Forecastle Festival returned to Louisville, Friday-Sunday, July 13th-15th.
Last summer, the Sunday main stage midday slot (for any number of reasons, the toughest sell of this festival) was occupied by the late Charles Bradley, who threw every ounce of himself into a set that made even the most lethargic, sunburned, festival-fatigued in his presence rise to meet him. This year, another fantastic scheduling decision brought us Louisville’s own White Reaper, who elicit through vastly different means than Bradley the same visceral compulsion to rise to attention from those in their direct presence. There’s a lot to be said for a band that just enjoys the hell out of what they do.
2017’s The World’s Best American Band (QRO review) honed their craft of power pop meets early punk into it’s sharpest point yet, every track making a fresh, convincing argument to just mash the damn gas pedal. The White Reaper live show has always been a thrill ride, but the narrative of the splendor of youth (all under age 25) falls away when one sees the sheer confidence with which they conduct themselves, never losing the plot, never losing control of the direction of the crowd, the fact the laconic shout of “yall wanna hear a cover” was delivered in the form of Greg goddamn Kihn Band. Seriously. “Judy French”, their closer, is just an immaculate gem of a rock song, restrained and explosive in just the right ways, almost unfairly intoxicating. If you missed it last summer, damn, seek it out and thank me later.
The Ocean Stage of Forecastle resides atop a sand pit, under an interstate bridge. A creative use of space, yes. Easy on the consumer? Hardly. But this setup always surprises in how well it serves as a backdrop for wildly different stylistic acts (Run The Jewels, Slint, Vince Staples and Purity Ring, among others). How can something so utilitarian and brutal also be so intimate? I dunno, it just works.
Khruangbin was the ideal counterpoint to the dopamine assault of White Reaper. The perfect breather. “Pleasant” seems like such a backhanded compliment, but really, that’s how it feels. There’s a friendly ease, a calm with which their intricate grooves wrap around the atmosphere, making you completely aware of their presence without once feeling the impulse to announce themselves. The perfect palate cleanser.
We’re five years and two critically-lauded albums down the road from when “Southeastern” revealed to a wider world the titanic songwriting prowess of Jason Isbell, and a lifetime beyond his three album stint in Drive-By Truckers. I should have something far more current to say about his magnetism and power as a performer at the Mast Stage. But two moments really stuck out to me as what was left of the sun began to barely reveal itself mid-decent to the Indiana side of the Ohio River.
This was the first time I have seen him perform “Cover Me Up” live. The resonance of that song certainly doesn’t really require further analysis at this point. I’ve listened to live cuts several times. Everyone knows when and why the crowd responds. But the weeks leading up to this festival marked three anniversaries of sobriety to people I care about. As a result, I’ve been pondering a lot on the permanence of that fight for sobriety for them, the never-ending nature of that fight, the psychological labor it demands, and the trauma that struggle leaves just beneath the surface. I felt that for every person in the crowd watching this set who felt, who lived every single word of this song. I felt that because Jason Isbell made everyone feel that, not by direct order, but by telling that story with every ounce of the aforementioned feelings that must have existed in him from the second he wrote it. It’s still so real to him because it has to be. Ton of bricks, that one.
It was then that he brought out 2005 DBT ripper “Never Gonna Change”. As far from those days as he is, as completely established as his own entity as he has become, there’s just something really admirable about still coming back to that material just because he loves the fucking songs.
Courtney Barnett brought the curtain down at the Boom Stage amid a cream-colored sunset to an overcast day that invited everyone in, the perfect ambience for her live set, the logical extension of her music, defiantly vulnerable. Those who didn’t queue up an hour early for festival closer Arcade Fire absolutely got the more vital, the more energetic and raw of the two sets, and responded in kind. She closed proceedings with a trio of tracks from 2015’s Sometimes I Just Sit and Think…, culminating with an earth-moving version of “Pedestrian at Best”, a closer that just really selects itself on a setlist, and on this night, probably rendered that stage useless for future events.
This is what the majority of the crowd came through the gates to see, and those people certainly surely got what they came for at the Mast Stage. This set was the Arcade Fire’s stock and trade: high production, energy, precision, and theatrical presence such that their placement as the featured act of the entire weekend was difficult to second-guess.
-words: Jon Psimer
-photos: Matt Simpson
