Another crucial time is between 3 and 5 in the afternoon, since that’s when the audience starts flagging. The general energy level drops precipitously, and you tend to see a lot of people nodding out on the ground in weird positions, or sleeping comfortably in their camp chairs. Speaking of which, when I first started coming to Fuji after it moved permanently to Naeba, nobody brought camp chairs, which were, and still are, nominally prohibited. Then, around 2010, people started bringing them in increasing numbers, causing problems for crowd control purposes. Now they are ubiquitous, and while the organizers say please don’t, they’ve caved and now pretty much allow camp chairs in designated areas, but nobody pays attention. 

Eyedress, a Filipino-American bedroom artist, came smack up against this issue with his 3 pm set at the Red Marquee. When I arrived I expected to see him with a guitar and a drum machine, but he had a full group—two extra guitarists, in fact. Since he’s shy and self-conscious, the sleepiness of the set was only exacerbated. I mean, every single song sounded exactly the same, which is not necessarily true of his recordings. His prominence at festivals is somewhat of a mystery, since he’s probably the indie artist with the most tracks released who has never been reviewed by Pitchfork. Unlike with Glass Beams, there was plenty of room to move at the Red Marquee, but no reason to. 

While waiting for Noname on the same stage, I sauntered over to the Naeba Shokudo stage where a ragtag collective of local musicians were holding forth for nostalgia. I had to admit, it was a wide ranging selection, from the Doors to the Undertones. The only consistent quality was a dedication to hardness. When they did the requisite Beatles song, it was “Helter Skelter.” 

As opposed to both Glass Beams and Eyedress, the audience for Noname was both hip to the artist’s oeuvre and discerning with regard to her presentation. Though she’s been to Japan before, she seemed rather shocked/thrilled at the reaction, which was keyed to her socially conscious lyrics and pronouncements. The audience participated enthusiastically in a singalong that was not easy and chanted along with the artist when she started shouting “Free Palestine!” When she exited the stage after 50 minutes to a huge ovation, she quickly returned, saying “They told me to get my ass back out here,” referring, of course, to her contract, which obviously stated she would play a full hour. I’m sure no one said to her, “Get your ass back out there,” so I wonder what the actual words were.

Noname might have been the highlight of the day, but Beth Gibbons beckoned in a way I couldn’t have imagined. Much of it had to do with something that she had no control over: the weather. Her set started at 7 pm, and the sun had just set. The sky was filled with the kind of roiling clouds you get up here in the mountains, but between them was the deepest blue sky, which set off Gibbons’ mournful, soulful songs so exquisitely. This is the kind of juxtaposition I always long for at Fuji, but it depends on a difficult confluence. Some years ago, I saw Juana Molina perform at the tiny Gypsy Avalon stage during twilight and her special solo music was enhanced immeasurably by a golden sunset behind the mountain. I’ve longed for that combination ever since, and tonight I got it.

When Gibbons, a shy, self-conscious performer who sputtered uncontrollably in her appreciation of the Japanese reaction, finally finished, I dashed off to the White Stage, which, according to an urgent message I received from the promoter, had closed off during the previous performance of Quruli, obviously because too many people showed up. The situation had righted itself by the time I arrived for Sampha, though the field was still packed. It was a great show, but since I had decided to take in the whole of Kraftwerk’s headlining show, I left early in the opposite direction, arriving out of breath but in time for the show, which was, of course, planned and choreographed to the last detail. Sitting on the rise to the south, I couldn’t actually make out the four members of the band, so as far as I was concerned they could have been created by A.I., which sort of makes sense for a band like Kraftwerk, whose celebration of computers is almost old-fashioned by now, but still relevant in a significant way. To show that they weren’t completely man-machines they offered a tribute to Ryuichi Sakamoto, a musician who popularized their aesthetic perhaps more than anyone. 

Nevertheless, Kraftwerk’s brand of utopian techno-pop wasn’t as danceable as it could have been, and so I rushed over to the Red Marquee for 2manydjs, who, in a way, are almost a nostalgia act at this point.  And they delivered, with one insatiable break beat after another, driving the crowd to a frenzy of limbless ecstasy. It’s always the best way to top off your night.