Further on from my train of thought in the previous post, I saw Ali, a guitar band from Indonesia at the Field of Heaven in the late afternoon. Apropos that stage, their music is spacey and ethnic, a kind of repetitive drone pattern that instills itself in the spine. The venue was quite crowded with dancing bodies, thus proving that Asian acts can attract sizable crowds. Moreover, the connection is vital. The bassist/spokesperson for the band said it was a “miracle” they had been asked to play in Japan, and before the last song, explained that the Indonesian title translated as “The Sun,” and, I kid you not, when they reached the chorus of the song, the sun actually burst out through the clouds.

Nothing quite as transcendent happened at the White Stage during the Jesus and Mary Chain’s set. When they emerged in the mid-90s, I thought their appeal was that distorted guitar sound, which supposedly launched the shoegaze genre. At the White Stage, the sound was crisp and clear, thus making their songs less distinctive. Distinction was the order of the day for the British pop singer Raye, who was slated just before twilight at the Green Stage. It was a full production, with her fairly large band decked out in black tie and white tuxes. She got the set moving in an agreeable direction and a good portion of the audience was dancing happily. The middle section was given over to her more serious material dealing with abuse and whatnot, which required explanations that I don’t think most of the audience could follow.

The rain abated for a while, so the crowd at the Red Marquee for Fontaines D.C. wasn’t as big as I’d expected, at least not initially. But those who were there seemed to be stone fans. They knew all the songs and reacted wildly to the raw music, the loudest I heard all weekend. 

The rest of the evening I spent at the far end of the festival, which wasn’t so crowded since I assume most people were preparing themselves for Noel Gallagher at the Green Stage. I caught the end portion of the Meters tribute band at Heaven, which brought the funk they promised. Kim Gordon did a blazing show at the White Stage with a band that could have been her grandchildren. They had to do all they could to keep up with her. Speaking of grandchildren, or just children, the famous progeny of the Allman-Betts Band, which followed back at Heaven, pretty much stuck to the country rock of their famous parents, and they came across as a generic jam band rather than the blues-rock powerhouse that made the Allman Brothers so iconic. I mean, there wasn’t even a slide guitarist.

I ended the fest with Turnstile, whose progressive punk just did me in. It was a great four days, but I think it will take longer to recover this year.