Staff Editor on August 29th, 2022

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By JEFF MILLER

It was a little dustier, a little breezier and full of a lot more people in Strokes gear than Day 1, but Sunday at the This Ain’t No Picnic festival continued the narrative presented by the first: This was an indie-rock festival bridging the gap between generations, with newer acts like the punky post-harcore crew Turnstile and ascendant star Phoebe Bridgers nearly as big a draw as the top-lined New York fivesome that opened the floodgates for indie-rock in the early Aughts.

||| ■ See our Day 1 review and photo gallery

The fest’s footprint proved to be more of an obstacle on Day 2, especially as it got darker: A 10-minute walk between stages meant that there were some tough choices to make, but plenty of good music to catch every time you raised the number on your phone’s step-counter. Here’s some of what we caught:

IT’S A WIDE, RAD WORLD

Unquestionably the highlight of the sunlight hours (and one of the highlights of the fest as a whole) was Nigerian songwriter Mdou Moctar, whose drony guitar shreds are inspired both by traditional Tuarag music and classic-rock guitar gods like Jimi Hendrix. Moctar’s story is fascinating, too — he gained acclaim through a shadow-network of phone-card traders. Jammy, energetic, cathartic, and honest, this was music for music’s sake, no matter the language in which it was sung.

THE LADY KILLERS

The women-led British scoff-rock duo Wet Leg started out this year as one of the most-hyped indie bands in recent memory. When their name appeared on the TANP lineup it seemed like quite a get, especially since Coachella had somehow missed the boat. At this point, though, it’s clear that “Chaise Lounge” isn’t the song of the summer some industry people were hoping for (to be fair, no one saw “Running Up That Hill” coming from 30 years ago.) It’s too bad. There’s a retro wave rolling right now, and in 1995 Wet Leg would have hat a hit at least on par with the Elasticas and Veruca Salts of the world. Today they seem content with cult status, though. They grinned widely as the whole audience answered “what?” to the call and response “excuse me” chant in the song.

LOCAL HERO

Bridgers’ rise to near-headliner status post-lockdown from her early days playing the songwriter circuit has been inspiring to watch, and seeing her play her biggest hometown show ever (“about eight minutes from my house,” she said) made it even more special. Bridgers told a story about learning to drive in the parking lot at the Rose Bowl before dedicating a song to her father, who was in the audience. It was just one moment of sweetness in a set full of them, including an invite to Wet Leg to join Bridgers on the set-closing “I Know the End.”

YOUNG PUNKS DIE HARD

The scheduling back-to-back of IDLES and Turnstile, the two most-hyped post-hardcore punk bands in recent memory, was inspired; having them play opposite sides of the field rather than on the same stage was not. Unsurprisingly, the crowd moved en masse from one end to the other to try to get a prime spot for both acts, causing the biggest how-fast-can-you-cross headache of the day. IDLES frontman Joe Talbot may be the most gregarious angry frontman in the history of rock. He comes across as gruff and mean and intense, and then says things in a loud, gruff, mean voice like “ARE YOU READY TO LOOK OUT FOR EACH OTHER??” It’s absolutely charming. That said, if you did catch both bands’ sets in their entirety you missed one of the day’s great highlights: Sparks, the veteran act finally getting their due for bizzaro, brilliant songwriting that somehow bridges the gap between They Might Be Giants, Queen and Frank Zappa, playing a brilliantly eclectic set to an enamored crowd that definitely included some new converts.

THEY BE STROKIN’

The main draw of the day (and, judging by the number of shirts worn by fans, the weekend overall) was the Strokes, who also were the only band allowed to have their full stage production — a good thing, since the pyramid-shaped lighting rig distracted from the fact that they’re not (and never have been) the most dynamic live performers out there. The NYC fivesome gets major points for still having the same lineup they broke through with in the early Aughts. To many kids in the audience, this is the prime example of what a rock band should be, and they delivered in the same shambolic way they have for two decades, with one large caveat: They didn’t play “Last Nite,” unquestionably their biggest hit and one of the signature songs for the micro-generation of millennials watching their heroes. Looking at setlists from their recent past, they haven’t disowned the song at all, and they ran through other hits like “Reptilia” and “Someday” with the passive, we-could-give-a-shit-or-could-we verve that’s defined them for their whole career. It’s too bad, since the die-hards were fully sated with deep cuts, leaving more passive fans wanting as they made the long trek back to their cars.

Photos courtesy of This Ain’t No Picnic