If music is how we color time, the last three days at Pitchfork’s 18th annual music festival were technicolor. The festival’s return to Chicago’s Union Park in the West Loop began on Friday, July 19, under the hot summer sun as dragonflies whirred between a sea of baseball caps and millennial fedoras. Things on Friday really started getting going mid-afternoon, as the crowds began to fill in more, sporting their finest festival attire — clad in flowy pants, graphic tees and sunglasses of every shape and size.
Aussie R&B and hip-hop artist Tkay Maidza took over the Red Stage with a superstar prowess, outfitted in a star-embellished leather skirt and corset with “fame,” emblazoned on the back of her skirt. Maidza got the crowd bouncing as she effortlessly switched from singing to spitting bars without missing a beat, at one point entrancing her largely Gen Z audience further with the call and response of, “how you feelin’?” and “bitch I’m good!”
A short while later, Yaeji brought her house-infused electronic liveliness and a healthy dose of cheeky quirk to the Red Stage alongside two backup dancers. She harnessed the crowd’s elation to full potential, resulting in an all out jounce during “Raingurl.”
As the sun continued to descend toward the western horizon, electronic and experimental R&B multihyphenate Sudan Archives took to the Blue Stage in a stunning yellow, orange and red dotted jumpsuit from Jean Paul Gualtier’s Fall 1995 collection. With a violin strapped to her shoulder and a headset microphone à la Britney Spears, Sudan delivered a mesmerizing performance filled with precision, violin shredding, full-bodied vocal technique and impeccable crowd work. At the start of her set, a group of three Gen X-ers stood in front of me, looking around at each other and gawking at some of Sudan’s more x-rated lyricism, but by the end of her set, the group of skeptics cheered along with just as much enthusiasm as the seasoned fans. With such hypnotizing performance skills, how can she not take home the prize for best set of the day?
To round things out, the Black Pumas took to the Green Stage for a breezy funk-rock set that gathered a healthy-sized crowd of chilled-out festival goers. Cascading through the smooth and funky sounds of soulful rock, lead singer Eric Burton danced across the stage, jumped into the crowd and revved up the crowd for a close out to day one. Burton’s voice slipped out of him and into the speakers like smooth honey as his backup singers brought the set to even greater heights. Not a bad way to cap off day one at all.
On Saturday, promises of pop excellence and folk fantasy were promised and boy, did the lineup deliver. Chicago-based folk singer Kara Jackson played a tranquil set on the Green Stage to a captive crowd that dared not to sing along and rival Jackson’s own voice. The pink and green line CTA trains sped by occasionally, adding the effect of a rustling breeze or crashing waves that added to the drama of the performance. Accompanied by a four person band, Jackson’s incisive poeticism was brought to an emotionally resonant high with the addition of sweeping violin notes, thrumming bass and striking keys.
Just as their name implies, feeble little horse’s set on the Red Stage was just that: lacking strength and quite small in the grand scheme of the day. Lead singer Lydia Slocum seemed scared of her own microphone for the first several songs as guitarists Sebastian Kinsler and Ryan Walchonski carried the band’s set through a flurry of songs, seeming to leave audiences so confused that dead air filled the park as the crowd stood, unsure of whether to clap or not.
The bandmates exchanged devilish grins with each other, almost as if they’d pulled a fast one on security staff and fibbed their way into the festival. “Wait I’m fucking up,” Slocum let out at one point. One possible cause for such a scatterbrained display could have been the possibility of technical issues, as Slocum’s voice was barely audible — or maybe that was just nerves getting the best of her. Despite some promising sounding instrumentals here and there, the group possessed the energy of a nervous bunch of high schoolers who are far too giddy and anxious to focus on delivering a set worth standing in the sun for.
But no matter the short slump in the afternoon, Jessie Ware arrived on the Green Stage in a flowing pink and gold sequined jumpsuit to save the day. In the hour before Ware’s set, seemingly all of the festivals queer attendees made their way to the Green Stage, all looking to find entrance into “The Pearl,” Ware’s invented Studio 54-esque high society for her “Pearlettes.” The singer cascaded through songs such as “That! Feels Good!,” “Pearls” and “What’s Your Pleasure?,” with her high-powered voice in a manner pop newcomers can only dream to emulate one day. Hearing Ware’s seasoned and sultry voice live and in the flesh made moments like “Spotlight,” greater than imaginable. Assisted by a pair of backing dancers, two band members and a set of vocalists, the set delivered maximum theatrics in just under an hour. The best part of it all? When Ware brushed past yours truly as she meandered through the crowd during her cover of Cher’s “Believe.” Safe to say, she’s got best set of Saturday in the bag.
The anxiety-riddled rush from Ware’s set to Carly Rae Jepsen’s saw the festival’s queer audience book it to catch the Canadian queen of pop in all of her bedazzled glory. Leading listeners in with “Psychedelic Switch,” from last summer’s The Loveliest Time, Jepsen reminded longtime fans (and informed newcomers) of just why she deserves that aforementioned title. Jepsen served up an array of songs from across her catalog, spanning from her biggest hit “Call Me Maybe,” to The Loneliest Time deep cut “Go Find Yourself or Whatever.” Her sparkling silver minidress and platinum blonde locks shone bright under the glimmering lights as she kept the evening’s energy soaring after Ware’s funky disco-pop pleasure.
Closing out Saturday night was DJ and member of the xx, Jamie xx. Now, I know what you must be thinking. How could anyone follow up the one-two punch of Jessie Ware and Carly Rae Jepsen?! Truth be told, no one really can. But nonetheless, Jamie xx took to the stage and shook (and I mean, literally shook) the festival’s ground with thick, thudding bass and a masterclass of mixing. For those who tend to steer clear of too much electronic music void of lyrics, out of fear that the sounds will all start to merge together and become indiscernible, the set slipped into that pitfall momentarily. Yet, as I stood across Union Park’s grassy grounds, getting hit with strobes of bright light and letting my eyes unfocus as they stared into the stage’s screen that projected live footage of crowd members dancing with a palpable passion, I could feel the beat begin to seduce me, inviting me into its embrace and tempting me to become lost within it. Had there been a few drinks involved (or whatever the person next to me was sparking up), the beat would have undoubtedly won.
The third and final day of the festival started out with beads of sweat dripping down backs, creases forming around squinting eyes and a plentiful dose of self depreciation. Sitting on the Red Stage with nothing but themselves, their guitar and a bottle of Gatorade, singer-songwriter Joanna Sternberg displayed a kind of duality rare among the likes of typical “sad singers.” Though they may have come out swinging with lines such as, “You said you stayed because you felt bad for me/How sweet of you to call me charity/And maybe part of me did agree,” between songs they joked with the audience, quipped about their fear of bugs and sported the kind of lighthearted banter with the crowd that was special to be a part of.
Pop band MUNA took to the Green Stage as the sun set and brought the crowd along for a supercharged ride through their catalog. Lead singer Katie Gavin catapulted through songs such as “Solid,” “Stayaway” and “Silk Chiffon” with ease, propelling all of them to a finer, more rock-ish quality than the original studio recordings. Even skeptics couldn’t deny how undeniably charming the three-piece group is — complete with some truly impressive shredding from guitarist Josette Maskin. If that’s not enough to claim best set of the day, what is?
The third and final day wrapped up with a soulful two-hitter between Alabama Shakes’ Brittany Howard, who commanded the closing set on the Red Stage with an energy and musicality unlike anyone else on Sunday, and Alanis Morissette, whose cap to the weekend meandered down memory lane with cuts like “Hand In My Pocket” and “You Learn,” without ever feeling like a cheap shot at glamorized ‘90s nostalgia. Morisette’s signature cry sounded just as crisp as 1995’s Jagged Little Pill recordings.
Aside from the expertly curated music of the weekend, perhaps the most impressive thing experienced as a crowd member — and genuine appreciator of the collective catharsis live music can offer — was how few LED phone screens obstructed the crowd’s view throughout the weekend. Maybe it was the energy of the weekend at large — one that seemed to prioritize opening oneself up to the joys of new musical discovery and the sweet reminiscence for the music of seasoned acts. In 2024, it’s rare to see a show without having to peer between a sea of iPhones. Any chance to escape from the experience of a Gen Z mob illuminating a crowd with their luminescent screens is one worth taking. Maybe the hipsters have it figured out after all.
