TVD Live: Pitchfork Music Festival, 7/17

3:07pm: Last day of Pitchfork ’16! Before I head towards the music, I decide check out the House of Vans area. There is only one House of Vans in the U.S. (Brooklyn) but that’s soon to change because one is being built here in Chicago. I’m psyched. All weekend the HoV area was allowing festival goers to build their own working vinyl turntable from scratch…FREE. Super cool.

3:37pm: Kamasi Washington is a whiz on the tenor sax—perhaps even more of an arrangement whiz. I have been listening to more and more of his music in recent months so his set was a must-see for me. He’s not disappointing, nor is his band, the West Coast Get Down. He is the present—and future—of jazz. It’s just an amazing, multilayered wall of sound hitting the audience.

3:47pm: Holy hell it’s hot today. But the sweat is worth it because Kamasi’s father, Rickey Washington, joins the band for “Cherokee.” He delivers a killer sax solo.

3:58pm: I head to the VIP area to cool off in the shade and I discover the Twin Peaks guys slinging beers to give the volunteers a break. Jack Dolan (bassist, vocals) has the largest hickey I’ve ever seen on his neck. Well done, sir.

KAMASI WASHINGTON

TWIN PEAKS, YOUR BARTENDERS

4:56pm: Holy Ghost! is playing their blend of disco, pop, and electronic tunes at the Green Stage and the crowd is inspired as a result. So inspired, in fact, that the dance party is the largest of the weekend. I’m on the lawn for this, also letting loose.

5:01pm: I’m noticing A LOT of mom jeans shorts—or should I say Mom jorts —today. This look belongs back in the 1980s. #hottake

HOLY GHOST!

5:19pm: A fan behind me is screaming at Alan Palomo (better known as Neon Indian): “God bless you! You have a beautiful smile.” We get to see that smile before he dives into his first song, “Dear Skorpio Magazine.” Alan’s smile turns into a serious, almost angry face when he sings. He has a new confidence about him since I last saw him.

5:47pm: Amazing shirt spotting: “La Croix is for White People.”

NEON INDIAN

6:04pm: Word on the street is that there was a flash mob during Holy Ghost!’s set. I’m seriously devastated I missed it.

6:27pm: Jeremih is lateeeee.

6:53pm: No surprise here that the Blue Stage timing is all off. Thundercat’s set is pushed back 30 minutes so I decide to take a walk through Chirp Record Fair and Flagstock Poster Convention. (Later, I will miss his set entirely and go into a deep, dark depression until I realize that I have the ability to catch him live next time he’s in town.)

7:02pm: Finally! A Chance the Rapper cameo! We’ve only been waiting ALL WEEKEND to see him. Joining Jeremih, who is celebrating his actual birthday (cue: “Birthday Sex”), the two Chicagoans bust out “No Problems” and “Angels” and the crowd goes apeshit.

7:22pm: The couples sloppily making out around me pause for a moment when Jeremih brings his Mom out on stage. We learn that they share a birthday and he closes out his set slow dancing with him Mom to R Kelly’s “Step in the Name of Love.”

JEREMIH

7:40pm: Screaming, sobbing fans shriek around me as Miguel takes the stage. He’s sexy and he knows it. He’s hitting all of the high notes while simultaneously winking, lip biting, thrusting, twirling, and leaping across the stage. I’m waiting for a bra to hit him in the face.

MIGUEL

9:15pm: Everything is an exhausted end-of-the-festival-weekend blur until now. I’m sitting in the grass with some of my fellow photographers having one final beer before parting ways. FKA Twigs closed out Pitchfork with a gorgeous set that was more performance art than concert. She gives me full body chills every time I see her. Her artistry, which seems to increase with every live show, is off-the-charts. Look out, Björk.

FKA TWIGS

9:30pm: Final reflections. Ultimately Pitchfork has flaws as any fest does, but it is Chicago’s best and one of the best period. And I think the reason for that is because they stand for art and innovation. High art. Yes, it can be pretentious at times, but the quality of musicians that they book for their festivals (aside from Chicago there’s Pitchfork Paris in the fall) cannot be denied.

This was perhaps the most under-hyped year of this festival ever, but I am walking away with a list of new albums to grab at my local record store, as well as deep feelings of pride and hope in our local music scene. This was Chicago’s year at Pitchfork. And the music is alive and well here.

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