Culture

I heard it again. As I stumbled around the Nelsonville Music Festival 2018 grounds, the voice of God came to me clearer than ever. This time I wasn’t trapped in my porta-potty cell. The bright green cathedral ceiling of the toilet tube had been replaced by the black void of a southern Ohio night sky. As I headed toward the source, I tried to come to my senses once again. “What act could this be?” The overwhelming sound had my brain scattershot, looking for answers. This time would be different though. When I got to the mainstage it washed over me: I hadn’t been mishearing. Not this time. I had found the voice of God, and it was The Funk.

Saturday at NMF is alvvays the most hectic. The most people, the most stuff to see, the most heat, it has it all. It’s also the most work and the most stress, but hey who’s complaining? (Me, passive aggressively, right now.) The night-time Saturday block lived up to and exceeded my expectations, and given the tangible satisfaction in the air I don’t mind speaking for everyone in saying that.

Haley Heynderickx kicked off the evening with nostalgic and often somber folky throwbacks. Heynderickx’ often whispery yet robust voice steals the show and it’s clear the up and coming starlet knows what she’s doing. This was made evident in my initial confusion over the seemingly solemn trombone player on stage, who for the first handful of songs stood at attention, trombone slung behind their back awaiting further instructions. “Let them play” the college protestor in me wanted to shout. Little did I know this was all according to plan, and with seemingly perfect timing the sweet sounds of trombone were woven into later songs. Believe or not, sometimes, sometimes, these folks probably know a little more about pacing a performance than I do.

Would you believe me if I told you the heaviest act of the entire fest thus far was only two people? What if I told you it was anchored by an electric cellist? These are all true of Lung, whose porch stage performance shook me to my core. They were the heaviest act, and with no caveats. Not “heaviest cello based act.” Lung brings menace to the stage with a healthy dose of real, genuine anger at the state of the world. The songs I caught often focused thematically on rape culture, with the group at one point singling out rapist Brock Turner (known for- being a rapist and- nothing else). In that moment the energy of the building and booming moment was so focused that, if the universe has any justice, he must’ve felt the band ripping away at his being. Even if just a bit.

I’ll admit my love for Alvvays publically now. There’s something surgical to their approach to writing the catchiest possible dreamy, jangly pop songs. Everything feels like it’s in the perfect place, but in a way that still comes across entirely genuine. The worry with groups that have such a specifically created sound is that they won’t translate live, but the kids from Canada honestly went above and beyond anything I expected. I never realized that I had always assumed there was some sort of effect or filter on singer Molly Rankin’s voice to give it that sweet sentimental glow but indeed her voice just must be magic or something. The only explanation. The group showed of a range of their material from the glossy force-field of shoegaze-y guitars of “In Undertow” to the up tempo bops of “Plimsoll Punks” and the soaring indie ballad “Archie, Marry Me.” At the end of the day it all works as expertly crafted pop, in structure, sound design, lyrics and all. There’s almost alvvays an irrational worry when you see one of the acts you’re fairly familiar with at a big festival that they won’t deliver. Ha! What a silly thought. On the contrary, I was impressed enough to risk my cool guy edgy music writer street cred to profess my attachment to a pop band. While my image may plummet, my heart grew three sizes this day.

Oh yeah, I really wrote that juicy hook of an intro and left you hanging for 600 or so words. Well now I’m here to spread the good word of George Clinton + Parliament Funkadelic. I have some pamphlets if you want them- no? Keep writing? Cool cool. It’s hard to put The Funk in words. Have you listened to P-Funk before? Imagine that but to the nth degree and there’s a giant octopus looming overhead. That’s not a metaphor, I’m sure you’re seeing the pictures right now. Only someone as cool as George Clinton could make main headlining Nelsonville Music Festival seem like another day at the office, with an extended hang-out session of double digit musicians laying down a cavalcade of hit after hit after hit. P-Funk played them all. As that god damn “Maggot Brain” guitar filled every iota of the air an impromptu poetry jam broke out around me. Nelsonville, right? I don’t think anyone stopped smiling the entire time. It’s hard to put into words. I already said that? Shit.

The clock is ticking on Clinton’s final tour, as he’s announced he’s wrapping up in 2019. While I’ll never doubt my newfound Messiah’s gospel, there’s part of me that believes The Funk can never end. See them if you can and get in contact with me right after. I’ll send you your new sacred texts and help you follow the path of The Funk just as near all of southern Ohio did tonight.

– This is embarrassing. In the controlled chaos of The Longest Saturday Ever I managed to lose my keys, phone charger and notebook. I had a great log of a ton of sick band shirts out there but it may be lost to time forever. Also, Nelsonville may be my new home. Any leads on rent?

– The one I do remember holds special meaning to me. While not a band shirt, some blessed soul had on a “Sick Sad World” shirt in reference to MTV’s gem of a show Daria. Back in early 2017 it was an article I wrote about that same show that caught Emily Votaw’s attention and got me this gig in the first place. Maybe this is a small, coincidental detail but in a night I spent a lot of panicking over lost keys (I make myself sound a lot cooler and composed in writing) I was given some comfort that maybe, just maybe, there’s some order to the universe. One more day!