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Bathroom break photo by Jason Crock

Welcome to Jason Crock's Sunday Roskilde diary; be sure to check out Jason's previous entries-- Saturday, Friday, and Thursday-- and don't miss Brandon Stosuy's festival impressions as well: Saturday, Friday, Thursday, Wednesday.

"When it rains, it pours; when the sun shines, you're still sorta screwed."

After the deluge on Thursday and the threatening skies of the following two days, I'd almost forgotten the sun existed, but it finally shone on the final day of the festival. Mud turned to clay, clay turned to dirt, and dirt turned into huge clouds of dust with the slightest gust of wind. It didn't seem to slow anyone down, however, as most attendees had donned large sunglasses and/or were far too drunk to care.

Surprisingly, crowds at each of the stages were far more sparse than the past three days. Maybe people were finally taking in the extra-musical offerings instead of cowering for cover, or perhaps there just weren't as many big acts on the final day-- coincidence, or riot control?-- but everyone from Wilco to Pelican drew fewer people, the latter delivering some fine synchronized headbanging for the assembled crowd of old metalheads and hipsters (or maybe there was a sale on aviator sunglasses and girl jeans in a tent somewhere, who can say). Same for Spiritualized, who put on a special acoustic set mid-day at the Arena stage to a wide-open front pit section. Every song they played sounded emotionally crushing and exactly the same, with three backup singers, a string section four women deep, and an electric piano all unable to make Jason Pierce's songs, from "Feel So Sad", "Broken Heart", and "Stop Your Crying", sound like much more than a croak and an idle acoustic strum. There were a few notable exceptions to the thinning crowds, and I was lucky enough to catch a couple of them, which are talked about a bit more below.

All the stages closed by midnight except for the Arena, where Justice would play and food and drink would be served until 4 a.m., after which there would be more drinks served at the east and west campsites until 6 a.m. Ain't no party like a Danish party, so long as you're out of Roskilde by 2 p.m. Monday. I suppose I could have kept it going all night, and said something about Justice that would have mentioned hype, blogs, or cocaine, but there wouldn't have been any fireworks. Or apes. More on that in a minute...

Pelican [Odeon Stage; 6 p.m.]

Photo by Jane Lea

Spiritualized (Acoustic Mainlines) [Arena Stage; 6:30 p.m.]



Photo 1 by Thomas Kjær; photo 2 by Jason Crock

The Ark [Arena Stage; 2 p.m.]

Photo by Thomas Kjær

Beirut [Astoria Stage; 2:30 p.m.]


With its risers on either side of the tent, a full bar in the back, elaborate lighting, and gilded metal ceiling sculpture, the Astoria tent was the most comfortable place to catch some the festival's dance and world music acts-- that is, until Beruit packed it completely. The five or six members that make up the multi-instrumental backing band seemed happy enough to be there, but leader Zach Condon was an assured presence on stage, his crooning confident and joyful where I'd previously thought it sometimes tentative and half-hearted on record.

Photos by Jason Crock

Young women up front swooned in the way only accordions and French horns can achieve. Beirut debuted a new yet-to-be recorded song with Condon's melody sparring with the horn lines rather than merely singing interludes between them, part of what makes "Postcards From Italy" and some of the band's newer material sound so exciting. Same goes for when they play it live, as Condon grabbed a ukulele and announced, "more instruments...always a good idea." Not necessarily, but while it's his melodies and not the clutter that's the draw, sometimes you forget that he's 19 or 20 and the confidence will come in time.

Wilco [Arena Stage; 4 p.m.]


Those who loved Wilco when they were "weird" and tuned out on their latest record would do well to see the band live these days. While they did open with a block of affable boogie from their somewhat divisive latest record, Sky Blue Sky, "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" straddled the line between balladry and cacophony in a much more controlled and confident way then I've seen previously, and it's a pleasure to see Nels Cline tear a hole through material like "Handshake Drugs" and "Via Chicago" with his guitar while newer songs like "Walken" waver dangerously around the edges. Their classic-rock is getting fuller and more unpredictable, and their noise is getting more elegant.

Photo 1 by Thomas Kjær; photo 2 by Terje Sørgjerd

There were missteps, like a barroom revamp of "I'm the Man Who Loves You" that was almost salvaged by a terse solo from Jeff Tweedy and an arms-aloft metal pose at the song's beginning from drummer Glenn Kotche. They came around with a charmingly loose run through "Hummingbird" and closing on "Spiders (Kidsmoke)", and Tweedy worked the crowd with conversational banter and a grateful tone. He was one of many artists to blame the alien-cow flag for distracting him, and asked an audience member holding up a vase whether it was the ashes of a friend or relative whose last wish was to see Wilco-- it was apparently what's left of their campsite. He then thanked the Ark, who'd just played Arena stage before them, looked outside, and said "The Ark brought an ark, and we brought a Sky Blue Sky." And I thought Brandon had a monopoly on corny puns this weekend.

Zyklon [Odeon Stage; 4 p.m.]

Photo by Jane Lea

Against Me! [Pavilion Stage; 7 p.m.]

Photos by Jane Lea

The Twilight Sad [Astoria Stage; 8:30 p.m.]

I was delayed from the band's set by a gentlemen insisting on an interview from Brandon and I. We assumed he was with the festival, but turned out to be just some dude with a camerawoman, asking us leading questions about Nephew-- a Danish band we didn't even see-- and the issue of free trade. I might have caught the band's first few songs if this rogue journalist hadn't insisted on shooting Brandon's tats.

That's a shame, because what I caught left me wanting a lot more. Most songs were executed in a terrifyingly loud way by a shyly indifferent band. Their mop-headed guitarist never looks up while he's creating swells of noise; the drummer stays studious while the horn-rimmed bassist wears one of indie-rock's great incredulous looks: "I'm getting paid for this? Really?"

Photos by Jason Crock

Singer James Graham won't even open his eyes, singing either with his back to the crowd or his face to the ceiling or both. After the band's encore, where he beat on the bass drum frantically from down on his knees and then stared at it while the noise reverberated and finally faded, he collected his empty drinks and nodded goodbye as if he was ashamed of throwing a tantrum. Just as their debut has an immediately apparent teenage melodrama, their awkward angst on stage makes it that much more believable.

Basement Jaxx [Orange Stage; 10 p.m.]


Closing the main stage for the festival, it probably would have been enough for the two mad geniuses of Basement Jaxx to ply the hits from behind the decks and call it a night. Had they simply opened with a classic like "Red Alert", which they did, they would have had me right there. What I didn't expect was at least six people on stage at all times, usually more, including two drummers and a horn section, and a series of rappers, dominatrices, and big-throated divas to sing every vocal part their set demanded. Costume changes were necessary for every song, from rose-red three-layer dresses on "Red Alert" to leather catsuits to day-glo club attire for "Get Me Off"-- there's always some distance and maybe a laugh when someone like Diplo samples some dirty dialogue, but having someone sing it with gusto is something else entirely; the crowd got quieter for "Get Me Off" as if they were being confronted somehow. Every weird, inappropriate idea and texture from the group's records became concrete and flesh-- not only the manic dance tracks but the gorgeous electro ballad "Lights Go Down" and the more mechanical experiments, still led by Simon Ratcliffe on guitar out in front, turning his instrument into a controller for any strange and inadvisable noise.

Photos by Jason Crock

Then...there was an ape. An ape on two legs, out on the plank in front of the stage, looking very noble with his arms folded in front of him and wearing a Thriller jacket. Then there was another ape, same jacket, and same stoic stance but mouth a little more open, and then Felix Buxton came out screaming, and I think he scared the Noble Ape away. There was some crawling going on on the plank later-- this was all while "Where's Your Head At?" was playing, by the way. Needless to say, they walked off in triumph and the crowd screamed for more, and for their cries they got a victory lap soundtracked by a thumping salsa beat, and fireworks that burst just above the Orange stage. Fireworks don't sound like much on paper, and I suppose people who go see bands like the Police get these all the time, but it took myself and everyone by surprise, and left us thinking, "Didn't something happen on Thursday? It rained, or something?"

"Lights Go Down"

One noticeable (and refreshing) difference between Roskilde and other big festivals is the lack of division between organizers and the audience. For every band I've seen, the one thing I'll definitely remember is running into one of the organizers who'd greeted us while plowing through Friday's mud, who told me he'd taken an early shift so he could catch Roky Erickson. We hung back in the crowd with all the other eager great unwashed before he nodded and announced he was moving further up-- which was a few rows up closer to the stage, where the fans packed closer and grew rowdier.

Roskilde has some interesting political concerns; the NPO goes out of its way to donate any extra profits from the festival to "humanitarian, cultural or other work for the public good," making all the concessions around the Odeon free-trade products, and devoting a space in the middle of three stages to a very peculiar art installation-- a "cage" where a group of black percussionists played in a cell made of plastic bottles and products meant to symbolize Western goods. I applaud taking the opportunity to say something when you've got a captive international audience, but I'm not sure it got through to anyone-- would no one have told me about the circle of free trade goods, I'd just be happily shoving some falafel in my face, with no notices or signs anywhere nearby.

But despite all the volunteers, donation of profits, and general goodwill, there's still the need for sponsors like Tuborg beer to cover some costs of the festival. Here, however, there's no "Tuborg Stage" or other such obtrusive signage; sponsorship is simply necessary just to make sure everyone gets paid for their efforts. That said, it's a miracle of organization and budget that allows the bands at Roskilde what would be a full set by any other standards, every band playing for at least an hour, usually longer. Again, it makes catching a few songs by a band you're curious about much easier, and fans who've been looking forward to just one or two acts are getting their money's worth, which is really saying something.

There's always a need for some sort of life-changing epiphany when reporting on a massive festival. Look what they've gathered, look what's been accomplished, look at all the people, look at who was playing at 2 p.m...the only revelation with these things is my continued respect for the fans who can withstand them. Roskilde was highly organized, friendly, comfortable as possible, had arguably the most diverse lineup of any international festival, and puts its stages within reasonable proximity without sound bleeding over-- and all this probably made it even more exhausting. Thursday had what they claim is the most rain they've seen in 30 years of putting on the festival, and most festival-goer's tents were washed away in the storm (homeless fans were permitted to crash in the Astoria tent after 4 a.m.). I noticed people smelling like sewage by the second or third day (despite free hot showers), but I didn't see anyone fading until the last day when the sun was actually out. Most bands thanked the crowds for sticking through it and gave out their condolences over the rain, but Basement Jaxx were the only act I saw who asked the crowd to give themselves a hand. I'll end with the same sentiment.