Other than the midway set-up (with various vendors and the free Eli’s BBQ Stage), there was clearly very little about this year's MidPoint Music Festival that resembled any previous festivals under that banner. But when Sunday morning rolled around, I experienced a most familiar feeling, the dichotomy between being a little sad that it was the last day and just a little relief for the same reason. So for all the advertised differences, maybe MidPoint is essentially the same after all.
First up on the Sunday schedule was Alone at 3AM, local purveyors of Heartland Rock with an irresistible Springsteen-meets-the-Wallflowers streak. The quintet filled the YMCA Stage with a jangly Pop atmosphere that displayed its rugged Roots Rock chops as well as a sophisticated songwriting approach, where musical and lyrical complexity is stripped down to the fundamentals and presented without pretense or artifice. Nashville could tart up any of Max Fender's powerful songs with a thick layer of overproduction and a murderer's row of session guns and ride that glitter pony to the top of the Americana or Country charts, but it would be so much sweeter if the band could make it on its own substantial merits.
Alone at 3AM (guitarist/vocalist Fender, keyboardist/vocalist Sarah Davis, guitarist Andy Hittle, bassist Joey Cook, drummer Chris Mueller) has an impressive catalog to choose from at this point, but its most recent album, last year's Show the Blood, is the pinnacle of the band’s work to date. Unsurprisingly, the album's highlight, "I'm Dying," shines just as brightly in the group’s live set. Regardless of the crap time slot the band drew for MidPoint's last day, and the meager crowd it attracted as a result, Alone at 3AM played an arena-rattling set and gave the small but enthusiastic audience way more than their money's worth.
Over on the Skyline Stage, Nashville's Blank Range offered up a smart Roots Rock vibe on a par with Jason Isbell and his former employers, Drive-By Truckers, with the same distinctive swing and sting. At the same time, there's a raw Indie Rock energy that leans in the direction of Bobby Bare Jr., Spoon and Ryan Adams, as typified by the freewheeling "Ziggy Coyote," from its 2013 Phase II EP, and "Scrapin'," the A-side from its 2013 single. It's all leading up to what we can only imagine will be one asskick of a debut full-length.
Down at the Eli's BBQ Stage, Darlene launched into a terrific set of its patented melodic-yet-melancholy Indie/Art Pop, a sound rooted in the innocent Pop of ’60s AM radio, but bristling with the edgy and eccentric immediacy of now. Darlene can start off with Surf Pop naiveté, courtesy of bassist/vocalist Dana Hamblen's quirky Cindy Wilsonesque vocal timbre, and suddenly veer into Dinosaur Jr. territory with a breathtaking stomp of Jane Jordan's fuzz pedal. Drummer Rob Deslongchamps is a perfect foil for Hamblen as both a propulsive beatkeeper and a well-matched harmony vocalist who takes an occasional lead as well. Keyboardist Jeremy Lesniak (special guest or permanent addition?) provided a sweet/tart textural counterpoint to the proceedings, creating swirls of sonic cotton candy or slightly discordant washes of cacophony, whichever the song at hand required. Deslongchamps announced that Darlene's anticipated third release was nearing release, and I think we can all agree that it can't come soon enough.
I made it back to the YMCA Stage just in time to hear Kepi Ghoulie's last song, the anthemic "Are You Passionate," where the former Groovie Ghoulies frontman asks the musical question, "Would you do it if they didn't pay you to?" That is the crux of the biscuit, isn't it, boys and girls? Are you doing what you have to do or are you doing what you love to do? Ghoulie's little Punk/Folk number reminds us, in a compact two minutes and change, that no matter what we do in life — for a living, for a hobby, for the mortgage or for shits and grins — we'd better do it with all the inner drive and desire we can scrape together, because otherwise, we're just pissing into a stiff wind. Thankfully, he boiled it down to the essence; "Be passionate, or don't do it at all." Wise words to live by from one of Punk's great leather-clad seers.
If you were rocking the lots to JJ Grey and Mofro the previous night, you damn well should have been camping out in front of the Skyline Stage to check out The Mobros, the South Carolina trio that presses a lot of the same Soul/Rock buttons as the similarly-christened Mofro. The Mobros' hook is the familial connection; those angelic harmonies are birthright of the brothers Morris (Mobros — get it?), Kelly, who also provides sinewy, soulful guitar and Patrick, who additionally bangs out the beat. The guitar/drums duo format naturally suggests a comparison to the Black Keys and their raw, organic feel inspires thoughts of Dexter Romweber's great twosome Flat Duo Jets, but the brother aspect certainly makes the Everlys a logical reference point. All of this is largely moot, as the Morrises have added bassist Canaan Peeples (and if that's his real name, he probably should have been a hellfire-and-molten-brimstone preacher) to the lineup, so let the power trio yardsticking begin.
The Mobros' set was heavy with tracks from their 2014 debut, Walking with a Different Stride, but there were some unfamiliar tracks in the stack, so a new album could well be lurking in the shadows. The Mobros' set was every bit as hot as the air temperature and every bit as cool as the VIP tent.
A quick stroll through the Midway returned me to the Eli's BBQ Stage to check out Coconut Milk, one of this year's Cincinnati Entertainment Award nominees for Best New Artist. The last time I'd seen them was at the start of the year on the Bogart's stage at the New Artist Showcase, but since then, the band has been pared down to a quartet with the departures of Aaron Disney and Paul O'Moore and the addition of bassist George Byrd. The band's self-described Beach Rock has always translated well in the live context, and while Coconut Milk's depth has lessened slightly, the interplay between Alex Baker's quietly powerful guitar work and Katrina Farmer's intricate keyboard accompaniment is intense and insistent. And even when they gear down, there's still an undercurrent that suggests the band could break loose at a moment's notice. The new rhythm section is well suited to accommodate both ends of the sonic spectrum; Byrd is a malleable bassist who can follow Baker's frenetic lead or lay back and surf the more sedate groove, which makes him the perfect complement to versatile drummer Josh Alsip, his percussive other half.
Alsip mentioned on Friday that Coconut Milk was nearing completion on a new album — they've already released a couple of singles and a pair of EPs — and a new full-length could very well bump the band up to that all important next level.
I wheeled over to the Skyline Stage to catch the last few songs from Amber Arcades, a great Dutch band that gave me the distinct impression of Aimee Mann fronting Cowboy Junkies. And that serious tweak of my musical Spidey sense makes me want to investigate a good deal further.
The Easthills was another band I had previewed for CityBeat’s official MPMF guide and been intrigued by, so I jetted over to the Eli's BBQ Stage to check out the versatile Indiana quintet that has opened for Cheap Trick, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Cracker, Grand Funk Railroad and The Doors' Robby Krieger. The band's most recent album, Fear and Temptation, tells the tale of how the band has managed to secure warm-up slots for such a diverse assemblage of Rock royalty; The Easthills have an incredible sense of Rock history, blending Classic Rock heaviness with a Power Pop melodicism and an Indie Rock punch in the service of smart and engaging lyrics. It struck me at one point during their set that they had the distinct sound of Warren Zevon if he'd been raised just slightly less crazy in the heart of the Midwest, and then fronted a band in the mold of Kings of Leon.
A sure sign that The Easthills has arrived is the number of guests that appear on Fear and Temptation, including REO Speedwagon's Neal Doughty, Georgia Satellites' Rick Richards, Tesla's Frank Hannon and Nada Surf/Guided By Voices guitarist Doug Gillard. Because Gillard was fulfilling his role as member of Nada Surf later in MidPoint's Sunday schedule, he dropped by to lend his guitar skills to "Mothers & Fools," as he did on the album. At one point, guitarist/vocalist Hank Campbell noted they had made up the song they'd just played on the spot, and I have no reason to doubt The Easthills' ability to do such a thing. Thanks, boys, come again anytime.
In a fresh flashback to Amber Arcades, I managed to witness the last three songs by AJJ, the newly minted and more politically sensitive acronym for the never-again-known-as Andrew Jackson Jihad. A similar fate surely awaits The Dirty Shoe Bombers, The Radicalized Lone Wolves and the band with the most seriously unfortunate moniker of all, The Republican Candidates. At any rate, AJJ's Folk/Punk bluster featured an appealing Boomtown Rats Pop undercurrent, an expansive, anthemic and orchestral-without-the-orchestra sonic presence. As above, so below.
After catching a couple of songs by Aubrie Sellers, the daughter of Country superstar Lee Ann Womack, whose stated influences of Led Zeppelin and Neil Young were more than evident in her voluminous and powerful performance, I dropped by the WNKU Stage to check out Vandaveer, yet another band I'd written up and was curious to see live. The band's latest and perhaps best album, The Wild Mercury, had an Ambient Folk atmosphere that reminded me of Sparklehorse, but the combination of frontman Mark Charles Heidinger and vocalist Rose Guerin gave off a Gram/Emmylou vibe, so I was suitably intrigued. Vandaveer certainly didn't disappoint; the mid-tempo quietude of the album is definitely ramped up on stage, particularly in the interplay between Heidinger and Guerin, and any textural delicacy that was created in the studio was reimagined in a slightly more muscular context by guitarist/pedal steeler J. Tom Hnatow. And Vandaveer's powerful heartbeat was provided by drummer Robby Cosenza, who worked his kit the way Gordon Ramsey works the chefs on Hell's Kitchen. Do all of us who witnessed this spectacle of contemporary Folk Rock want to see more? Oh, you bet, and they're just down the road a piece in Lousville, Ky., so that's doable. So do.
One thing was plainly apparent from Josh Ritter's set on the YMCA Stage; he was happier than a pig in shit to be playing in the broiling sun in front of all of us. And he didn't have to say so. The broad smile on his face as he blew through his set with his crack Royal City Band was all the proof anyone needed, not to mention the joy that was emanating from the stacks on stage.
With a catalog of eight studio albums over the past 17 years, it's got to be hard to distill that all down into a ten-song set, but Ritter kept it pretty simple, pulling four songs from his new album, Sermon on the Rocks, another three from 2007's The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter and he even hauled out his breakthrough hit, "Me & Jiggs," a sensation in Ireland, from his 2000 album Golden Age of Radio. He also threw in "Cry Softly," which is either a new song or something from his backlog of unrecorded material. The clear winners in the set were the two most recognizable tracks from Sermon, the Folk anthem "Where the Night Goes" and the Todd Snideresque "Getting Ready to Get Down," but based on the reception he received, Josh Ritter could have picked any ten songs from his or anyone else's catalog and the crowd would still have greeted his performance with ecstatic adulation.
I've been a huge fan of Nada Surf since "Popular" was an MTV staple back in 1997, and I've even interviewed frontman Matthew Caws twice for feature stories along the way, but I had never seen the band live, and I was determined to be right there for my first NS live experience. It was all I could have hoped for.
The quartet did three songs from its great new album, You Know Who You Are, but also went back to 2002’s comeback cult sensation, Let Go, and 2005's The Weight is a Gift, for several songs. Personal high points were the two songs from one of my favorite Nada Surf albums, 2008's Lucky — "Whose Authority" and the moving "See These Bones," which perfectly teed up the appearance of "Popular" just before the end of the set.
A good part of Nada Surf's stage appeal is Matthew Caws' stage banter, which he kept to a minimum because of the shortened length of festival sets. He did explain the origin of "See These Bones," which resulted from a visit to the crypts of Capuchin friars in Rome, where he read the epitaph that forms the chorus of the song. He also noted the break in the heat with a sudden breeze with, "Good things come to those who stand around." And he did his civic duty by calling for everyone to hit the polls this November with a gentle nudge/pitch: "Vote your heart this election, not your neighbor's. Pick the lovely candidate." That we will, Matthew.
I fully expected Frank Turner to be great. I've got four or five of his albums and I love them all, particularly 2013's Tape Deck Heart and its rehab ode/anthem "Recovery" and last year's fantastic Positive Songs for Negative People — anything that amazing in the studio has to be jaw-dropping in concert. Even going in with that expectation firmly in the front of my mind, I was not remotely prepared for just how astonishing Turner and his Sleeping Souls would be when they stormed onto the YMCA Stage.
Turner's background is Punk Rock and he has applied that ethic to his subsequent guerilla Folk attack. His stage persona now is a bit like a heathen preacher at a twisted tent revival service, and his exhortations include a variety of strange and wonderful concepts. For instance, Turner cleared a huge spot in the middle of the crowd just in front of the stage for the express purpose of allowing people to run around in a circle if they so desired. An unusually large number of patrons took Turner up on his offer, even though the temperature was still in the high 80s.
Musically, Turner bristles with the Punk/Folk militancy of Billy Bragg, but taps into the Rock populism of Bruce Springsteen, and it's a match made somewhere between heaven and hell. Turner is no stranger to the Buckeye State; he came through a few months ago with Jason Isbell, he spoke of playing shows in Cleveland and Columbus and beyond and he told an outlandish tale of a drunken dare and getting himself tattooed on the arm with the outline of the state of Ohio (his mother's alleged response was, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" to which Turner replied, "Clearly, you have not been to the great state of Ohio… "), after which he launched into "I Will Not Grow Up." But the obvious high point of Turner's glorious set, besides the appearance of the aforementioned "Recovery," was when he separated the crowd right down the middle, creating a 10-foot gap between the left and right sides of the audience. He then described the similarity between this set-up and Slayer's Wall of Death, where the two sides of the Metal legends' crowd would run into the space and then proceed to beat each other senseless where they met. Turner explained that this would not be happening. Instead, we were to come together in the Wall of Hugs. Turner explicitly stated that we were not to hug someone that we knew, that we had to hug complete strangers. We did, and it was pretty close to a beautiful thing. Sweat was my baptismal immersion, a stranger's hug was my acceptance and dancing and screaming marked my conversion. And the best part of my new religious order was nobody passed a plate to collect money to fund air conditioning for a solid gold doghouse. God bless Frank Turner and the Sleeping Souls, every one.
I hung around to check out a few songs from Houndmouth on the Skyline Stage just to see how the Midwestern Roots/Soul outfit had handled the loss of keyboardist/vocalist Katie Toupin. Based on the E Street sound of the saxophonist and the shoot-out-the-lights version of "Hey Little Hollywood," I would declare Houndmouth officially over the break-up.
Over on the Eli's BBQ Stage, Aloha was giving a sonic demonstration displaying what Brian Eno's Ambient music experiments would sound like if they were reimagined as energetic Indie Pop. I was anxious to see Aloha's MidPoint set this year, based partly on its excellent new album, Little Windows Cut Right Through, but perhaps more because I'd seen them at the old Southgate House when they played Dan McCabe's Lite Brite Festival in 2007. At that point, they reminded me of a gene splice of Radiohead and R.E.M., and those elements were still evident in Aloha's musical DNA, but the Pop markers are even more prevalent than ever before. Aloha is still interested in creating textural sonic environments for their songs to exist within, reinforcing the Radiohead/Eno aspects of its sound, and the quartet continues to weave bits of Steely Dan-flecked Jazz and Genesis-tinged Prog influence into its songs.
But with 2010's Home Acres and now with Little Windows, the band's first new album in six years, Aloha honed in on a fascinating accessibility floating above the atmospherics, not a compromised attempt at commercial success but rather a broadly inclusive Pop edge reminiscent of The New Pornographers. It was that newly uncovered populism that roared from the stage as Aloha played a number of songs from Little Windows, including "Moon Man" and the airily buzzy "Signal Drift" while digging deep into its back catalog, which is an impressive accomplishment considering the band will celebrate its 20th anniversary next year. Hopefully Aloha's next visit will be of the headlining variety and we'll be able to see what they do with an even fuller set.
Band of Horses took the Skyline Stage to an expansively grand introduction that they clearly intended this to be the first volley in the showstopping finale to the first year of the outdoor MidPoint. After the frenzy of the instrumental processional, BOH opened with a couple of mid-tempo numbers, "For Annabelle" and, ironically, "The First Song," both of which showed the band's mastery at creating excitement without volume or histrionics. The atmosphere picked up with the propulsive "NW Apt." and continued with "Casual Party," the song from BOH's new album Why Are You OK? that jacked Jimmy Fallon's adrenaline to stroke levels when they played it on The Tonight Show a couple of weeks ago.
BOH maintained that masterful pacing throughout its 90-minute set, knowing exactly when to accelerate and when to hang back and coast. When the band members cranked it all the way up, they created a sonic wall that would make Donald Trump green with envy, and even when they stepped it down, their quieter moments were cranked to an emotional fever pitch, as evidenced respectively by their blistering cover of Neil Young and Crazy Horse's "Powderfinger" and their heartrending "No One's Gonna Love You."
Sometimes Band of Horses drifts into the Indie Rock stratosphere occupied by The Polyphonic Spree (sans the white-robed toga choir), which came into sharp focus at set's end, with the brilliant trifecta of the melodically powerful "Is There a Ghost," "The Funeral" and the loping electric Folk of "The General Specific." If there was any doubt about Band of Horses' ability to close out both the evening and the festival, they were blown to ash and smoke by the end of their amazing appearance at our first au naturel MidPoint.
Non-Midpoint Sunday B-Sides
For my last night of MidPoint extracurricular activity, I could have wandered out of the last half hour of Band of Horses and hit the nearby MOTR Pub to see Left & Right, a great Post Punk band based in Philadelphia that sounds like buskers with pignose amps working the corner of Pavement Avenue and Built to Spill Boulevard, right in front of the Nirvana outlet store. I could have, except that after three days of Ark-of-the-Covenant-flesh-melting heat and a walking-and-standing regimen that flew in the face of my religious vow to live a sedentary life, thus breaking my fourth commandment ("Thou shalt sit thy ass in a chair and move only for meals and housefires... "), I was gassed. There was nothing left in the tank. Have you ever had one of those dreams where you feel like you're walking through a swamp filled entirely with Karo syrup and rubber cement? I was having that dream at MidPoint, eyes wide open, consciousness on high beam and ready for anything as long as it didn't involve walking or raising my arms or turning my head or excessive blinking or deep breathing. So there would be no MidPoint postscript on Sunday. I went home, pounded three beers, stared at the blinking cursor on my computer for an hour, typed two sentences that were seemingly related to the English language but were incoherent in a Mandarin-in-Cyrillic-translated-to-Klingon kind of way and decided bedrest or perhaps some form of suspended animation was in order. Hey, maybe next year I'll be in better shape and… wait, do you smell medical marijuana?
The point here is that under the new MidPoint format, there's actually more opportunities to see more bands at the festival itself, and even more music to be experienced when the whole shebang goes dark at 11 pm, particularly for those with more stamina and less accumulated calendars than some of us. Give it a try next year. You might be surprised what goes up after MidPoint goes down.
More Sunday Notes
Outside of the Darlene show, I chanced upon Kristin Agee and Jeff Mellott from Us, Today, who were packing up after their opening slot on the Eli's BBQ Stage (which I missed due to an unexpected surplus of errands Sunday morning), along with guitarist/vocalist Jon Lattier from The Almighty Get Down. Kristin mentioned that a new Us, Today album is in the works and likely to be released early next year. In addition, she and Jon, who happens to be her husband, have a new Folk-based side project called the Lovers, and they're readying their debut which should drop before the end of the year. We're looking forward to both, as should you.
I ran into Max Fender and Sarah Davis from Alone at 3AM just inside the entrance to the paid stages and congratulated them on their set, assuring them that the lack of attendance was due to their time slot alone, as all of the early shows on Friday and Saturday had been lightly attended as well. Like every other hard working band in this area, Alone at 3AM busts ass, makes great music and usually for very little reward. That part is kind of up to us; to paraphrase a crime slogan, if you hear something, pay something.
My Class X producer and friend Eddy Mullet was off taking care of best man duties — he'll be making the toast at the upcoming nuptials of 90 Proof Twang guitarist Patrick Lynch — which meant his most music savvy daughter Jess was on her own for Sunday's festivities. I told her on Saturday, if she needed any help to come find me; I ran into her twice and she was doing better than fine on her own without any assistance from an old campaigner like me. Crap, where's the guy with the medical marijuana when you need him?
On my way through the Midway, I ran into Amber Nash and Jordan Neff from Shiny and the Spoon, who were strolling the grounds with Marion, their brand new baby girl. Yes, she is indescribably beautiful — and I'm pretty good with the describey parts of life, that sentence notwithstanding — and yes, newborn babies make me feel mummy-dust old, basically because my children are at an age where they can make decisions about my care and feeding, or lack thereof, if I start acting squirrelly. So to Amber and Jordan, I say congratulations on your parenthood, enjoy this magical time, and watch your back the minute the magic wears off.
At Frank Turner's Wall of Hugs, I was embraced by a guy named Levi, and we struck up a conversation after our hug; I mean, what else are you going to do after a hug? Besides, I'm guessing that Frank kind of had this outcome in mind when he devised this stunt. Anyway, Levi introduced me to his wife Betsy and noted that it was their wedding anniversary. He said that they had seen Frank Turner when he opened for Jason Isbell and had been so impressed that they wanted to see his MidPoint show. We talked music for awhile, then we moved over to the Skyline Stage to see Nada Surf, and continued to chat. Finally we went our separate ways, but I couldn't help but be struck by the fact that a complete stranger from England had rolled into town and made a whole bunch of connections between strangers that might otherwise not ever have interacted. I think we call that making a difference.
On yet another pass through the Midway, I came across the elusive and always entertaining King Slice, who I haven't crossed paths with in much too long a time. He was on the lookout for friends, so we briefly caught up before heading off in different directions. I hoped I'd see him at Band of Horses, but sadly did not. Until the next time, Slice.
Absolutely exhausted, I dropped onto the bench of an unoccupied picnic table and decided I'd watch Band of Horses from there. It wasn't long before Stu showed up and plopped down next to me. If you're keeping score, that's two exhausted old men at the picnic table. Not long after, who should appear at the table next to us but Levi and Betsy; Levi spotted me, and shouted a question that was below the threshold of my hearing — I lost the top end at a Robin Trower concert in 1985 — so I went over to get the clarification. He wanted to know about a band I'd talked about earlier that day, which turned out to be Antibalas, so mystery solved. We shook hands once again, I wished them a happy anniversary and we said good night. A stellar end to a pretty incredible three days of music.
Big thanks and much appreciation have to go to Rick McCarty and his staff for planning, assembling and executing not just this year's festival but in creating an entirely new MidPoint paradigm. An equal amount of praise and gratitude needs to be heaped on the tireless volunteers who have facilitated MidPoint every year of its existence and went the extra mile(s) in making this altogether new structure for MidPoint succeed beyond expectations. There were kinks and bumps along the way — they are inevitable in every venture of this size, and even more so in an inaugural year — but overall, it seems like this format may just work going forward.
There were old fans who stayed away and a fair amount of grumbling about the changes to the festival, and I understand those complaints and frustrations and had even voiced concerns myself. But there were two very important voices, one very near and one from unfathomably far away, that rose above the rest during and about this year's MidPoint. In the middle of her Friday afternoon set, Molly Sullivan noted that this year's festival format had angered some people and that many loyal patrons had elected to skip this altered MidPoint. She said that she understood their disappointment, but she added, "It may be different, but I'm never going to complain about great live music in my city." Amen, sister.
On Sunday, I stopped by Eli's to grab a pulled pork sandwich, then headed to the picnic tables behind the WNKU Stage to eat. Looking for a spot to sit, I noticed MidPoint's most famous fan, Satoru Matsubara, aka Mats, sitting alone at one of the tables. Mats has been coming to MidPoint from his home in Japan for years; he had visited Cincinnati on business and was looking for something to do on his off-time, and his stay coincided with MidPoint. He loved the music and the atmosphere so much that he has made the annual September pilgrimage to Cincinnati ever since.
I asked if I could sit with him and he said yes. I had just about finished my sandwich and he was about to leave to get a drink, but I asked him to stay for a moment so I could ask him a couple of questions before I lost him in the crowd. He nodded his agreement. Mats' command of English is pretty good, a shitload better than my Japanese, and I figured if he did business here, he would get the gist of my queries. I asked him three questions. First up, did you know that the festival's format had changed to this outdoor scheme before you arrived? "Of course, of course," he said in slightly broken but understandable English. Next in line, how do you think this new approach is working out? "Merits and demerits, like everything," he said with a smile. "I miss the (pervious years’) venues. That part was very fun, but I come for the music." And finally, the million-dollar question, will you come back next year? "Absolutely, absolutely," Mats said emphatically. "It is all about the music. This is how it is now. I will come."
So there you have it, poopers of parties. A guy travels halfway around the world every year, spending a chunk of his vacation and an almost inconceivable amount of money to experience MidPoint in Cincinnati, regardless of the form it takes. That's platinum level commitment, my friends, when a good many local music fans would have to step up their game just to reach bronze. Mats will be here next year, and I will be here next year. How about you?
Read reports from MPMF.16's Day 1 here and Day 2 here.
