see these and many other concert photos HERE.
Though I've certainly had reason to play the sorry sort of sourpuss on Siren
in the past - too far, too crowded, too trendy, too hot, too much concrete, too little shade...or shades of green - this year's festival brought with it an unexpected, redeeming quality when it took over Coney Island this past Saturday. Maybe it was because suddenly this thing called summer seemed real. Or perhaps the good company, great access, comfy summer temps, and cheap, cold beer did the trick. But if I had money to wager, I'd say the line up of the day had the most to say. Nothing huge, nothing spectacular (thank Siren sharing a date with the mighty Pitchfork Festival for that). Just diverse, solid, and true, offering taste making bits and pieces for any kind of music fan venturing to NYC's most famous of beaches.
For me, it would be Future of the Left
providing the afternoon's high water mark. For one, they were the first band I managed to drag myself down to the busted old boardwalk to see. To that add my own unfamiliarity with the Welsh band's tunes, coupled with blistering bouts of surge and volatility. Quite simply, Future of the Left lit my appetite for the rest of the day's sets brighter than a Hollywood premier.
Beaming through the salty beads of sweat, I next went toe to toe with early 90's nostalgia, watching Frank Black and Violet Clark do the whole husband/wife whaling together of thing. Though I'll admit there was nothing too miraculous about
, it was nice to see a couple balancing professional musicianship and a relationship all at once. Plus, the songs were fine, and I was fine, and I think everyone else in attendance was fine...and that there's the point, wouldn't you say?
After that a brief visit to witness Brooklyn band A Place to Bury Strangers
brave daylight for what might of been the first time, looking and sounding like themselves without the piercing dark and strobe affects along the way. Well done boys. Then a gaze from afar (it was safer there) on Monotonix
's Israeli, aerial assault, as the trio of lion maimed men took their slapdash cock rock to the people, performing most of their set propped upon the hands of their devoted; a crew to absolutely be commended for the way they held up their favorite band in a time of need.
Finally, it was Built to Spill
that would set the traces of dusk to sounds of their legendary guitar work. Swinging through a set that pulled from a decade+ long catalogue, Doug Martsch and his mountain men delighted the thousands now crushed between semi-busted kiddy rides, and the looming Cyclone, twisting and twirling to the tunes overhead. Sweet redemption Siren Fest. And see you next year. - David Pitz
Future of the Left
A Place To Bury Strangers
Built to Spill