Dizzee Rascal

The TOC Blog

intern — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 13:31:35 -0400

Dizzee Rascal: London’s best-known grime rapper Dizzee Rascal takes the stage with an extra taller MC and Baltimore’s Aaron LaCrate (wearing one of his own T-shirts) on the digital turntable. Dizzee immediately berates the guy doing monitors for not having his sound tight, and jokes about the “folk shit” that preceded him. Indeed, his “London city” attitude and crisp urban streetwear make a nice contrast to the mellow harmonies of Fleet Foxes. Rascal’s commanding ways extend to telling the crowd to get its own act together. “This is the home of hip-hop, I know you can get liver than that,” he says. “This ain’t no fucking picnic.” He raps about jezzies, getting our backs off the wall, grime hype and manages to get thousands of fists pumping. It’s a bit surprising to see a wall of kids who know Dizzee’s lyrics by heart. After a solid bounce-worthy set, many more know his name. Casually, he comes back for an encore—which just happens to be the number one song in England, an electro-pop club banger “Dance Wiv Me,” a massive departure from his dive-bombing bass tracks, but a catchy one at that. — JD

THE BPA

intern — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 16:18:41 -0400

I recently got sent an email from the agency which deals with The BPA or "The Brighton Port Authority" which is an alias for Fat Boy Slim. I wasn't blown away by the David Byrne/Dizzee Rascal 'Toe Jam' tune, but fooking loved the remix I got sent.

UK Artists in MOBO Awards Tonight

intern — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 16:13:33 -0400

Sway, Wiley and Dizzee Rascal will battle it out for Best UK Male as well as a couple of others who I don't care for. Estelle is going for Best UK Female against again, a few others who don't deserve to win. She's also up for a whole host of other awards; Best Song, Best Video and Best Album. Ironik is up for Best UK Newcomer, he'd better not win that, Chipmunk or Skepta deserve it more. We're (the UK) also reppin' in the Best Gospel category with Jahaziel and GreenJade both in the running and both thouroughly recommended by myself to any Hip Hop fans out there. Best Song section features Wiley's 'Wearin' My Rolex', Dizzee's 'Dance Wiv Me' and Estelle's 'American Boy'. 'American Boy' is up for Best Video award as is Bashy's 'Kidulthood to Adulthood' and Tinchy Stryder's 'Stryderman'. Dizzee and Wiley have both been nominated for Best Hip Hop alongside Jay-Z, Lupe Fiasco and Lil' Wayne. Big ups also go to our own radio and club DJ's Semtex, Westwood, 279 and more.

Paint the Town Orange

intern — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 15:43:02 -0400

Paint the Town Orange Pitchfork Music Festival Day 2 - July 19th 2008 - Union Park, Chicago, IL Amidst the rain, mud, quicksand, and ridiculous looking hipsters I was actually able to catch few band yesterday. Most of my day was spent in the CHIRP tent spreading the word about my various projects. I also spent sometime consuming a foot long veggie wrap from Whole Foods, learning about the open-book literacy program, and walking the tent at the poster fair. First up on my schedule was Caribou. Multi-instrumentalist Dan Snaith completely blew me away by not only signing his beautiful song, but also switching from drums to keyboards to guitar without effort. It was a great set, but I left early to head over to Icy Demons. Chicago's Icy Demons are a mystery to begin with so anticipating their performance I had no idea what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised to the see an upright bass, and watch the band switch from electro -rock to tropical swoon to near free jazz croon. It was strange, but very appealing. I don't know what it is about live hip-hop that just gets the heart pounding and legs bouncy and arms waving, but London's Dizzee Rascal knows how to move the crowd. Now his Dj in the pink and green headphones is another story. He had what looked like turntables, but as he prepared you could see him put discs in and he carried no vinyl. If you have turntables, you have to have vinyl. He scratched a little, but at one point you could tell that the scratch was actually on the cd and not performed live. He was a little lame to say the least. After Dizzee I went into the tents, but I did catch a little of Animal Collective closing out the night by performing Panda Bear's "Comfy in Nautica" which was a very cool way to end a very hot an wet day. posted by jason at 7:50 am labels: paint the town orange

The PoFo MoFo Ordeal: Pitchfork in a Nutshell

intern — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 15:32:40 -0400

It’d be a pretty safe assumption that outdoor music festivals are the bee’s knees nowadays. Every state has one and it almost seems by next summer, every city will have one too. It makes sense. With the truckload of bands coming off the presses each week, it’s hard to keep up with everything and anything music (and expensive, too). Chicago seems to brandish their own sort of festival every week during the summer. If it isn’t Lollapalooza, it’s the Taste of Chicago, and if it’s not one of the local neighborhood fests, it’s certainly Pitchfork Music Festival, or PoFo Mofo to others. This past weekend, the rising media conglomerate brought its own flavor to Union Park, just outside of downtown Chicago, and nearby enough industrial palaces to kick back that ol’ blue collar indie credibility. With such a roll call of bands (Public Enemy, Fleet Foxes, and Dinosaur Jr. to name a few), Chicagoans came in waves… “sold out” waves, as the festival promoters would like you to know. It felt that way, however, as thousands of hipsters mindlessly walked together from stage to stage. Some were so hellbent on either sticking together or going with the flow that they missed the three other ticketing entrances to the festival, which meant there was an unnecessarily long line from the gate to the Green Line Ashland stop. My initial thoughts? Someone get these kids some damn Fuze drinks! Saturday, the 19th Having missed Friday (lack of sleep + early morning shift + The Dark Knight midnight screening = heavy, drowsy body), I made a vain attempt to take in as much as I could for Saturday. Things started a little rough, unfortunately. The slow train ride and chugging walk to the festival brought me to the closing song of Titus Andronicus’s set. My blood boiled tenfold when they walked off stage. The New Jersey rockers’ debut is without a doubt one of this year’s finest and the energy on disc seemed paramount on stage. Oh well, fingers crossed for a Metro show in the near future. Despite the unhappy weather, the misty rain felt nice. Summer festivals are usually tedious when it comes to heat, but the precipitation allowed for some London chills that kept everyone cool… and muddy. I don’t know if most of Chicago just skipped Bonnaroo, but many “got their jollies off” by rolling around in baseball diamond mud and sliding through festival goers. I even saw some girls wade in shin high rainwater. Enjoy the tapeworm come Monday, fools! Pitchfork’s darling Jay Reatard came out for a short, thirty minute stint. The “aggressive” punk act swept through a dozen or so songs, and vocalist/guitarist Jay Lindsey had the time of his life with the microphone. It was nice to open with something that had adrenaline and pizzaz. These are acts that make outdoor festival experiences worth while. As the rain came down hard, Lindsey rollicked through a few closing songs before twisting and contorting one last time. Across the field and next door, sound technicians were having some technical difficulties (mainly with a keyboard), which delayed Caribou’s set. Once the rain had subsided, singer/songwriter Daniel Snaith jump started his indie act into some cuts mainly off of last year’s Andorra. Snaith shared drumming duties with his touring drummer, which peaked at the opening track “Melody Day.” Altogether a tight set, after about twenty minutes, it all seemed the same. One act everyone seemed excited to see was Fleet Foxes. Mist drifted over the audience as Robin Pecknold, clutching an acoustic and taking a seat by the microphone, played most, if not all, of the songs from their fantastic self-titled debut. Even if the set seemed more appropriate for an intimate setting, the four part harmonies resonated well with a very well behaved audience, who only applauded or spoke after each song. Pecknold’s stage presence isn’t exactly something to write home about, but his musicianship is, playing songs like “White Winter Hymnal”, which sounded perfect, clean, and yet brass. Considering the wide audience that stayed from beginning to end, one should keep a close eye on this Seattle quintet. For many, the festival started with UK rapper Dizzee Rascal (above right), who came on the Connector stage, which is just one of three stages in the park. With a fly attitude and a smile on his face, he brought out some of the best moods of any hipster. Dancing and swaying, clapping and howling, people were moving. It all seemed fitting that halfway through his set, the sun broke through and any signs of bad weather disappeared altogether. On the downside, the heat turned up. Halfway to the food stands, I came across some more “mud people”, a name we likened them to, who were asking passerby’s for spit, so they could continue shaping their mud mound. One “mud man” had a few white, smallpox-like fissions on his face, and as he walked up to others, many shied away… and with good reason. It didn’t make the situation for them any better that they were gathering up mud next to the Port-a-Potties. Gross, right? God, I’d never make it through Bonnaroo. For those hungry at Pitchfork, they’re in luck. While certainly not as expanse as the Taste of Chicago (I mean, c’mon), it’s a step ahead of Lollapalooza. Vegans, vegetarians, and carnivores alike can enjoy everything from Chicago deli foods, Thai cuisine, spices of the South, and even finger licking BBQ. Saturday was packed, but the lines managed to squeeze by without much loss of time. The prices weren’t too shabby, either. Towards the evening, everyone at the festival crowded the Aluminum stage, where New York’s “new thing”, Vampire Weekend, pleased ears and eyes galore. Singer and guitarist Ezra Koenig seemed comfortable with the crowd, which should come as no surprise after they’ve played Coachella, several international festivals, and the entire nation to boot. Although judging on comparison to their show here last April, the band seemed relatively tired and bored with the material (”Walcott” didn’t have the umph it once had), hinting that some much needed recording time and jamming is in store for them… or maybe just some sleep? California dance rockers !!! ignited the crowd, playing a wealth of songs from last year’s Myth Takes. The pop eccentric group rallied through song after song, giving frontman Nic Offer little time to flirt with the crowd, but all the energy to grace the stage. Offer, in short shorts and a tight shirt, looked more or less like Nick Swarsden’s Terry of Reno 911, and even basing any opinion off of this performance, it’s clear he knows how to work a crowd. Immediately following, The Hold Steady blistered through “Constructive Summer”, off of this summer’s Stay Positive. Vocalist and guitarist Craig Finn is a little sloppy on stage, but it makes for an excellent show, where he borrows more from Paul Westerberg live, than his Springsteen-like ethics on record. The mixing left much for improvement (keyboardist Franz Nicolay was literally nonexistent throughout the set), but the band carried the best stage presence of any act that day. When Finn belted out “Sequestered in Memphis”, fans went wild, throwing beach balls around and jumping about madly. It was just non stop fun. With an exhaustive girlfriend at my side and a setting sun in the distance, the idea of home with self made tacos and some Natalie Portman-Clive Owen movie sounded too good to pass up. I know, I know. One day I’ll regret missing out on Animal Collective or Jarvis Cocker, but not this weekend. Sunday, the 20th Things started late on the Sabbath, er Sunday, at least for me. New York City idiosyncratic’s Les Savy Fav made a mess out of the Connector stage. When vocalist Tim Harrington wasn’t doing imitations of Oscar the Grouch (complete with trash can), he was smearing war paint on nearby childrens’ faces. A friend of mine summed him up best: “a friendly, peaceful GG Allin.” On the whole, Les Savy Fav played a quaintly messy set, managing to hit wide range of their four studio releases. There was some time to be killed, so I got creative. There’s always something to do at this festival, or so it seemed. If one’s not sold on the music acts, the trendsetters made sure you could continue all your irregular daily rituals, including thrift store shopping and other fun, sporty activities. The Chicago Independent Radio Project put together a nice little record shoppe, while dozens of homemade products were for sale in a separate tent. Tied in with the flavors of food, as mentioned before, the festival showed its guns. Over at the Balance stage, which is south of the two main stages, I caught a bit of the Occidental Brothers Dance Band International. For a jam band-type sound, the local Chicago act kept up a tight, powerful set and reeled in a decent size crowd, though most were waiting patiently for Ghostface Killah and Raekwon, both of whom took the stage a good twenty minutes earlier than expected. The two Wu-Tang members’ set seemed moreover a nostalgic, “feeling the years” sort of show than an actual solo performance. Songs “C.R.E.A.M.” and even ODB’s “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” were played in snippets, with only a few songs of their own respected releases played in full. It was somewhat of a disappointment. Without a doubt, however, the festival’s greatest performance was from UK act, Spiritualized. Just as the sun dwindled down, the psychedelic soul act took hold of an audience that continued to grow more and more. The alluring blend of classic rock blues and modern atmospherics really sounded refreshing. Songwriter Jason Pierce, or Spaceman to fans, chiseled through his guitar, coagulating both shoegaze and bluesgrass at once. When Tim Lewis, or Thighpaulsandra, took to his organ on several songs, the crowd went absolutely nuts. It was a perfect hour, with no sound technicalities and some of the best musicianship of the weekend. One can only hope they stay in the States for some time. Of course, the weekend wouldn’t be as prolific if it weren’t for J. Mascis and friends, Dinosaur Jr (below right). The ancient act dusted off a stage that had been corroded from dozens of indie, prepubescent acts with its distortion and ear piercing solos. Songs “Almost Ready” and “Pick Me Up” (sporting an almost five minute solo) were blessings in disguise, reiterated from last year’s smile-making, come back album, Beyond. The band even cleared room for former singles “Feel the Pain” and “Out There.” Playing without a shirt, drummer Murph played a tight drum, while bassist Lou Barlow had his share at a couple of songs. All in all, the aging grunge rockers revealed they still have a few decades under their belt before they’re officially deaf. Things disintegrated towards the end as headliner Spoon took stage. They opened with Kill the Moonlight’s first track, “Small Stakes”, before heading into more recent material. One thing I noticed offhand was that vocalist and guitarist Britt Daniel has really improved his chops as a frontman for the band, inviting more energy onstage and an accelerated rhythm in movement. New material off of last year’s Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga sounded ready and crisp, especially the trolling repetition of “The Ghost of You Lingers.” Is it a surprise that Gimme Fiction material still sells itself readily? “My Mathematical Mind” and “I Turn My Kamera On” were easily highlights of an agreeable closer. It all kind of makes me want to watch that Will Ferrell film released a couple years back… and oddly enough, filmed in Chicago. On the way back into town, someone talking on a cell phone mentioned to a friend, “Hey, we’re heading back, leaving hipster fest.” I laughed a bit at that comment, feeling as if I’m not alone in my sentiments. When one watches teens bask in the sun, wearing tight, tight Tron shirts and skinny, skinny female jeans, all the while asking for heat exhaustion, you can’t help but scoff. In the end, however, Pitchfork comes through, creating a humble festival for more or less a non-humble crowd, surrounded by industrial factories and sprinkled with less fortunate people asking fairly wealthy concertgoers for a helping hand. The sad twist? Despite all the “go green” nonsense, the efforts towards volunteering, and the peaceful mantras that go into half the acts that performed, people walked by, eager to get back to their lives and iPods. And sadly and rather self deprecatingly, I’m one of them.

Flushin' MC's Down the Loo

intern — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 15:27:49 -0400

London rapper Dizzee Rascal was a little out of place in the midday Chicago sun as he took the stage at the Pitchfork Festival. The MC traffics in dark tales of alienation and boastful gangster rants, delivered over bouncing beats. But he quickly, distainfully distanced himself from twee folksters Fleet Foxes, who performed immediately before him on a nearby stage, and made it clear he had a different agenda than many Pitchfork fans are used to. "This ain't no picnic," Dizzee Rascal shouted. He then set about trying to incite the sweaty audience to jump and sing along to a set which drew heavily on Boy In Da Corner, his excellent 2004 debut. Dizzee was mostly successful, his cocky shout-outs drawing the crowd in. The stage was refreshingly uncluttered, the main man sharing space only with a DJ and one sidekick. Maybe he would be better alone in a dark club, rather than in effect opening for precious popsters "Vampire Weekend" in a park.

Pitchfork Music Festival Recap: Day Two

intern — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 15:23:53 -0400

Ah, the rain. In previous years we've always half jokingly call the Pitchfork Music Festival "Sweatfork" due to the usually oppressive heat, but this year the afternoon storms brought about "Mudfork" and the attendant rise of the mud people. Saturday is usually the most crowded day of the festival and this year was no different, although we must admit we're seeing less and less of the ironic gym suited American Apparel crowd and more and more of, well, normal folks.

We also couldn't help but notice that just about every music critic in the city seems to spend oall of their time backstage. We admit to ducking back there from time to time ourselves, but we spent most of our time on the field in the midst of the crowd because isn't that the only was to really review a band? At least we thought that's what a music critic was supposed to do. You can't really get a good read on a band's performance -- or the crowd's reaction -- from a park bench behind the stage and out of sight of any of the action, can you? And what about that action? Yesterday there was plenty of it on the various stages around Union Park.

Indie folk poppers Fleet Foxes seemed to bask in the heat, their hazy tunes the perfect soundtrack to a subdued early-afternoon crowd dealing with the muggy, post-rain afternoon. Even if the skies weren't as sunny as the Foxes song, the crowd was willing to go along for the ride. We had some doubts about whether the Foxes' cavernous, etheral sound would translate to the live festival setting, but there didn't seem to be any issues as far as we could tell. The band was spot on as they tackled songs from their previous EPs and their new, self-titled LP.

At the start, it seemed like there would be trouble with Dizzee Rascal's set. The London MC was a bit miffed with some persistent sound problems at the beginning of his set and had a few choice words for the sound guys, but once he settled down, the rest of his set bore no hangover. He declared in his rough Cockney accent, "Ya'll might not understand a fuckin' word I'm sayin', but by the end of the day you'll know my name." If the crowd was subdued but the early humidity, Dizzee got them pumped. Blitzing through tracks from his recent record, Math + English, as well as older tracks like "Fix Up, Look Sharp," Dizzee spit rhymes at a rapid-fire pace and had the crowd jumping and waving their hands, even as the sun finally broke through the overcast skies, baking the sweat-drenched fans. At one point, when Dizzee shed his T-shirt, he flexed for the crowd and quipped, "I'm gettin' my Fifty Cent on." By the time he bounded off the stage, no one was thinking about the aforementioned American rapper and they certainly knew Dizzee's name.

We tried to listen to Vampire Weekend, but we just don't get it. They're well-mannered and polite -- and we certainly do enjoy a good grammar joke -- but overall they turned in a bland set. Luckily !!! was next and their explosive disco-punk transformed the crowd into a single-minded organic simulation of a pogo stick. Nic Offer broke out every ambisexual dance move in his repertoire and gave himself over fully to the music and his mission to draw each and every listener into the center of the universal beat.

The Hold Steady was up next to defend their title of "Best Party Band in the World," and they defended the title with a decisive win. The sheer power of the band's hooks and the evocative beauty of Craig Finn's lyrics would be enough to set them apart from most other rock bands, but the truly winning component of their live sets is the simple fact that band is obviously having the time of their lives up there.

Jarvis Cocker was next and the sense of anticipation for his set was thick throughout the crowd. We swear we even saw two girls crying because they couldn't contain their excitement, and once the tall, unbelievably lanky Brit took the stage we immediately saw that he was going to fully deliver on the hopes of the crowd.Cocker is obviously accustomed to playing much larger festivals, and his physical theatricality sold his darkly comic glam-pop with disarming ease. And only Cocker could get away with closing the set with a song that basically eviscerates the American government and elicit cheers from the adoring throng.

Animal Collective closed out the evening, and while we've never actually enjoyed any of their albums, now that we've seen them live we now finally understand why folks go ga-ga over the band. Mixing improvisational flourishes over dense rhythmic textures mined from both Krautrock and minimalist techno, the band is adept at building these grand sonic washes that sweep you away with their grandeur. It was a suitably epic ending to a day of great music.

Pitchfork Music Festival: Dizzee Rascal

intern — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 15:19:53 -0400

Got a late start on day 2, arriving just in time to catch the haunting experimental electronic buzzes of Fuck Buttons on the Balance Stage and the harmonic soft melodies of Fleet Foxes drifting from the Aluminum Stage. Caught about a song of each and then headed to the Sparks tent to get my day started right. Tromping through the muddy grass pits of Union Park, I headed to check the one and only master of grime himself, Dizzee Rascal, rock the Chi crowd hard on the Connector Stage. I had caught Rascal rock the SXSW crowd this past March and became a big fan since. As soon as he came to the stage with his two man crew, he commented on the general Pitchfork demographics, “I see you around all into dis funk, nah nah nah,” mimicking the more toned down indie rock groups, “Well Funk dat shit, we’re gonna party now and bring the noise!” Rascal then did just that, the smooth injection of polished, head bobbing hip hop, party jumping was brought. After a two song warm-up, Rascal continued to speak with the crowd in his thick London accent, “This ain’t no fucking picnic, we come from England; I speak your language but I don’t know if you can understand a single word I’m saying—but I can tell you, you will know my name by the time I leave here—what’s my fuckin’ name?” Rascal hyped as the crowd eagerly answered his question shouting choruses of “Dizzee Ras-calll’s” in anticipation of keeping the party hot. Rascal then rocked new and old songs alike, and livened up the crowd with my personal faves “Sirens” and “Fix Up Look Sharp.” Gotta give props to Pitchfork for mixing up the mix with the different musical sounds, Mr. Dizzee Rascal is definitely still fresh as hell.

Pitchfork Day 2: Lessons in showmanship from Jarvis Cocker

intern — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 15:16:34 -0400

4:30 p.m.: Not much need for brain cells when barechested Dizzee Rascal goes to work. He aims straight for the hips with his hard-grinding U.K. “grime,” a brand of hip-hop that combines arcade-game beats and Jamaican dancehall attitude. It’s libido-saturated fun, exemplified by the closing “Dance Wiv Me,” which is topping the British singles chart.

Pitchfork Music Festival Day Two

intern — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 15:09:19 -0400

The second day of the fourth annual Pitchfork Music Festival kicked off amid a whole lot of mud and a light but steady drizzle that has yet to abate. But the first of Saturday's main-stage acts was anything but soggy. Titus Andronicus is a distinctive indie-rock band from suburban New Jersey led by bushy-bearded vocalist Patrick Stickles that has at times featured as many as 11 members onstage churning through the most aggressive shoegazer psychedelia you've ever heard--or, if you prefer, the dreamiest hardcore punk you can imagine. For this gig, Stickles was joined by a mere five band mates, but that was more than enough to create an impressive wall of sound, with as many as four guitars churning away at some points. In between climbing the stage scaffolding, jumping into the audience and waving an American Revolution-era banner, Stickles addressed the damp throngs. "This is a really nice thing, like, all these like-minded individuals coming together," the hyperactive vocalist said. "Community spirit is a nice thing." Here he insert a dramatic pause worthy of a group that takes its name from a Shakespearean play. "Just remember that Monday morning when you're back in the real world all this will make absolutely no difference. This is a song about that." The band proceeded to tear through yet another memorable tune with the standout lyric, "The enemy is everywhere." It was the sort of moment that can make you proclaim, "This is my new favorite band." I had another of those moments last March when I saw Jay Reatard perform at the South by Southwest Music Festival in Austin, TX, delivering the short, sharp shock of an incendiary 20-minute garage-punk assault. Unfortunately, whether he's starting to believe the building buzz in anticipation of his first Matador Records release, or he thought he needed to alter the game plan and up the wattage for a festival crowd, the former Jay Lindsey upped the metal quotient in his trio considerably for this early-afternoon gig, and it just didn't match the frenzied intensity of his show a few months ago. Dialing down both the tempos and the volume, Caribou followed with a gorgeous, trance-inducing set of electronic/psychedelic folk music. The precise nature of bandleader Dan Snaith's layered compositions speaks to his background studying mathematics at the University of Toronto, but the gentle drones building to gorgeous climactic swells never failed to seem warm, inviting and very organic. The main-stage acts continued on this soggy Saturday afternoon with Fleet Foxes, a Seattle quintet touring in support of the "baroque harmonic pop jams" on its self-titled Sub Pop debut, a collection of lush and stunningly beautiful folk-rock. In a striking testament to the strength of the band's songs as well as the patience, curiosity and indulgence of the Pitchfork crowd, the vast field full of fans--the festival is sold out at 17,000 paid entrants per day Saturday and Sunday--fell pin-drop silent as the group opened its set with the extended a cappella passages of "Sun Giant," exquisitely layering complex multi-part harmonies. "What a life I lead in the summer," Fleet Foxes harmonized. "What a life I lead when the sun breaks free." Though there was still no sun of the actual sun--or a break in that troublesome 98-percent humidity--the group's 45-minute set was a definite bright spot. The same cannot be said of British rapper Dizzee Rascal, a.k.a. Dylan Mills of East London. The artist's mix of rap, the U.K. "grime" sound, raga and hints of other world rhythms is not without its charms. But his new album "Maths + English" isn't nearly as strong as his 2004 debut "Boy in da Corner," and onstage, he lacked the charisma and intensity to make much of a mark on the festival crowd. Next, at 5 p.m., came the band that, as one of the festival's sponsors put it, many of the crowd had either pegged as the must-to-see or the must-to-avoid: Pitchfork Webzine favorites Vampire Weekend, perhaps the most-buzzed band of 2008. Readers may know I have my problems with this Columbia University-educated, New York-based, Dockers and Top-Siders-sporting preppy quartet (enumerated at length here), and I still find the costume, the contrivance and the lyrical couplets exceedingly annoying. How to put it? It all... just... feels so unnatural, Peter Gabriel, too. Nevertheless, there was no denying the infectious melodic charms of the ultra-clean interweaving guitar leads and kalimba-like keyboard lines, or the rousing good cheer of thousands of kids joining on the "whoa-whoa's" and the "hey hey hey's." And most impressive of all was the deft but powerful, tom-tom-heavy, Soweto by way of the Manhattan subway grooves pounded out by drummer Chris Tomson. If only too-cute-for-his-own-good bandleader Ezra Koenig would decide to sing about something more substantive than Louis Vuitton, Benetton and Cape Cod. The day began to wind to a close with the Brooklyn by way of Minneapolis roots-rockers the Hold Steady, veterans of both the revitalized Lollapalooza and an earlier Pitchfork booking. That's no surprise, since the group's indie/college reworking of blue-collar, shot-and-a-beer Everyman rock (but with literary pretensions) is the perfect big outdoor summer rock fest soundtrack. Think Bruce Springsteen scaled down for the Hideout. Or, if one is inclined to be less kind, John Mellencamp shoe-horned into the Empty Bottle. The arena bombast and bargain-basement Beat aspirations of "Boys and Girls in America" (2006) left me cold, and my verdict is still out on the group's new album, "Stay Positive." But I have to confess that unapologetically nerdy vocalist, lyricist and guitarist Craig Finn and his bandmates finally won me over as a live act with their set of one rah-rah-rousing anthem after another as the sun was beginning to set in Union Park. Some bands, it seems, are made to be heard in a festival setting--though it did take me three festivals to appreciate the Hold Steady's foot-tapping, fist-pumping merits. From those extremely all-American sounds, the mood shifted to something veddy, veddy British for the penultimate main-stage set on Saturday. Former Pulp frontman Jarvis Cocker had yet to perform in Chicago in support of his strong 2006 solo album "Jarvis," and I can't remember the last time the late, lamented Pulp played here. But the skinny but suave singer took the stage with all the swagger, wit and style he's displayed since the Britpop heyday of the early '90s, and he sashayed, shimmied, crooned and wisecracked his way through a strong set of deliciously melodic and delightfully melodramatic pop. The show built to a climax with an encore of a song that Cocker identified as a Chicago hit from the mid-'80s, though he couldn't remember the name, and he didn't identify the artist. (If you can, please let me know.) It sounded like a generic house track, but he brings such personality to everything he does, you'll hear no complaint from me. Pitchfork Day Two ended with the field filled to overflowing for the trancey, droning freak-folk of another big Pitchfork Webzine favorite, the ever-shifting Brooklyn ensemble Animal Collective. The group's moody lightshow seemed to have as much appeal as its free-flowing sounds, which, at their best, recalled Pink Floyd in its "Amazing Pudding" incarnation during the early '70s, circa "Meddle" and "Obscured by Clouds" before the songcraft of "The Dark Side of the Moon." At its worst, during the other half of the set, the group abandoned any hint of rock drive in favor of shuffling, hippies-on-the-bongos-style arrhythmic clatter, and it played like an unfocused, over-indulgent but inexplicably popular indie-hipster version of the Grateful Dead's dreaded "Drums in Space" wank-fests.