--This is Part II. Read Part I first.--
Saturday I skipped the early afternoon, choosing instead to go to the Farmer’s Market and do some other things I can’t remember, and arrived at the festival a few minutes prior to the beginning of Bodhi’s set at 4:50. (I remember this time because I initially planned to come around five, but was told to arrive earlier so I wouldn’t miss them.) No regrets there; it was awesome.
But I’m going to be very blunt here and say that (perhaps as a caution to future concert-goers?), at first glance, Bodhi looks like three people who all wanted to play music, and couldn’t find anyone else, so even though they had nothing in common, they decided to form a band together. Or maybe you could guess they started as a random group of musicians thrown together in one of those crazy 48-hour band project things… That is what Bodhi looks like. But what they sound like is completely different. They sound like a real band. A real good band. The apparent mismatch is gone; the instruments fit together so well I had trouble telling them apart. It was really tight, really good, and I almost felt guilty, being there and hearing it.
Erin, the drummer… clearly having a really good time. Usually you don’t hear much from drummers, but she had a microphone (or else her voice really projects) and we got commentary in between every song, including, at one point, her urging everyone to “get drunk--” then, I guess in recognition of the fact that it was an all-ages event “--if you can. …Or if you can’t.” Kind of ridiculous, but also -- regardless of whether I did or didn’t follow her advice (I didn’t) -- the kind of thing that makes me love live music. You just don’t get that kind of stuff on a record.
After Bodhi was A Ghost’s Face Two Inches from Your Own Face, which, to be honest, is a bit too loud and fast for my liking. I’m so out of touch these days with that kind of stuff that I don’t even know in which genre to classify them, but technically I think they were probably pretty good. The crowd sure seemed to enjoy it.
Then, back inside for Eskimo & Sons, performing with their new horn section. Much more my kind of music -- lately I seem to be drawn more and more to strings and horns. To my sadness, I was annoyed through most of their set. I don’t know why this happened, and it doesn’t make any logical sense. I enjoyed it a great deal -- but at the same time, I kept wishing they would hurry up and finish. I wasn’t in a hurry to do anything else, and I wasn’t particularly excited for any of the upcoming bands (in fact, I entirely skipped the band immediately following Eskimo & Sons, instead walking to one of the produce row outlets and watching a friend engage in unsafe eating practices). My primary goal Saturday was actually to see Eskimo & Sons. I don’t know what went wrong with me; certainly there was nothing wrong with them.
Before leaving Saturday, I also saw Reporter. Maybe this isn’t a comparison I should make, because I’ve never heard their current incarnation on record and I never saw the previous one live. Regardless, I’m going to say it -- I may be the only person in
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