When I told someone on the ferry ride over to Randall’s Island that I was most excited to see Fiona Apple perform that night, he responded with a startled, “Whoa, throwback!” I could have said Built to Spill, Modest Mouse, or Beck, and the response could have been the same. Unlike the first day of Governor’s Ball that primarily featured dance music from Passion Pit, Major Lazer, and Santigold, the second day was a breezy time warp to the 90s.
The fact that the festival takes place on an island adds to the fairytale wonderland experience; you’re literally on a piece of land surrounded by water being forced to listen to great music. After taking the ferry and hearing from the same guy that 15-foot mutant worms were threatening the structural integrity of the UN building, we arrived some 25 minutes later to Randall’s island. There were rainbow-colored balloons strung in the air (presumably a nod to the Pride Festival going on that day) and games of croquet and cornhole being played on the lawn, giving it the air of a life-size board game halfway finished.
With no overlapping sets, Governor’s Ball takes all of the decision-making out of choosing who to see on a given day, but they compensate by offering a dozen or so food trucks to choose from. My friend and I settled on Cool Haus, an ice cream truck that served its product in edible wrappers, which was thoroughly disgusting. From what I saw, there seemed to be a steady pattern of migration to the food trucks, then to a show, then skip a show you don’t like that much to go to another food truck, then go to a show…
Cults
Cults, an indie pop band from New York City and the first act I saw, were definitely excited to be playing in their backyard to a heap of sweaty festival-goers. It helped that a lot of Cults songs have a predictable ebb-and-flow structure to them: there can be a noisy, cathartic crescendo where lead singer Madeline Follin’s sweet vocals escalate into a powerful burst of energy, like on “You Know What I Mean,” or the chirping xylophone on “Go Outside” to hold down the lyrics. The sudden waves of energy in between noncommittal swaying made them an early standout. From where I was standing, there still seemed to be a lot of chatter going on, with the more devoted fans raging harder in the first few rows. But then again, it was still only 3 o’ clock and I don’t know if people had gotten into the festival groove quite yet. Well, some people had. I’m sure I still smell like weed.
Built to Spill
I listened to “Carry the Zero” at least 40 times last week getting pumped for their set, but they…well, they were just not having it. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the pressure of performing before Cage the Elephant (ha). But the band seemed lethargic, and in turn, the crowd was likewise tuned out. They had a brief high with “You Were Right” (maybe because most of the lyrics to the song are taken from other, more well-known songs?) before they reverted to their alt-rock apathy. Yeah, they jammed for a bit at the end, but I have no doubt they hightailed it out of there to do…something boring? This show was the biggest letdown of the day.
Cage the Elephant
I had a veggie corndog dipped in jalapeno batter and it was delicious. Also, something about it being the band’s last show of the year and the lead singer losing his voice the night before but still performing despite the wishes of his management. Needless to say, it was the best corndog I’d ever had.
Fiona Apple
Ah, Fiona. The reason I only have 8 dollars to my name now. Let’s just take care of one thing right now: yes, these days Fiona Apple looks more like a Tim Burton character than anything else, but the initial half-hearted concerns of “Oh, my god, is she okay?” or “She’s going to fall over” really started to grate on me. Listen to any one of her songs and you’ll know this woman has immeasurable strength; she can handle herself, and I really don’t think she needs our pity.
Deviating slightly from her choice monochromatic wardrobe of a black maxi dress and combat boots, Fiona wore a bright purple and white skirt that complemented the violet lights during her performance. She played a smattering of songs from each of her albums, including “Daredevil,” “Every Single Night” and “Anything We Want” off her new album, and each was stunning. At the end of “Sleep to Dream,” Fiona stepped away from the microphone and twirled around with her arms spread, a charming childlike gesture belied by her somber lyrics. Yeah, it was hella hot around this time, and she was guzzling water, asking if the crowd was getting any breeze, but even this question elicited an exultant cheer from the crowd, almost as if to say, “F*ck it, we’re just glad you’re here!” No one around me was on their phone or flirting with their neighbor: all eyes were fixed on Fiona and her too-short set. At the end of “Criminal,” instead of saying anything, she sat down in the middle of the stage and waved to the crowd, and thousands of hands waved back.
Explosions in the Sky
The band introduced themselves as, “We’re Explosions in the Sky, and we’re from Texas,” and that’s all they needed, really. Before the festival, I’d wondered how Explosions would be in concert since they have no lyrics. F*cking incredible, as it turns out. The band played “Your Hand in Mine” just as the sun was going down, and it was like a scene out of Friday Night Lights. We were all back in Dillon, Texas, rallying around the Panthers and Coach Taylor. Lyrics are for suckers.
Modest Mouse
I’ll give Modest Mouse the award for “Most Talkative Band,” which they win by default, seeing as everyone else mostly just said “Thank you” after songs. Lead singer Isaac Brock chatted with the audience about playing Metallica’s Orion Fest the day before, and Brock poked fun at the metal crowd, congratulating the Gov Ball audience on actually having jobs and not letting our parents rot away upstairs while we chilled alone in their basement at 40 years old, still jobless.
The banter was all between stellar renditions of crowd favorites like “Bury Me With It,” “Tiny Cities Made of Ashes” and “Dramamine,” a song that seemed to hover in the air even after Modest Mouse stopped playing. For whatever reason, “Dramamine” inspired everyone around me to dance like birds trying to take flight, creating a flock of indie twentysomethings that know their geography pretty damn well. However, there were still a lot of festival-goers that were hearing Modest Mouse as the backdrop to other activities (I was accidentally caught in the line of fire during a game of cornhole trying to make my way to the stage). Usually people gravitate toward the bands at the end of the lineup since they have the biggest followings, and while the crowd was spilling past the sound booth, there were plenty of people who didn’t mind enjoying Modest Mouse from the comfort of their blankets or Food Truck Hill.
Beck
Beck was awesome, from what I saw, at least. It seemed like it was also probably an awesome time to take some ecstasy (there’s no way that the guy violently dancing next to me moved the same way when he was sober), especially to the tunes of Beck. Rain started sprinkling halfway through the show, and I was severely underdressed and an hour away from home, so my friend and I made the executive decision to stay for one more song, that being “Summer Girl,” which seemed to be a lot of people’s exit soundtrack.
The next day, I had one sunburnt shoulder and smelled like a medical marijuana dispensary. All in all, the marks of a great festival experience.
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