Dispatch from Virgin Fest 2007

Education, as we all know, is about the young people. Accordingly, every summer we at The Quick and The ED leave the air-conditioned comforts of our DC offices and go forth into the sweltering heat to take the pulse of America's youth. Last year we went to Lollapalooza in Chicago. This year our destination was closer to home: Virgin Festival 2007, at Baltimore's Pimlico Race Track. Our motto: We sweat and pay $9.00 for beer so you don't have to.

Day One

A rocky start. We're late out of the house and traffic is snarled for miles on I-695. By the time we get onto the track, we've completely missed Fountains of Wayne. What genius put them in the noon slot? If someone's got to play at such an un-rock-and-roll hour, how about someone who sucks, like Incubus? But my spirits are lifted as we emerge from the tunnel onto the infield and "I Want You To Want Me" blasts from the nearby North Stage. Despite the fact that I own no Cheap Trick albums, I'm actually looking forward to the set quite a bit. It's funny--there were surely lots of other bands just as famous back in the day, but only the Trick are here now. Fashions come and go, but great pop hooks last forever.

We wander to the other end of the track, past the de riguer collection of booths manned by One Campaign-type advocacy groups and signs telling us not to feel guilty about the inevitable mountains of garbage the festival will produce, because all the plastic cups are made from corn (really). A Scottish band called--naturally--The Fratellis is up on the South Stage. They're pretty good; I buy the CD at the Virgin Megastore, which is in a mini-tent. When the band talks to the crown between songs, their accents border on Trainspotting-level incomprehensibility, but when they sing, you wouldn't know if they were from America, the U.K., or elsewhere. This is a common phenomenon--why? Does the act of singing naturally flatten out the accent, or does everyone unconsciously mimic the vocalizations of rock bands that came before?

We walk back to see Amy Winehouse, who, defying her media image, appears on-time and relatively sober. Although she seems distracted up close on the big TV screens, she sounds great; highlights include a cover of the Zutons' "Valerie" and the inevitable set-closing "Rehab." We skip Incubus (see above re: sucking) and grab lunch. There's a dance tent off to the side where the audience trends younger and more...frenzied. You can walk across to track and sit in the grandstand, which we do, because by mid-afternoon it is, according to Ad-Rock, "hot as a mofo in this mofo." Truer words, Ad! He and the other Beastie Boys turn in a strong set that more than lives up to expectations; "Sabotage" lets me check one off my mental list of 100 songs to see performed live before I die.

Evening falls and we get close to the stage for The Police. I am, as they used to say, stoked. Synchronicity was the first album I ever bought, during the summer between 7th and 8th grades, and I'd hole up in my room with the headphones on listening to Side 2 (albums had sides then) over and over again. Sadly, the band broke up soon after, so while I've been to several Sting concerts with the attendant lute solos and free-form jazz explorations, I've never seen the original lineup until now. They open strong with "Message in a Bottle," then wander a little, before snapping into a groove about halfway through "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic" and never looking back. "De Do Do Do De Da Da Da" turns out to be much better live than the studio version, and the rest is, well, pretty awesome. Seen through the soft light of nostalgia, sure, but so what? That's what youthful memories are for.

Day Two

Parking is easier today, and we arrive in plenty of time for Regina Spektor. She's one of those artists whose music is very tied up with her persona--in this case, the smart, casually hip girl from the city who'd probably be in med school at Columbia right now if she hadn't taken to her piano lessons instead. I don't know if that's actually who she is or not, but the image worked for me and the other few thousand people who gather by the stage in the early afternoon sun. She walks out smiling, demure and unaccompanied, and sings a capella before moving to the piano for an hour of soulful, intricate numbers including the deceptively catchy "Fidelity." It's a great way to start the day.

Spoon have no persona at all, but make up for it with good set heavy with songs from Gimme Fiction and their excellent new album Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. Highlights: "Don't Make Me a Target," plus "Small Stakes" from Kill the Moonlight. We skip Panic! At the Disco and take a nap by the South Stage as Bad Brains plays with the kind of serenity that only decades as a legend of hardcore punk / reggae fusion can give you. Then we walk back past some kind of professional wrestling exhibition that is either hysterical or disturbing, depending on whether it is or is not performance art.

Next up, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Two takeaways here. First, there aren't very many real rock stars in the world, but Karen O is one of them. She comes onstage looking like a cross between Chrissie Hynde and Cher circa the 1986 Oscars, prowling, prancing, grinning and growling in a way that absolutely bleeds charisma. Second, there are two kinds of live acts. Most--Spoon is a good example--sound more or less like they do recorded, just marginally looser, longer, and louder. A few, however, are transformed in concert to the point that they sound like an entirely different--and much better--band. The Yeah Yeahs Yeahs are the second kind.

Interpol has neither a persona nor a rock star, but they do have an image--stylish, modern, unemotional--that matches their music to an obviously calculated but nonetheless effective degree. That said, it's been a long weekend and their songs start to sound the same. We're on the right side of the stage in front of this ridiculously huge fenced-in "VIP area" that is never more than 10 percent full, since most people are apparently smart enough not to pay extra for the privilege of looking like a zoo animal with more money than sense. It starts to rain, just enough to tamp down the heat, and soon The Smashing Pumpkins hit the stage for the festival's final show.

Billy Corgan has apparently purchased a Stepford bass player to replace D'arcy, but the Pumpkins still rock out to large degree. In the long run, every band, regardless of greatness, reaches a point where it has made all the music it will make that really matters. Corgan knows this, and he's clearly unwilling to go gently into the rock and roll good night of reunion tours and greatest hits sets. So for every stellar version of an older song like "Zero" there was a rushed-through "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" or "the next single" from the new album, Zeitgest. It made for an uneven finish to long, fun weekend--but good for him anyway. Better to fight obsolescence and lose than never fight at all.

All in all, another good research trip -- I'm thinking Austin City Limits next year.