Pitchfork 2010 - Sunday (Mazlin Edition)

Hey there. My dad asked me to review Sunday’s Pitchfork. I see he already used a Blues Clues joke in his Saturday review. That’s totally my purview, but whatevs.

The Early Bands

I know my Dad wants to see Girls and Beach House and Local Natives, but I need a nap, and Pitchfork still hasn’t updated their lame-o No Re-entry policy, so we’re screwed for a second year in a row. Maybe Pitchfork will wake up and fix this policy, say, by the time I can VOTE!

Surfer Blood

I’m excited to hear the distorted wonders of Surfer Blood, but by the time we roll through the crowds of skeletal mutants wearing really tight pants (What’s up with that? I freaking hate tight clothes), I realize I won’t be getting anywhere near the stage. The entry way is choked off by more of these rail-thin, desiccated, pasty-skinned youths. Is this a music festival or a Twilight convention? Hey-o!

Adding to my frustration is the sound bleed from some band that calls itself Lightning Bolt. Apparently, they like to scream and bang on objects and make a general racket. As a near two-year-old I can honestly say their stuff doesn’t even come close to matching the intensity of one of my tantrums.

All that said, we are able to plant ourselves in the furthest corner of the festival where at least I can hear Surfer Blood blast through “Swim,” a truly awesome song. I like it because it reminds me of the lake. And my little backyard pool. And my bathtub. Clearly, I am a key demo for Surfer Blood.

My Deep Thought

We stroll past several girls wearing the exact same heart-shaped sunglasses as me. I ponder the question: Am I trying to come across as more mature than I really am? Or do these girls just prefer to act like toddlers?

St. Vincent

I don’t know much about her, but St. Vincent makes a pretty good soundtrack for eating raisins and flicking water into Dad’s eye.

Major Lazer

This group is cray-cray. The one dude has some kind of a blonde Mohawk and keeps screaming that Major Lazer is in the house, which confuses me because we are outside. There are Chinese lion/dragon dancers, which must be pretty hot. I mean, it’s a scorcher of a day. I don’t even want to wear my headphones, let alone some heavy, traditional Chinese theatre outfit. Also, on stage there is simulated sex, but I don’t know what that is, and never will, at least until I am 19 and out of the house.

The Balloon

While I am dancing with my Dad, a balloon bops him in the leg. I say “balloon!” So Dad reaches down to grab it for me, but then he gets this funny look on his face and just lets it fly off. This saddens me. I cry out for the balloon repeatedly. I don’t understand why Dad would just let that balloon get away. It’s not like it was an inflated condom or anything, right?

The Late Bands

Sure, yeah, Dad wants to stay all the way to Pavement, but it’s getting close to my bedtime. And I’m sorry, but Malkmus is way overrated.