely wrong. It’s a paradox, though. Because there was definitely energy, and it was definitely an experience, but it kind of faded fast. It’s there, but it’s not really… present.

I don’t know what I mean anymore.

After Efterklang finished, I had about two and a half hours before The Notwist, on the same stage, was due on at eight. I wandered around for a while, then headed back to Astoria for Nicole Atkins & the Sea, which, from my somewhat fragmented interpretation of the Danish program guide, sounded the most interesting of the bands playing at the hour. They were horrible. There’s no other word for it. At one point, Atkins described what they were playing as “make-out music;” I wouldn’t even give it that.

I left pretty quickly, vaguely wondering what had gone wrong, and wandered around some more. Having not drank anything in ages, and unwilling to pay for water, I bought a pint (the festival is sponsored by Tuborg; everything comes in pints) of something that was called lemonade but which I am absolutely, 100 percent sure was fruit punch. Normally I hate fruit punch, but -- especially after the veritable human straitjacket that was Efterklang -- it was absolutely awesome.

So, while drinking my lemonade/fruit punch/whatever (I saw what I think was the same thing advertised elsewhere as “red juice”) I worked my way over to Odeon and saw the last 45 minutes of Joan as Police Woman’s apparently very long set. It wasn’t bad -- and it was definitely better than Nicole Atkins & the Sea -- but it wasn’t that great, either. I liked the songs a lot better when she played guitar; unfortunately she spent most of the time on keyboards. I stayed for the whole set, but wasn’t interested enough to stay for an encore, so honestly, I don’t know if she played one.

Back over to Astoria for the Notwist. The tent was, blessedly, much less full than it had been for Efterklang; I wound up getting closer to the stage than I had been for any other band, save Säkert!. The Notwist was amazing. Sort of like really melodic shoegaze, or something. I don’t quite know how to describe them. They didn’t talk at all between songs, which in this case seemed incredibly appropriate. I really enjoyed it.

The only downside (and in this the band was in no way at fault) -- the Notwist started at 8 pm. My Bloody Valentine was scheduled -- on the far other side of the festival grounds -- at 9. I’d timed the walk, and figuring on how much time I’d need to work my way into a decent viewing spot at the other stage, planned on leaving at twenty ‘til. They were so good I kept giving myself five more minutes; I think I finally left at around 8:55, feeling sad the entire way across that I hadn’t been able to stay for the whole show.

I walked very quickly and was close enough to hear that roar of applause when the band comes onstage, so while I missed seeing the first few minutes of My Bloody Valentine’s set, I did hear it all. The Arena, where they played, wasn’t as full as I would have expected for a band which released its last album and stopped performing seventeen years ago (although, on the other hand, perhaps that had something to do with it). It took me a while to work my way under the tent, but -- especially for someone who arrived after the band had already begun -- I think I wound up fairly close. And once they started the 20 minutes of noise, I got even closer.

That morning, I’d talked to one of the boys staying in my room at the hostel. He was English, and had come in just for Roskilde. It was his seventh festival. He told me two things that I really remembered: firstly, that the previous year, it had rained so badly that one of the stages had to be evacuated so that festival workers could dig a moat around it (this is why I chose not to camp -- although of course it was amazingly and perfectly sunny this year) and secondly, that My Bloody Valentine was really, really loud -- their “20 minutes of noise” had been compared to a jet taking off.

I would not compare it to a jet taking off. Jets take off far more expediently, and they are far less noisy. I had earplugs in and my hands over my ears and it was still the loudest thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for the naked ears of all the people in front of me with their hands in the air. Nevertheless, watching the four members of My Bloody Valentine up onstage playing the same notes (or drumbeats) over and over was strangely fulfilling. And those of us who stuck out the twenty minutes -- as it really was; I thought they surely would have cut it off sooner; they didn’t -- were rewarded with about 90 seconds of deafening melody before the band, one at a time, hung up their instruments and headed off.

My Bloody Valentine is -- and, I think, will probably remain -- the loudest band I’ve ever seen. Noise aside, they were incredibly melodic, and while they, like the Notwist, refrained from any kind of onstage banter or even much of anything besides playing their instruments and singing straight into the microphones, it was very fitting. I think witty comments in between songs would have cheapened it, you know.

They didn’t play an encore, and I, along with a lot of others, were disappointed -- but I don’t think any of us could have argued that what we’d gotten wasn’t good enough. If I wasn’t so in love with Säkert!, My Bloody Valentine would have been the best band of the festival, hands down. I walked out of there with my ears ringing (and they continued to do so for at least thirty minutes afterward) and it was great.

I walked by the Orange stage on my way out. Neil Young was playing electric, but it was nothing next to My Bloody Valentine. The crowd was so thick, he switched to acoustic before I was even halfway by the stage and -- nothing against Neil Young, but it just wasn’t something I wanted to hear right then. I remember thinking that, while the music itself didn’t seem to suffer from it, he just seemed tired -- really tired. My walking pace allowed me to give him nearly three songs to play something I knew, but he didn’t, so I kept walking.

I could have stuck around for Lykke Li at 11, the Raveonettes at 12, or even Black Mountain at 2. I didn’t -- though I felt mildly guilty when I ran into Rasmus (ex-professor) as I was on my way out and he was just coming in -- because I’d had enough by then. And I mean that in the best possible way. Like: there is nothing more than this. Well, maybe one thing -- but really, realistically, there was nothing. If I think about it hard enough, I can still hear my ears ringing.

A few more photos here, too.