Sunlight and pavement
Sometimes the moment is about letting everyone else enjoy it.
direct
Last weekend me and three of my best buds spent a Friday night hanging in Mosswood Park. In my years in Oakland, it’s become one of my favorite places to spend idle time. At the corner of Broadway and MacArthur, in the shadow (and reflection) of the Kaiser Permanente building, the grass slopes down into a nice little bowl just below street level, tucked in beneath oaks and redwoods. The lawn sits in direct sunlight nearly all day, and if you’re interested in shade, the frame of trees provides plenty of branches to rest under. Mosswood is a great place to stretch, read, nap, birdwatch, picnic, and also, see live music.
We (with a few thousand strangers / friends / acquaintances) got together in the park for the kickoff to the tenth annual Mosswood Meltdown. The light was stunning from the jump; sunlight was rebounding off the windows of the hospital across the street and landing conveniently at the festival entrance on a stream of attendees, all in their festival-best, looking as camera-ready as they’ll ever be. I was reminded of Peter Funch’s 42nd and Vanderbilt, in which the photographer stood on one streetcorner in New York City during morning commutes across nine years, snapping pictures of the same people on their same routes. In the series, Manhattan skyscrapers provide a convenient bounce light on the crosswalks below. Backlit by the sun and frontlit by its reflection makes everyone look like they’re in a fashion magazine.
Technically I guess our Friday night show was a “pre-party” for Mosswood Meltdown proper, which took place on Saturday and Sunday. The festival famously skews punk, but the official pre-party was clearly targeting an indie-old-head demo. On the bill were three bands you’d be likely to hear on any college station across the land: indie mainstays, Vivian Girls; indie darlings Wednesday; and indie final boss, Pavement.
(Editor’s note: Shout out to Vivian Girls, we missed their opening set, but shout out to Cassie Ramone and Katy Goodman, shout out The Babies and shout out La Sera.)
refracted
When Wednesday put out their spectacular album Bleeds last September, I was goin’ through it. Knowing frontwoman Karly Hartzman had also been goin’ through it, in her case within her own band, with a fellow sad-song-writing legend, provided solace. The album’s singles all pointed toward thematically heartbreaking but undeniably catchy. Come release day, the album was indeed full of rippers and bops, but smack dab in the middle was the single saddest song I’d ever heard. “The Way Love Goes” is a love song so poetic / cutting / sad / true that it manages to convey a relationship’s worth of care and disappointment in just under two minutes. Sparingly, they left it off the setlist.
These songs have carried a lot of weight in my earbuds, context and sadness all tied together within some wonderful tunes. I figured seeing them live would feel cathartic.
Six thirty, John Waters hit the stage to introduce the band (“it’s never midweek when this band’s on stage… they’re hotter than jerking off on a Saturday with a hangover”). Maybe it was just the mushrooms [redacted] that I’d taken but hot damn the setting sunlight looked pristine during the set. We had a cloudless sky, and a long July evening’s worth of daylight scaling down the pine needles of the redwoods on the west side of the park. The band played for an hour, speeding through hits, enforcing safe crowd-surf practices, and encouraging a little sing-a-long participation. When the fellas start belting the choruses, you know we’re having a good time.
Then finally, the crows came. If you’ve ever been in downtown Oakland around sunset, you’ve certainly heard the murders of crows flocking to the trees near Broadway and Grand. During the set closer, “Wasp,” the crow parade commenced above the stage. Hartzman was screaming, crows were screaming, the crowd, screaming. Suddenly nothing about these songs felt like a drag. How can a song be sad when we’re having this much fun?
Time heals and light refracts. Moral of the story I guess is just skip the sad songs from time to time, and take the mushrooms [redacted] when the moment calls to you.
indirect
I’d never actually listened to the headliner before. Easily one of my biggest music blind spots. Demographically speaking, I should be an avid Pavement fan (male / mid 30s / college radio alum / slacker), but for reasons unclear I never got converted. When you miss the boat on a band that was before your time, it feels like you gotta do a load of homework to get up to speed. Some bands I tried to listen to and never really got (Radiohead), some bands I liked but never dove deep (Built to Spill), some bands I wrote off because of that one line in Juno (Sonic Youth). Pavement is a band whose name I know, whose front man I could identify, but I couldn’t tell you one song they sing.
My friends frankly couldn’t believe it. Jim accused me of being a hater; I insisted I was just Pavement-indifferent. Evan and Jake would immediately know the opening chords, turn at me and go c’mon, this is one of their big ones, you definitely know this one and I’d just be like nope ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
As a newbie in the crowd, I was susceptible to that fun bit bands do where they pretend like the song’s over, leading some people to clap, while the real heads know there’s still more song to go. I fell for it twice during one song I later learned was called “Harness Your Hopes.” They immediately followed that up with a cover of “Stairway to Heaven” which I also couldn’t identify, to which Evan rolled his eyes and told me to shut the fuck up (cordially). By then I was laughing to the point of tears. I love my friends.
The Pavement show reminded me a lot of when I saw Dead & Company with these same pals, one year ago. At both, I enjoyed the show most when watching my friends enjoying it. Two bands that mean absolutely nothing to me and mean absolutely everything to them. With the Grateful Dead, it felt like they’d all arrived at fandom together in adulthood spent living in San Francisco. With Pavement, it seems they’d all listened on their own, isolated during formative teenage years, and that they assumed I’d done the same. No music hits like the music you loved when you were young, and it’s way too late for Pavement to get inside my bones like that. But I sure don’t mind tagging along with my friends to something that they love, especially when they’re shining a light on my blind spots.
flash
Snapshots of the Oakland punk scene, as documented in a zine made by my guy Michael over at Underdog Film Lab. (@orangefriendlyfrog on Instagram)
Shout out Jim, Evan, Jake. My indie darlings, my concert cohort, my ticket takers. Always fun seeing a show with you fellas.
Shout out John Waters. Shout out Stephen Malkmus. Shout out all the youngsters going absolutely buck wild during the encore. Shout out my ex’s ex, shout out my ex’s new boo, ran into both of them at the show. That’s Pavement for ya I guess.
Editorial shout out to Sweet Pete, fellow culture critic / fellow old guy. Pete spoke, ISSUES listened, the pdf is back. Too lazy to do the full biblio, but maybe next month. Stay tuned.
Praying for the print edition next!