Boasting a massive heavy-hitter lineup, adult-themed entertainment and drinks galore, Street Scene promises to be ìthe best musical event in California.î Is MTV right? Is this in fact the best musical event in California?
WellÖno. That would be Coachella, only because their emphasis is on the ìmusicî side. What Street Scene offers is an environment all its own, full of parades, raves, drag queens, and yes, music. This yearís lineup leaned heavily on the nostalgic side (rightfully so, since itís primarily a 21 and over event) and featured some exciting new performers along with older ones who are still alive and kicking. Also, there were many performances that were just plain terrible.
Fridayís show started late for this reviewer (almost 4 hours from LA to San Diego, people!). The unfortunate who showed up late missed out on seeing Love with Arthur Lee, truly one of the finest, most overlooked bands of the ë60s. Their massively influential style is known for laying a cool shade of psychedelia over baroque and flamenco influenced arrangements and their album FOREVER CHANGES is widely considered one of the greatest of all time. Good thing I missed them.
The sweet but innocuous sound of the Goo Goo Dolls greeted me upon entry as the band ìtoreî into their hit ìIris.î If possible, the song sounded even drier in person, with frontman Johnny Rzeznik failing to reach those high notes that could add emotion to their tedium. Instead, concertgoers got to hear Rzeznik sound even more bored than they were, while his band tried their hardest to rock out their mostly acoustic-based sound. Thereís nothing wrong with being sensitive, boys, but if you are the Goo Goo Dolls and you are playing Street Scene with a bunch of drunks watching, liven it up a little.
Things werenít looking good at all. The Distillers, the promising punk trio led by Brody Armstrong, who could be Reese Witherspoonís punky alter ego with the voice of Courtney Love, failed to show up on time and thus had little time to play. They managed to give a nice performance of their power-chord romp ìCity of Angelsî and not do much else. Sad, really, since the justified hype surrounding the band couldíve used a memorable performance to back it up.
With the music momentarily taking a backseat, I took the opportunity to sample San Diegoís fine Karl Strauss beer, on sale for a sort of reasonable five bucks a pop. Since it is 21 and over, the first two nights of Street Scene offer the nice bonus for drinkers that they can roam freely with their drinks, which also included tasty but overpriced margaritas. The same goes for smoking, with cigarettes and cigars being sold at the show.
The Pharcyde and Social Distortion put on solid sets side by side at the Citybeat and Ford stages, respectively. The venerable LA punks of Social Distortion made an example of what to do when playing a festival: donít rely too much on hits, donít be afraid to speed things up, donít be afraid to slow things down and play some of your best material. By doing all of the above, Social D showed the youngins how itís done and probably made a number of new fans (including me).
Being half-drunk is the best way to see Ozomatli. The bandís multigenre, multigenerational, bigender appeal had everyone around them dancing, even those who should probably avoid such activity. With about fifteen people onstage and numerous musical styles crammed into short pop songs, the band exuded boundless energy, effortlessly sliding from salsa to jazz to hip-hop within the same songs. It was a tossup to pick a band to see with six stages going at the same time. The best option: Jump from stage to stage until you find something youíre into at the moment and stick with it. Ozomatliís perfect timing and delivery made for a perfect end to the first night of the show.
Confession one about night two of Street Scene: I wasnít there for much of it. I had to go it alone this time as the GUARDIANís press passes didnít get a guest in free and not everyone wants to pay 45 bucks to see 311. This goes hand-in-hand with my second admission about night two of Street Scene: I think it was the worst of the three. But donít take my word for it as the disgustingly large and sweaty crowd proved that some people do, in fact, want to pay 45 bucks to see 311.
The field in front of the Best Buy Stage was literally flooded with people shoving to see the B-52ís, at times making the show difficult to enjoy. After embarking on numerous breaks and questionable musical directions in the past, the pioneering new-wave band is back and determined to keep people having a great time. They did this by primarily playing the hits (ìRoam,î ìYour Own Private Idaho,î etc.) as best they could.
The band sounded somewhat fractured, which is understandable after losing guitarist Ricky Wilson to AIDS and the retirement of singer Cindy Wilson, but the remaining members and new replacements did just fine for their place in the spectrum of music. They havenít released a record of new material in ten years or had a hit in even longer, but armed with their best hits, notably the surf-rocking ìRock Lobsterî from their classic self-titled debut, they had the surprisingly enormous crowd doing the Watussi and sweating it up.
Arrested Development, another band who hasnít had a hit since the early ë90s, also played a decent set with the groundbreaking, positive ìTennesseeî and a cover of Bob Marleyís ìRedemption Songî closing things up. My personal highlight of the set ó overhearing this conversation:
Drunk Girl 1: We just saw Scared Stoopid [AKA Slightly Stoopid] and now weíre gonna go watch The B-52ís [who were still playing at the time].
Drunk Girl 2: What do they sing?
Drunk Girl 1: ìWalk Like an Egyptian!î
First of all, wrong band: Thatís The Bangles! Get your ë80s girl bands right! Then she proceeded to sing the guitar riff of ìHazy Shade of Winter,î which is so not ìWalk Like an Egyptianî and is also by The Bangles and not The B-52ís.
On the nonmusical front, I caught part of a drag show, which started out funny. Who doesnít like seeing an overweight man dressed as a woman lip-synching Beyonceís kick-ass ìCrazy in Loveî? But the jokes wore thin as one drag queen repeatedly sang about her ìpussy,î meaning his/her cat, but actually meaning something else entirely! The pussy gets wet, cold, grumpy, etcÖ
Other enticing diversions included a traveling Brazilian-themed parade which anyone could join, a contortionist who put his body through two tennis rackets and ìravesî where most people just danced and others who were dressed in frocks pretended it was 1998. The Rock 105.3 tent also tossed out beads Mardi Gras style while playing booty-shaking music with girls shaking their booties. Rock ní roll, dude!
Sadly, I left early and missed Kinky, Cypress Hill and The Allman Brothers Band, all of which I really did want to see. Actually, the real reason I left was the crowd, an unfortunate side effect of having such a large festival show.
Sundayís show, which ran from 2 p.m. to 9 p.m. instead of 5 p.m. until midnight, was by far the best musically, which makes sense because itís the only all-ages day. The crowd was still mostly 18 and over with very few families and children, but the drinkers were forced into beer gardens as opposed to the free-for-all of the previous days.
A bit of heat forced many into the shade of the lawn housing the Ford and Best Buy stages. Listening to Macy Gray in the shade wasnít so bad until she went totally insane, shouting things like, ìthis song is dedicated to dick!î The drag show had more tact. Macy Grayís weirdness is what ultimately makes her compelling though and her set relied more on lesser-known songs than hits such as ìI Try.î Whether you find her gravelly-voiced, ë70s funk-influenced sound intriguing or grating, Gray demands attention, which she received from the large crowd amassed in front of the Ford Stage.
Wilcoís set began right as Grayís ended, with fans already poised to the side at the Citybeat stage, waiting for the first guitar strum. Frontman Jeff Tweedy and company delivered with a sonic clamor, adding dramatic tension to the intrinsic prettiness of their carefully arranged alt-country tunes. Opener ìMisunderstoodî got a new treatment with atonal chords, breaking up the original arrangement in the middle of the song, showing an obvious affinity for noisemakers Sonic Youth, with whom they recently toured.
Songs from past releases, such as 2002ís critic favorite YANKEE HOTEL FOXTROT, were spliced with new songs that were noticeably harder rocking and more chaotic. On one song, Tweedy screamed, ìIíve been working on my abs!î with a lovable insanity known to great punk and post-punk bands, not pretty little alt-country ones. The tag no longer suits them. Theyíve learned a thing or two over the years and their performance showed that YANKEE HOTEL FOXTROT was no fluke; this is one of the best bands on the planet.
The last two performances I witnessed were polar opposites: resounding success and utter failure. The failure: the Sex Pistols, one of the first and greatest punk bands. They broke up after only two years together in the ë70s and created one classic album, NEVER MIND THE BOLLOCKS, HEREíS THE SEX PISTOLS. Then comes the reunion tour, minus deceased bassist and accused murderer Sid Vicious, in which the remaining members try to cash in on their enormous influence by playing arena shows they were never meant to play and which they did play extremely badly. Johnny Rottenís voice sounded unbearably awful. Itís depressing to just think about, much less watch.
The members of R.E.M., who have lost none of their youthful zeal in their old age, sat on the other side of the spectrum. The band played hits like ìThe Great Beyond,î older hits like ìLosing My Religion,î which the band was ìhappy to play,î and even older ones like ìDriver 8.î They showcased the new song ìBad Day,î from their upcoming best-of album and played fan favorites and mid-album cuts in a nearly two-hour set that was sure to please both diehard and casual fans. Frontman Michael Stipe was especially chatty, cracking jokes about the strange inflatable men blowing in the wind at the top of structures throughout Street Scene.
And thatís it. Street Scene is a really great time. Itís no Coachella, sure, but that show tries to find the most cutting edge, challenging new bands whereas Street Scene is all about having a good time. I never made it to the Starbucks Jazz Lounge or the Viejas ìfunny moneyî casino, but you canít do it all. Minus the crowds, overpricing and some subpar performances, Street Scene lives up to its reputation as one of Californiaís great yearly music events.
