Andre 3000 was mostly right when he said, “You can plan a pretty picnic but you can’t predict the weather.” Except once in a while the weather does exactly what the weatherman says it’s going to, and you end up standing in the middle of Fort York while raindrops the size of gobstoppers whack you over the head. This year’s Rogers Picnic was a rainy, muddy mess that wasn’t much fun to stand through, and although the organizers couldn’t have stopped the intermittent blasts from the heavens, their picnic planning could use some work.
My own transit snafus and a long lineup at the gate meant that The Carps could only be seen and heard from a great distance, but the local duo’s bass-heavy electro-rock managed to get the small crowd already there jumping and waving their arms — no mean feat for the first band of the day. (It can’t have been the wireless ticketing holding them up at the gate — though buying the ticket from my borrowed Rogers phone was fairly easy, on show day the security guard merely looked at my wireless ticket and waved me through, briefly leading me to believe he had barcode scanners in his eyes).
A sizable crowd had materialized for the second, Born Ruffians, but like all bands eight acts down the bill from the headliner, sound problems wreaked havoc on their set, leaving bassist Mitch DeRosier’s microphone completely inaudible and singer/guitarist Luke Lalonde and drummer Steve Hamelin singing duets. Festival sound is dodgy at the best of times, but it’s a bad sign when the sound person doesn’t bother attempting to replace a mic that didn’t work once in a 45-minute performance. [Full disclosure: I am on friendly terms with the Ruffians’ organization, so I’m slightly biased.] They soldiered on and kept the crowd’s attention with a rousing version of “Hummingbird” and their energy level peaked with a set-closing “I Need A Life” — and then the rain started.
Hipster-rap fans who might otherwise have made an effort for Dizzee Rascal’s set were probably lured away by Rock The Bells. Still, all things considered, Dizzee, his hypeman and his DJ did a decent job coaxing a response out of the by-now-soaking crowd with tongue-twisting renditions of “I Luv U,” “Jus’ A Rascal” and other older tracks, pushing his hits to the end for a rugged run through most of his singles discography: “Fix Up Look Sharp,” “Stand Up Tall,” “Flex” and after leaving the stage and returning, current UK number one single, “Dance Wiv Me.” Some have wondered why grime never caught on, but listening to his evolution past the genre’s constraints, it seems obvious now — its sonics are far too grey, harsh and, er, grim to have ever been pop. 3rd Bass would hate “Dance Wiv Me,” but on a day like Sunday, any and all rays of sunshine were more than welcome.
Vampire Weekend’s set was just as pleasant as their record, and maybe a bit more engaging, but it still feels like there’s a missing element that might raise effete little ditties like “Oxford Comma” from decent to actually exciting. There was some significant dancing going on down front, but their set (which included a new song featuring some tidy drum machine programming — so much for Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa) was probably best appreciated on a lawn chair in the beer tent. And I get that Vampire Weekend are the poster boys for neo-preppiness, but lead singer Ezra Koenig’s godawful swim trunks wouldn’t be socially acceptable even by Hamptons standards.
Animal Collective seem like the least festival environment-friendly band on the bill, which was why their mid-show triumph was unexpected. With only Panda Bear and Avey Tare on stage, they made the most of their time by expertly conjuring a primal dance vibe. Tare’s guitar was more of a haze than a strumming presence, and mixed well with Bear’s sampler work as well as his live beating on a minimal drum kit — the inspiration for all those bands at SXSW rocking the tom-tom and sampler combination (Fuck Buttons, High Places, the list goes on) is now laid bare. In one particularly transcendent moment, they sustained a really intense chant accompanied by throbbing single drum hits, and when it peaked, the sky burst open and it started to rain again. Anyone on shrooms at that moment would have had an instant religious conversion, and are probably still wandering around the field looking amazed and seriously disheveled.
After noting that Chromeo were doing almost exactly the same set as they had at the Opera House in March, right down to their cover of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing,” I took a break. My impressions haven’t changed; feel free to read them here.
When Tokyo Police Club came on, the sound problems that started with Born Ruffians came home to roost — the rest of the day’s sets would be marred by a bass-heavy mix that overpowered the other instruments, making Josh Hook’s guitars, Dave Monks’ voice and even Greg Alsop’s drums sound comparatively feeble. (Keyboardist Graham Wright was largely unaffected.) The TPC army didn’t appear to be out in full force — their mid-set rendition of “Tessellate” met with only mild hysteria, and though that and their energetic set-ending run through “Cheer It On” were plenty rousing, they’ve certainly sounded better.
But the day’s true tragedy goes to Cat Power, whose set was felled in three strikes. The absence of keyboardist Gregg Foreman was the first, though that wasn’t quite insurmountable since bassist Erik Papparazzi covered his parts when necessary. Chan Marhshall herself provided the second, though having a hoarse voice from relentless touring is far from her fault. The worst, by far, was the continued horrendousness of the mix, with the grotesque over-amplification of bassist Papparazzi and drummer Jim White’s kick drum drowning the subtleties of Judah Bauer’s restrained guitar work, and Marshall’s delicate voice mostly buried under all of them. I could mention how she tried to bring the likes of “She’s Got You” to life, and achieved some of the simmering tension that she’s capable of delivering on a decent rendition of “Fortunate Son”. But really it was terrible, and it didn’t get better, sabotaging a set that could have been the highlight of the day.
(And while I’m berating the festival staff, who to be fair managed to keep things running on time despite the weather, can we please get rid of the text messages running underneath the performers on the video screens? It’s a huge distraction, unless you would rather be chuckling at the fact that we know what “ceiling cat is watching you” do than straining to hear someone sing their heart out.)
Finally City and Colour came out, and as Dallas Green’s plaintive voice rang out across the field clear as an untroubled sky, you had to wonder whether the sound person had used Cat Power’s set as an excuse to get a burrito. By that point in the day, with darkness having descended and the rain finally let up, much of the crowd had dispersed. But those who stayed were happy to get weepy through a handful of earnest rockers but mostly a lot of Green’s earnest ballads (“The Girl,” “Sometimes (I Wish)”). Canada’s answer to Dashboard Confessional does have a great voice, and if the bunch of soggy devotees who ate up the platitudes in his lyrics were willing to stand in the rain all day to hear them, there must be something to his schtick — I can’t say I didn’t enjoy his campfire songs, though by then my critical faculties had been denuded and ground into dust by the previous eight bands, five separate downpours and two gigantic bouncing Rogers Picnic-branded balls that descended on us like Rover from The Prisoner. After the screens next to the stage displayed one final stab at interactivity, a cell-phone poll to determine the encore, the day trundled to a conclusion with Green delivering a curt solo version of “Comin’ Home,” and it was mildly comical — the MuchMusic-bred star being ordered by phone-wielding masses to play the hit they came to hear. The kids are alright, but I worry about the rest of us.