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An Adventure in Pitchfork Culture 2011

Tuesday July 26th, 2011

Chicago’s Union Park maxes at around 18,000 concertgoers, and given Pitchfork’s unmistakable position in the music industry, not every buzzing diehard was able to attend this year’s 6th annual self-titled festival. Even if unfortunate followers couldn’t physically sport their deck fashions on festival grounds, Pitchfork’s live stream provided adequate footage of the hourly happenings with front-of-stage, VIP (not to mention air-conditioned) locales. As if that wasn’t enough, everybody and their mothers tapped away at keyboards to digitally cascade semi-biased reviews and tweets about the weekend; including the concert highs, overrated lows, and those random unmentionables.

Since so many opinions radiated the blogosphere preceding, during and following this year’s melodic gathering, it’s not unusual to feel a bit perplexed with its overall outcome. For example, how do I decide which acts sparkled brightest amongst the overload of concert dayglo and which were obscured or forgotten beneath the rare patches of grassy shade? Was OFWGKTA’s shocking explicates enough to steal the show, or was Ariel Pink’s not-so-shocking early dismissal the actual culprit? It’s a bit disorienting to personally believe that AnCo’s set was gratifying when a handful of bloggers are claiming that I was too stoned and sedated to realize its drawbacks. This isn’t to say yours truly was sober as the sun set on Pitchfork’s opening day, but you better believe my half-baked faculties enjoyed AnCo despite cashed pupils and droopy eyelids.

Let’s face it, everybody has their own opinions about the good, bad and ugly performances witnessed at this Pitchfork, but rather than preach my musical preferences to you kind readers, I’d like to pass along my weekend’s observations. Instead of swindling my way into spotty Wi-Fi tents and bottomless Heinekens, this PitchFest newb decided to lend a helping hand in exchange for free, yet limited, access to Chicago’s hipster holiday. Volunteering not only kindles a small fire in my heart, but it also excuses any assumptions of selfishness and undeserved treatment. I should also point out that I sort of felt rewarded to have been a part of the festival’s dirty work even after sacrificing full coverage Pitchfork’s appreciated and “emerging” music. My volunteer duties commenced with a 5-hour stint in the plexi-glass cage marked “Will Call” and ended harassing attendees for proof of their legitimacy to get shitfaced. Here’s a short wrap-up of my weekend and some random footage courtesy of Dan Duffy.

Pitchfork 2011 Culture Wrap:-Up
# of will callers who mistook their mode of ticket delivery: 15 (Friday only)
% of will callers carrying zero forms of identification: 1.2
Temperature within Will Call booth: at least 90 degrees
Sound quality within Will Call trailer: none
Amount of appreciative ticket holders: 44.8% (approx.)

Number of patriotic thongs worn: 1
Best ironic T-shirt: “I can’t afford to be ironic”
Thickest pair of spectacles: 0.7in
# of flashy VIP/Press/Artist passes dangling around sweaty necks: too many to count
% of concertgoers with non-prescription eyewear: 65 (approx.)

% of nearly dead chicks/dudes on each day: 13.6 (cause TBD)
Hula hoopers: at least 6
Hula hoopers with skills: 0
# of infants wearing muffs to protect newborn lobes from unsafe volumes: 3
# of infants wearing muffs who should have been sleeping at home in cribs: 3
# of lost bags of weed found/shared by yours truly: 1
Approx. beer line wait: 8-20 mins.
Time spent not thinking about the heat: 4 mins

All opinions aside, I’ll l admit that Pitchfork is more than just a hipster fest or flagship tactic; it’s a celebration, of course, showcasing a handful of artists deemed worthy enough to receive at least a 7.0 rating on Pitchfork’s sensible scale. It has been tweeted that Pitchfork is only as good as the people you go with, therefore, I owe my small posse (if you will) a HUGE thank-you for getting me through the weekend.