Ass Chill in Asheville (Moogfest)

Day One (Chromeo, Moby, Flying Lotus, TV on the Radio, Araabmuzik)

Traffic struggles getting out the Triangle area meant Little Dragon and Tangerine Dream were an early scratch from the schedule. As the long road unwound in front of us, we watched the temperature drop into the upper 30's - certain trouble for those of us who planned on being a White T-Shirt for Halloween.

CHROMEO. Even though we were unfashionably late, we arrived just in time for a blistering set from Chromeo.  The transition from cubicle cuties to icicle ice cubes wasn’t easy for anybody; Chromeo wasn’t able to play the entire length of their set. But holy f**k did they do their damnedest to melt the crowd.  Not only did they set an example for the rest of the outdoor performers to match, they left little doubt that Moogfest was meant to burn and we were meant to be the ins(pyre)d.

RecycledOrphan: Chromeo’s Gangsta sounded like orgasm poured into the hot mouth of a horny dragon.

mackensy: Chromeo sez #moogfest is "gangsta" for hanging in the rain for the whole show. I'm inclined to agree. #what

www.brooklynvegan.com

MOBY. After Chromeo, we headed to the Asheville Civic Center for some warmth and to join Moogfest’s Moby movement. During the fifteen minute walk to the Civic Center there were several discussions topics to choose from:   

1. What are some of the benefits of hypothermia?
2. If we set the city on fire, would they rename it Ash Ville?
3. Is that an icicle under that wizard’s robe or is he just keeping Moby’s microphone warm?

Moby put together the perfect performance for the time and place. The crowd left pleased, and I was surprised to have never experienced an “Oh, Moby, what are you doing?” moment.

codynapier: Moby was surprisingly awesome now TV on the radio #moogfest

TV ON THE RADIO. The night ended with TV on the Radio. They were tuned in to the right frequency and put on a solid performance that finished strong. I thought their best song was "Will Do" but that is probably survivor's bias, since I killed everyone who doesn't think that is their best song.

AARABMUSIK. I wasn’t able to make it over to Aarabmuzik that night, but by all accounts he knew how to blast off without any support from NASA, diet coke, or Mentos.

veryanal: The 6 minutes of Araabmuzik I saw might've been Day 1's best. Blistering. #moogfest

We headed ten minutes out of downtown Asheville into Tipi Camp. The owners met us with flashlights and hugs, informing us that we were the last visitors of the season. Given the choice between an uninsulated tipi or an uninsulated shed, I chose the shed and a long night of fumbling through fond memories, hoping for something – anything –  to warm me up. I haven’t consulted Urban Dictionary, but I believe that sleeping in a freezing shed when there are tipi's available is the exact opposite of Gansta.

Day Two (The Naked and Famous, SBTRKT, Twin Shadow, Toro y Moi, STS9)

What. A. Day. !. The incredible lineup and a solar sunstorm (approx. 5 minutes of weak daylight) made day two by far the best day at Moogfest.

THE NAKED AND FAMOUS. I experienced my first taste of Asheville’s acclaimed yum-yum scene with a Jimmy the Greek burrito from the Lucky Otter for lunch. Stomachs satisfied, our “clothed and unknown” group went to see “The Naked and Famous.” Performing outdoors, they cut electric ribbons through the air with steely accuracy. When they let loose it was an incredible array of lights and noise, spark and pattern. The Naked and Famous were gracious and excited; they seemed genuine in their thanking both the crowd and the festival for an amazing event. That said, I was glad to get out of the cold and head to the Orange Peel for what turned out to be the best back-to-back performances of the weekend.

RecycledOrphan: Slipped into Orange Peel for Twin Shadow y Toro y Moi. Place looks seductive.

TWIN SHADOW. Twin Shadow was a pleasant surprise and one of my weekend favorites. It was their last show after a year long tour, and they left it all onstage except their clothes. The lead singer, George Lewis Jr., was instantly captivating, stepping out of the shadows and up to the mic with a chuckle-worthy cowboy hat. Then the spurs hit, and Twin Shadow dug a hole in the floor and invited us all to jump in. The band’s showmanship was flawless. Just when I was wondering when and where the drummer would be featured, the lights highlighted the snares and he went brazen on every bronze disc he could find. Then, though seemingly impossible at that point, the pace escalated and Twin Shadow finished on a strong note with Castles in the Snow.

http://sidewalkhustle.com/twin-shadow-on-dirty-laundry/

TORO Y MOI. Though previously undiagnosed, Drs. Toro y Moi helped me discover on Saturday night that I “suffer” from Deep Vein Thrumbosis. They unlocked this secret during their enrapturing show at the Orange Peel. The energy and sound they produced is what I imagine fueled all VW vans in the 70’s. Want to know what cool kids acted like when our parents were our age? Just watch Toro y Moi. They tossed their bassist upfront and center for the entire set, unapologetically indicating to the crowd, “This guy is the important one. Don’t take your eyes off of him.” He let his hair hang over his eyes as he stared at the ground, fingers flying like lotuses over amper waves of gain. He never looked up; we never looked away.

brianyeazel: "@RecycledOrphan: Toro y Moi uses buttered microphones, sugared instruments. Audacity. #moogfest" Always thought of it as a tamed veracity.

Day Three (M83, Childish Gambino, Neon Indian, Passion Pit)

The final day featured several great acts. After a lamb burger at Boca on Lexington Ave., it was time for the much-anticipated M83.

M83. After “Midnight City,” the mood was subdued, almost relaxing. After being lulled into a false sense of serenity, the Claritin pumping through the recycled air finally hit home; the volume and pace intensified, and a bright filter overlaid the scene. Anthony Gonzalez knelt at the front of the stage and channeled the Unibomber, piping explosion through wires without remorse. Best finale of the weekend.

RecycledOrphan: M83 blitzed the crowd by bursting through a squelching, taut finish line tape. What a finale.

NEON INDIAN. CHILDISH GAMBINO. I stayed at the Civic Center for Neon Indian, but made it clear that I planned to live vicariously through the rest of the group which was headed to Childish Gambino. While Neon Indian cycled through every sound that God handed to heaven's marching band, Childish Gambino apparently came out onto the freezing outdoor stage in shorts and launched into one of the best shows of the weekend. Neon Indian was invigorating, but was never able to match the excellence I expected based on Psychic Chasms and Era Extraña.

b_mcnett: Neon Indian! Alan Palomo leaves the stage with his Roland arpegiatting in latch mode. #ihaveamancrush @moogfestpic.twitter.com/XrBG2DMm

JakeFrankel: Neon Indian makes me feel like I'm living in an 80s movie about relationship drama and skateboarding #moogfest

moogfest: Alright I'm calling it now- Childish Gambino has the best dance moves at #moogfest @donaldglover

PASSION PIT. Passion Pit added a “!” to the weekend, making Moogfest! a category 5 success. They did it all and then some, sending the Sunday night crowd into a fit of fitness as we jumped and pumped without pause. In the car headed home, bumping along with 4 sleeping passengers, I ordered my Moogfest! experience as such:

THE LIST:

1. Toro y Moi
2. Chromeo
3. Twin Shadow
4. Childish Gambino
5. Passion Pit
6. The Naked & Famous
7. M83
8. Araabmuzik
9. Neon Indian
10. SBTRKT

Botchy Ball

It was an October for damaged control. One pulled hamstring sandwich with a side of stitched ribs proved, as always, that I use all parts of the pig. I even remembered to pull a ripened bottle of swine out of the shadows and pour myself a glass half flu. With my body careening toward cliff’s edge, I made a brief effort to pursue more casual activities.

During one lunch “chat” at work, where all of my workmates instant message about what to do for our midday break, I suggested that we play a bit o’ Bocce Ball. Most scattered like cockroaches at a room lighting clinic, but Wisconsin and 6-pack said they were in. Wisconsin just happened to have a Bocce Ball set in his car, so we made a date to play by the lake.

After carefully noting the way my red set of balls crept over the wet grass and slipped comfortably through the bushes, I was already down a few points to both of my adversaries. I passionately mounted a comeback, carefully braiding my tosses to bounce off the trunks and tresses of the surrounding trees. Finally, after almost an hour of play, I was nearly winning. I won a round, meaning I had control of what we had to aim at next, and I chose to point our game into the parking lot. I went first, rolling my ball across the asphalt and watching it disappear around a curve. We all tossed, both of my opponents commenting on how dumb it was to be playing in the parking lot. As we walked over to see whose ball was closest to the target, we saw that all of the balls were heading for the parking lot drain. We all dove for our balls, but two dropped into the hole and landed in a beam of light on top of an underground apartment complex for rats. The game was over and my reputation as the worst decision-maker of ’09 was solidified. It was around this time that I decided I was going to be a gay Superman for Halloween.

Technically, my plan was to be a gay Clark Kent. I wore pink pants, a suit coat, and a Vermont license plate around my neck. On the license plate was a note that read “My straight friends call me Clark.” The writing was small, but my acting was method, and on the first night of Halloween parties everyone assumed I was some kind of license plate salesman who liked men. I would slink around the room making comments like “Don’t look em-bare-assed ladies, I can see everyone’s underwear and you all look adorable!” Whenever I took a drink, I tried to stick my right pinky out, but as some of you may know I broke it a year ago and didn’t get it fixed, so I just stood there with my little finger struggling to straighten. My shaky pinky was in a state of ambiguous commitment, and that is never a good thing for a straight man trying to stroll a curvaceous tightrope.

Zhang it! made things interested by going median surfing on our way home. As we rolled up to a stop light, he escaped and we had to speed away because of the line of cars honking behind us. When we returned to pick him up, he had his arms wrapped around a lumberjack and his head wrapped around the clouds.

The second night, on Halloween, I upgraded my costume with a blue “scrub” undershirt, a kryptonite glow stick, and a pink Superman logo. The fact that I cut the logo out of cardboard and sewed a yellow napkin and pink ribbon onto it only helped to aid my aura. Zhang it! was a gargoyle for Halloween, Wisconsin was “Pumpkin,” and 6-pack was a Human Canvas. Wearing a white painter’s jumpsuit that said “Paint me” on it and armed with myriad colored sharpies, 6-pack and the rest of us felt well prepared to tackle the infamous Halloween party on Franklin street. We never made it.

Wisconsin/”Pumpkin” crawled down a dark gravel driveway and rooted into the rocky terrain. He was carried home by Zhang it! and Mr. Super (my flamboyant persona.)

After failing to locate any women to write on his canvas and buying 8 random guys shots of Jack Daniel’s with an expired credit card, 6-pack disappeared from the first bar we went into. He sprinted home and kicked down our front door even though there was a key under the mat and human canvases are not known for random acts of violence. This quickly became known as going “Hot damn on the door jamb” and is patent pending.

We bowed out of the weekend with a viewing of Paranormal Activity. Fun, charming, uplifting, bubbly, and deep deliciousness of the ventral pallidum were all used to describe some other movie in some other theater. The movie we saw: riveting and “Oh-my-gah did she just… Hold me. Hold me close”