It was Saturday, 11:32 A.M. and sunlight bled through the almost closed curtains of our sub-par Vegas hotel room shared with six other people. Everyone was fast asleep (passed out), but I lay wide-eyed and delirious after a lengthy night of sitting around a green semicircle playing blackjack. Sitting up slowly I realized the line between business and pleasure was almost nonexistent when on assignment for C&V. But there was more to this trip than card decks of debauchery. There was music. There was Vegoose. After recovering the rest of the day I headed down to the Sam Boyd Stadium, a true oasis in the Vegas desert. Strewn across the sands rested giant circus tents, carved pumpkins and Halloween revelers trick or treating for some quality music and/or mescaline.
I arrived to the shows pretty damn late. The festival started around noon with Toubab Krewe, but I didn’t get there till mid-set of the Mars Volta around 8. I don’t know much about their music other than a few tracks I heard via iTunes, so don’t send us packages of dead animals when I tell you they sounded like banshees in heat scraping their banshee nails on chalkboards read by younger banshees. How bad were they? You know those Dyson vacuum cleaners that suck 5 times the force of gravity? Well, move over Dyson. You’ve got competition. Instead of harmonies, we got shrieking. There were no notes played here. All to be heard was the melody of an A.C. wall unit tumbling down an old rickety fire escape. Genuine noise.
After visiting the first aid tent to gauze my bleeding ears, I headed over to the largest of the Vegas-themed stages dubbed “Double Down” (the phrase of the weekend). On stage and stealing the night was none other than The Black Crowes. Frontman Chris Robinson may have lost Kate Hudson, but he still owns one of the best rock voices around. The highlight of the set was the soulful, upbeat track “Remedy.” Talk about energy and pure rock and roll. It was good to see the Crowes not wasting their talent on bricks of weed and headlining Vegoose instead.
I decided to end my first night of Vegoose with The Killers. I don’t know if you’ve read the review of their newest release, “Sam’s Town,” and/or heard it yourself, but it’s nothing special. Unfortunately, so was their appearance. I hate standing around to see a band perform the personification of hitting the play button on an iPod. I want stage antics and variations to their songs. Hell, I’ll even take a quality cover as long as it’s not The Cardigans’ “Lovefool.” After a few tracks I returned to the strip, played A.T.M. (best odds in the house), then some more blackjack.
Guster started off my second day of Vegoose. I’m a fan of the Boston-based group, but their live show suffered from the same ailment as The Killers: it was a “just push play performance.” Guster simply strummed verbatim to their albums and looked a tad strung out. There was no difference from this show to the one two years ago at Bonnaroo other than a few new songs from “Ganging Up on the Sun.”
Next, I ventured over to the “Snake Eyes” stage to see the craziest, most strung out woman in music today: Fiona Apple. The girl’s got talent, don’t get me wrong. She pounded those keys better than a well manicured elephant and she did it with enough grace to be considered music. Then the acid kicked in. During every jazzy “jam” the vegan/PETA supporter would flip out, sway back and forth clutching herself, walk around the stage, and even talk to herself while looking skyward. Was she begging for help to God or maybe to Mike the lighting guy in the rafters? Who knows. Below is an exclusive video of her drug-induced paranoia.
Fiona, how about an intervention? Or maybe a boyfriend? You want my number? Actually…I think the digits to a methadone clinic would suit you better.
Amidst the wackiness she put on a solid show. Apple proved she can trip out while performing “Criminal” and “Get Gone” and still turn some heads. Even if those heads were turning to their friends and mouthing, “WTF?”
I needed to kill some time and luckily G. Love and Special Sauce filled that void. Sadly, G. Love suffered from leukodermic dysphoria (he didn’t know he was white) and attempted to do hip-hop with his “own” style of funk. Personally, he didn’t raise any eyebrows. Then, Ben Folds took stage a few feet over and instead of enjoying the scene he complained. The sounds from other shows were interfering and the cold night caused his grand piano to go out of tune. But, he eventually got over it. He did a humorous impromptu number making light of the situation, but I had to move on to better things.
Thus began the greatest show of the entire festival, an acoustic set from Jim James of My Morning Jacket. Let me set the scene. It was nearly pitch black in the “Cabaret Clubs” tent. A large crimson curtain separated hundreds of anxious fans in the packed venue. The curtain drew. Lined across the forefront sat eight eerily lit jack-o-laterns. A few seconds later Jim James and Carl (Something) walked on stage wielding polished axes.
James proclaimed by the end of the show none of the pumpkins would survive. Then, the duo put down their woodsman’s weapons, picked up acoustic guitars and began one of the most ethereal and emotional sets I’ve ever witnessed. James breathed unseen life into several MMJ tracks such as “Gideon” and “Run Thru” by stripping away anything superfluous and projecting raw passion through wailing vocals and robust chords.
Headbanging, a MMJ signature, persisted as James imaginarily outlined every possible geometric shape with his shaggy hair during the many of the minute jams. Eyes closed and mouth agape he didn’t sing lyrics, he lamented, sobbed, and howled them. If you didn’t get misty during “Just One Thing” you probably injected the same stuff Fiona Apple did prior to her set. In addition to natural instruments, James used what appeared to be an electronic lyre. He strummed, manipulated and looped sounds during “Anytime” and closed the show by letting loose whorls of tones to reverberate against the tent’s vinyl walls. Then, as promised, Jim James and partner lifted their axes and began to lay waste to the carved pumpkins (see video) in an explosion of orange fragments and camera flashes. Name another show that ended with two people going all Paul Bunyan on festive fruit-based artwork and I’ll call you a filthy liar. This show was, hands-down, the most mind-blowingly remarkable 90 minutes of the entire weekend.
The honors for the final show of my Vegoose weekend were given to The Roots. Thankfully, the hip-hop/rock group kept the adrenaline levels high with signature songs like “Mellow My Man” and “The Seed.” They pretty much rocked out without their Glocs out. Solid beats from ?uestlove kept the crowd on their feet and going insane. Then things got really funky wild. Known for their live medleys, The Roots didn’t disappoint in covering everything from Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” to Salt n’ Peppa’s “Push It” to MJ’s “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough.” Nutty. I know.
Vegoose proved to be a formidable concert festival. Though lacking in the number of bands and attendees as compared to its bigger brother, Bonnaroo, it definitely equaled in spirit and sheer entertainment from the array of truly talented musicians. A big thanks to Superfly Productions and the folks at Big Hassle for allowing C&V to be a part of an incredible weekend in the Las Vegas desert.
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