Molly Bergen on August 23rd, 2015

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Featuring: The Jesus and Mary Chain, Cold Cave, Savages, !!! (Chk Chk Chk), The Drums, Melody’s Echo Chamber, La Femme, Mikal Cronin, Kevin Morby, Tennis, Joyce Manor

Day 1 of FYF Fest historically has been a bit of a hot mess. In years previous, the lines stretched all the way around the block with fans stuck for hours. Water has run out. Even more shockingly, beer has run out. It’s generally an every man for himself sort of situation.

Not this year.

This year they may have finally got it together. With only a couple bands dropping out with visa issues, the line situation figured out, the opening of the Sports Arena seats, and the weather behaving itself, it was the smoothest Day 1 in FYF history. We kept waiting for reports of disaster and outrage from Twitter, but they never materialized.

||| Photos by Zane Roessell

||| Also: Saturday, Part II, by Andrew Veeder

Instead, we got a music festival. A good one. Here is the diary of what happened.

2:03 p.m. — The gates open! To greet the crowd, a mariachi band is playing in front of a giant sign that says “FYF” with colorful balloons. One of the onlookers muses, “These guys should be on the main stage.” He’s not wrong.

2:56 p.m. — The bright sun didn’t deter Kevin Morby from wearing his black, wide-brimmed hat or buttoning his shirt all the way to his neck. “Is everyone hot?” He grinned, “That’s good. Sometimes it’s good to be hot.” IS IT? Some of us would have sold our grandmothers for some shade. The bright sun didn’t stop the fans from gathering right in front of the stage. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” The set was filled with 1960s inspired rock ’n’ roll, in the best kind of way. “Harlem River” could have easily been confused for a Doors song. “All My Life” could have been mistaken for a Velvet Underground B-side. These are meant as the highest of compliments.

3:35 p.m. — Found shade miraculously in the far corner of the Lawn stage. Almost immediately two sweaty, half-naked bros crashed the party bringing with them spliffs and whiskey hidden in a boxed water bottle. They were very generous in their offers to share. Conversation was limited to their adoration of electronic music, bragging about reselling their wristbands tomorrow, and demonstrating their handstand skills.

3:55 p.m. — It was deeply gratifying when the bros stopped talking about the genius of Chet Faker and turned around in stunned silence as Mikal Cronin launched into his hit “Weight.” The huge crunchy guitars and blistering drum solos were no match for their argument that “rock ’n’ roll is over.” Rock ’n’ roll is never over.

4:28 p.m. — “This is basically Stereolab, isn’t it?” a man wonders to his friend at the start of La Femme’s set. He’s not wrong. It’s really similar. The intersection between normcore fashion and La Femme fans is huge. It’s just a sea of chino khakis and Hawaiian shirts grooving along to the electronic French pop. This set is chic and suave, not awkward and baggy. It’s very confusing, but not as odd as the long-haired, mustachioed man with an injured arm, short embroidered shorts and white cowboy boots in the corner of the stage. What is that about?

5:02 p.m. — Holy moly, the mustachioed man is in action. Those are some deeply disturbing hip thrusts aimed at the guitarist’s face. The guitarist should sue for sexual assault. Or at least get some serious therapy.

6:05 p.m. — Walked over to Melody’s Echo Chamber at the Lawn stage, who was in the middle of “Bisou Magique.” Lead singer Melody Prochet’s ethereal voice floated over the field in waves of French psych pop. It was gentle, delicate and bland. It’s the kind of music a college girl would play for a boy she was trying to impress to make her seem interesting. It’s worldly! It’s French! Kevin Parker of Tame Impala produced the record! It’s dull, babe.

6:18 p.m. — Shout-out to the girl with a tie on her head grinding on her boyfriend to Melody’s Echo Chamber behind a trashcan. That takes commitment.

7:12 p.m. — In a black jacket embroidered with gold palm trees, The Drums lead singer Jonny Pierce grinned as the crowd and pointed “Hey! That’s my husband!” The crowd erupted in applause. The Drums’ set oscillated between their two records. The first chocked full of good natured, surf-pop and the second slowly stewing in its own pool of brooding darkness. The crowd was never sure if they should be dancing or sulking.

Brian Butler’s sketchbook (Photo by Molly Bergen)

7:29 p.m. — Ran into a tall man who was holding up his sketchbook to the Drums stage and photographing it. Brian Butler is an artist who draws all the bands that he’s seen. His work is really spectacular.

8:07 p.m. — This fried chicken sandwich from Free Range is so wonderful, I might just have another. And another. And perhaps … another.

8:30 p.m. — !!! (Chk Chk Chk) is a motherhumping, disco delight. Nic Offer is a wild man. He’s constantly losing his buttons from his shirt because he’s dancing too hard. This is exactly the kind of dance mania this festival needs. Offer cannot be contained to the stage. Every other song he’s off into the crowd making sure everyone is getting down to his grooves. Even the keyboardist who is on crutches is hopping around. Sorry, Deerhunter. You were not missed tonight.

9:24 p.m. — The Savages have the kind of menace that would make the most hardened crusty punk a little nervous. Clad all in black, they put together a set that would Joy Division proud. Snarling, lead singer Jehnny Beth threatens the crowd. “You stop dancing. We stop playing. I’m watching you.” She is not kidding. The red lights of a passing ambulance lights flickering off the trees add to eerie feeling that something dreadful is about to happen.

9:37 p.m. — “We will play the hits later.” Beth announces. Why tell us this? Also why do bands ask permission to play new songs? We never want to hear them, but we politely always yell “Yeah!” Just play the damn song and the crowd will follow.

10:02 p.m. — Watching a grown man double over and liberate his dinner onto his date’s leg. Too much beer. Too much head banging.

10:36 p.m. — Poor Cold Cave. With Frank Ocean as competition, they had a fighting chance, but with Kanye … everyone is gone. Only about a hundred of their most loyal fans have clustered along the stage. They barely reach the soundboard. Perhaps it would have just been better for them to announce, “C’mon everybody. Let’s all go watch Kanye! We will do this show later.”

10:48 p.m. — The stage is almost pitch black. One can barely tell Cold Cave is even there. There are flocks of birds in a twilight sky as visuals that can be barely made out. This is not a show. This is karaoke in the dark. Dark, synth-heavy dance-pop emanates from the speakers with bitchy undertones. “You give me half the love I need and no more,” lead singer Wesley Eisold complains into the microphone. It’s now abundantly apparent why everyone left to go see Kanye. This is not a party.

11:59 p.m. — The Jesus and The Mary Chain emerge on stage and — bang — the first song right out of the gate is their most famous one, “Just Like Honey.” What a bold move. Don’t they know most people are just going to go home now? Pondering this next to a man with a white tiger head as a backpack. He agrees.

12:35 p.m. — Nope. Everyone is still here. All the dirty rockers who have fled from Kanye and his dreaded auto tune have found refuge in the giant, fuzzy guitars of the Jesus and The Mary Chain. No one is going anywhere.

12:45 a.n. — A drunken college kid complains to his friend,”When are they going to play the one I know? When are they playing the honey song?” You missed it, bro.

1:07 a.m. — Wait, the last Metro train leaves at 1:30 a.m.? RUN! Women and children first! I bet the Metro makes all their money tonight for the whole year.

1:22 a.m. — Solid advice for drug smuggling from some teenagers on the train: They never check your shoes.