New American Music Union
Southside Works, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
August 8-9, 2008
Review and photos by Mark Yoshimoto Nemcoff
Thursday, 10:30
P.M. About to take the red-eye from L.A. to Pittsburgh, which of course sounds like either a punishment or the punch line to a dirty joke. I'm on my way to check out the inaugural New American Music Union, organized by American Eagle Outfitters. Chili Pepper Anthony Kiedis is curating the festival and has handpicked the acts: Bob Dylan, the Raconteurs, Gnarls Barkley, Spoon, the Black Keys, the Duke Spirit, Tiny Masters of Today, Black Mountain and electronica duo NASA. The price of admission, a mere $25 a day, comes with a free concert T-shirt and reusable water bottle that can be filled gratis at any of several H2O filling stations. In the age where overpriced and overhyped music festivals have become about as common as a Lindsay Lohan cold sore, NAMU sounds like a refreshing change. This should definitely be interesting.
NAMU — DAY 1
Friday, 4:00
P.M.Kiedis's press conference at American Eagle Outfitters HQ on Hot Metal Street. Being the "curator" of this music festival, it's only fitting for him to face the media. The two guys from NASA and the Black Keys are also here. Neither band makes eye contact with each other for fear of showing weakness. Apparently, Tiny Masters of Today were also scheduled to appear, but can't be there possibly because they didn't finish their homework. When asked why he was chosen as curator of this event Kiedis actually jokes, "Because Dave Matthews wasn't available." The obvious question to Kiedis is if he'll perform at NAMU, and he answers that he hadn't been asked by any of the acts to do so but he'd strongly consider it. He's affable throughout, genuine and funny. The local press gushes because apparently nothing this big ever comes to Pittsburgh. And for a brief moment the city displays its insecurity. Turns out all Pittsburgh ever needed was a hug.
6:10
P.M.The concert stage is in the far corner of a large parking lot in the shadow of American Eagle HQ at Southside Works, which is another of these cookie-cutter, squeaky-clean faux town squares now in fashion from coast to coast. On the five-minute hike from the festival's media resource room is C.C. Chapman, a.k.a. "Mr. Connected", and together we wonder aloud how Dylan will sound, especially since we've both read reports that his voice hasn't been up to snuff. A couple of the other photogs weigh in the same thoughts. We all want him to be great, but know the reality of it. Seeing Dylan now is like visiting a museum installation. Which Bob Zimmerman shows up tomorrow is anybody's guess.
6:30
P.M.Tiny Masters of Today open the festival. Unfortunately, the thin sound and presence of siblings Ivan and Ada feel a bit lost on the massive stage. Gotta hand it to these plucky kids though. While their peers are spanking it to
Guitar Hero and pretending to perform to faux festival audiences, the Tiny Masters are doing it for real. Their noise rock sound harkens a bit of Alan Vega/Suicide, Velvet Underground, and other influences way beyond their tender years. Nonetheless, the crowd eats them up as if they were gumdrops. Though, with their inherent cuteness, it's hard to tell if the audience wouldn't have reacted the same way if someone had just brought out a boxful of kittens. The Tiny Masters's too-short set definitely has its high points, especially during their satisfying renditions of "Hologram World" and the angsty anthem "Stickin' It to the Man." Although the Tiny Masters don't come off as terribly amazing live, they are certainly on the right track — whether that particular track leads to fame and fortune or a stint at Eric Clapton's Promises rehab in Antigua somewhere down the road is anyone's guess. But these two little New Yorkers definitely have their learner's permit to cruise the rock & roll highway, and the attitude to do it with the pedal to the floor. While watching them, it occurs to me that Bob Dylan probably has guitar picks older than either of these two.
7:30
P.M.From noise rock to just noise. As NASA "performs," I'm waiting for something interesting, but all I'm hearing is very generic beat-mixing by two guys with turntables whose matching orange jumpsuits make them look like they just raided the Beastie Boys's garage sale. Theirs is a bewildering act that anyone could easily replicate at home by just browsing song samples in the iTunes music store. The largest crowd reaction comes as two dancing girls painted head to toe in green, clad in silver bathing suits, shimmy out to the stage. This is possibly the worst live act I've ever seen. I start thinking that NASA stands for "Not Actually Saying Anything." This is 30 minutes of my life I'll never get back.
8:30
P.M.Now this is more fucking like it. From the first downbeat, Akron, Ohio's own the Black Keys explode onstage with a heavy sound that parts the hair of everyone in attendance. Patrick Carney's powerful rock drumming is more kinetic than a thermonuclear chain reaction, and Dan Auerbach's guitar is a face-melting machine. Their only mellow moment was a cover of Captain Beefheart's "I'm Glad," the rest of their set just shreds, especially their live version of "Thickfreakness," which harkens back to early Cream. When the Black Keys play, the earth shakes under your feet. For a two-piece, their sound is soulful, loud and chock-full of awesomeness. Bass players, you're on notice. You're not as important as you think you are.
9:15
P.M.We are standing backstage in the pitch-dark photog holding tent, which now has one chair but no lights. I am certain this is some kind of human rights violation and am about to call Amnesty International to complain just as Live Nation Andy tells us we can now go into the photo pit. We obey like sheep. Onstage, Anthony Kiedis appears to a madhouse roar of throaty cheers and tells the pumped-up crowd that he was blown away by the Black Keys and that this must be how it felt seeing Hendrix at Woodstock. Though his analogy is unique, I'm sure there are many who are in complete agreement.
9:30
P.M.
The Roots come out, and almost instantly the smell of sinsemilla fills the air like a low-hanging cloud. There's definitely some funky shit going down onstage as well. It's obvious from the get-go that Hub feels the need to make up for the lack of bass-slinging and displays virtuoso chops, as does Roots cofounder and drummer ?uestlove. Coming on after the Black Keys's tight-as-balls set is tough. As a result, the Roots's performance feels disjointed and more like a big-open funk jam than anything else. Then during "Star" it all suddenly begins to gel, and Black Thought's vocal prowess finally feels like a satisfying counterpoint to what the rest of the band is doing. Then just after the jazzy breakdown it gets messy again. After a long day the crowd is pumped, though; so even a very loose and long jam-filled version of "You Got Me" can't kill their buzz. Their set is over by 11, and my only real disappointment is the fact that nobody on Day 1 has invited Kiedis to join them onstage.
1:15
A.M.A freight train rumbles underneath the window of my room at the Sheraton Station Square hotel. And when the floor actually shakes, I almost feel like I'm back in L.A. for a second. This is possibly the first hotel I can name that should offer a discount for a river-view room.
(Continue)