Pitchfork

Jens Lekman photo by Rune Johansen

Welcome to Day 2 of Brandon Stosuy's Roskilde diary. For Day 1 (Wednesday), click here.

To quote 50 Cent, when it rains it pours. When the rain arrives in buckets and you no longer own a dry pair of pants, it's easy to develop a low-level addiction the emergency updates at Roskilde's website, checking to see if it's time to board a ship. It was posted yesterday that "this is the wettest Roskilde Festival ever" and that mud's being "sucked up" by trucks, while hamster-cage woodchips absorb additional moisture. To put the dampness intensity on a more human level: Imagine eating a falafel and realizing your pita's filled-up halfway with rain after four bites.

But I'm not complaining: It's comforting to realize this is historical, that we're not only dodging drunk folks pissing into overloaded puddles, that we're also a part of something huge. Really, it makes everything-- even Willy Wonka-sized lakes of brown-- kind of majestic. Plus the concertgoers are hearty: A middle-aged duo made out-- with vigor, I might add-- during LCD Soundsystem, some guy danced ecstatically in a puddle for Björk, and every now and then groups break out into rousing fight songs.

LCD Soundsystem [Odeon Stage; 7:30 p.m.]

Photo by Terje Sørgjerd

We found a dry spot at the Odeon tent to watch James Murphy. The crowd was excited, folks singing an off-key "Daft Punk Is Playing at My House" and bouncing a beach ball 20 minutes before sound check was complete. Murphy and the gang were announced as the "fathers of punk electro disco rock." Or is that "funk electro disco rock?" Hard to tell once the master cowbell banger starts rocking his fleshier, more on-key version of "Daft Punk". As the set started Murphy was a tad listless-- adjusting speakers, moving monitors, tugging at his shirt-- but he quickly locked into a groove. Certain tracks-- "Us v. Them", "Tribulations", and "North American Scum"-- felt especially weighty due to the weather and hearing them so far from New York. Of course, "All My Friends"'s "If you're worried about the weather/ Then you picked the wrong place to stay" felt tailored for our precipitation-obsessed brains.

It's difficult to tell if it's the same person, or if there are a bunch of these floating around, but someone has an inflatable alien fucking an inflatable cow on the end of a large stick, and kept bobbing it back and forth above the crowd during both the LCD Soundsystem and Matmos sets. Rather perfect for LCD's sweaty entropy. Felt more romantic and hazy during Matmos...

Matmos [Astoria Stage; 8 p.m.]

In the Astoria tent, which is part ad hoc nightclub/part circus ring, Matmos were joined by a guitarist wearing a glow-in-the-dark Bill Cosby sweater for an oscillating, pulsing wash of gorgeous space drone: Multi-tasking Pitchfork contributor Drew Daniel manipulated laptop(s), M.C. Schmidt read from a book ("She leads a double life/ She makes two out of one"), and Cosby bent notes. Rather fitting beneath the silver roofing and blue and red lights lining the walls, a pack of rave kids closed their eyes and made like it was Castlemorton, 1992. The set ended as M.C. Schmidt manipulated a metal (lightning?) rod, transmitting waves of sound throughout the appreciative crowd. I'd been curious to see if they could figure out a way to turn the mud into an instrument... no dice.

Mastodon [Arena Stage; 10:30 p.m.]

Photo by Terje Sørgjerd

By the time Mastodon played, the water was knee-deep. Another illustration: In order to buy a much-needed Tuborg I waded across a puddle, hopped on one foot, then jumped across three wooden pallets. The rowdy Mastodon crowd seemed equally willing to run that boozy obstacle course: The highlight of the Atlanta quartet's tight, loud, but oddly distant and same-sounding set was listening to "Wolf Is Loose", "Sleeping Giant", and "Crystal Skull" and trying to avoid a) a wavering, vision-questing bald guy held precariously aloft and photographed in funny poses by his friends, and b) some dude brandishing a flag on the end of an elastic-seeming poll that bent precariously toward the crowd like a wilting razorblade. It felt like a standoff to see who would create their own blood mountain first, but both made it out unscathed and unscathing.

Ironically, as we bundled back up and left the Mastodon tent, it was no longer raining.

Addendum
I received a kind letter all the way from Massachusetts regarding my comments yesterday that nobody locks up their bikes in Copenhagen. It turns out there is "a small lock on the inside of the spoke." Thanks for the tip! Wonder if this would fly in New York?