Erik Blood saved the day. With rain threatening to fall and the wind already rolling in, the legendary Seattle producer took the stage to kick off the festival in proper form. The guy is known for bringing the best out of the bands he records, and it’s obvious that he requires the same of himself.

Without knowing what to expect, I was pleasantly surprised by the technical mastery in the production of even his stage show. The stage was crowded with talent, and it all came together in a tapestry of swelling harmonies and drifting instrumental breaks. Nothing was in the wrong place, nothing was missing, and nothing could stop Erik Blood, including the stage manager, who stood by oblivious as Erik showed his true mastery by extending his set by two songs, thereby being the only one playing and culling from the recently-released audiences of the other stages couldn’t help but stop and listen.

On a high from Erik Blood, I rolled down the hill to get a good look at Reignwolf. This guy is undeniable. His instrumental talents are beyond reproach, with the ability to pull from his guitar more than it can possibly give. Between epidemically contagious blues riffs and fast rock rhythms, rises the perfect wail of a Reignwolf solo, so mind-blowingly intricate that one is simply mesmerized. As one of those lucky enough to see his set at the very small Yeti stage, it was great to see him dominate the biggest stage Sasquatch has to offer. As if he needed to add more awesome to his set, he left on the shoulders of a black panel van, complete with mic and kick drum mounted to the top, that took him from the stage, through the crowd and out into the Gorge, from which I’m certain he left for his home planet to recharge his life force.

I made the long walk up the hill to the Bigfoot stage, to see a band I had been anticipating all day. Japandroids are not, as one very drunk young man was overheard saying, “the hottest hip-hop act out of Japan.” They are two guys from Canada, and I wish they had been better, because I would have stayed. Japandroids is one of those bands whose live energy outpaces their music, at least at this performance. While they obviously have talent and passion, I was not invested like I wanted to be, and as such, left.

I HAD to see Strand of Oaks. Strand of oaks is what I call a “sleeper band.” When the duo from Philadelphia take the stage, you can rest assured that your precious ears won’t be made to endure the bar-metal and Pantera covers you might expect. Instead, you’re met with guitars that grow from simplistic to anthemic in the best way. The drums are the perfect compliment, dry and unyielding with a cripsness that lends itself well to the soaring melodies they support. The songwriting is perfect in its passion, with no fat left untrimmed, and no nuance left un-accented. The lyrics are heartfelt and singer Tim Showalter’s vocal style has a unique vibration that leaves the listener hanging on every held note. There is nothing extraordinary about their appearance, but Strand of Oaks is extraordinarily talented. It seems as though Showalter holds the audience in his very palm, bending and shaping the set to pull the most emotion from them, and not resting until he’s left an imprint on their souls.

I needed a break. After running around all day, I decided to post up on the porch of the media tent to relax and eat some Grape Nerds and talk to some of the other media-types that were wandering around. As we talked, we found ourselves moving outside, then the talking slowed and stopped and Telekinesis was there. Telekineses is the pet project of Michael Benjamin Lerner.

After deciding that Telekinesis sounded better than “Michael Benjamin Lerner” on a marquee, Telekinsesis was born. The music is incredibly accessible. Nothing seems scary or unfamiliar, and the soft, non-threatening quality of his voice is welcoming and warm. The instrument parts originally written and recorded solo, take on a new bush when in the hands of someone else. I can’t say enough good things about this band, but I will say this. Something happens when you ask people to play something you wrote. It’s not theirs from birth, and it appeared that those folks asked to play with Telekinesis were missing that ownership and passion in their creation. This I think was the reason that the Telekinesis set was good but not great, impressive but not mind-blowing, and intriguing but not enticing. I arose from my spot in the shade and braved the weather yet again to try and find something cool to see.

I wandered around, catching the end of Four Color Zack’s set, which was neat. Just neat. Leaving the tent, I wandered over to the Arctic Monkeys set at the Sasquatch Stage, and was met with Vanilla Rock at it’s finest. I sat and watched for a few minutes, being only familiar with their biggest hits and hoping for  something I could engage with. I found nothing. The well-quaffed band was thoroughly enjoyed by most, but I found it to be lesser in quality and passion than the bands that I had already seen, and, out of solidarity with them, I went to go find something deplorable to eat.

Freshly full of tater-tot nachos, I settled into the media porch to catch the much-anticipated Youth Lagoon. Clad in brilliant lights and smoke and all the trappings of musical perfection, Youth Lagoon’s art is more opus than rock song, exploring variations on a wandering theme, and fleshing out all options before settling on the liberating, wash-over-me

anthem. From the minute they start, they hold the attention of any within earshot, and people formerly destined for a matching set of corndogs became moths to the Youth Lagoon flame, drawn in by Trevor Powers’ one-of-a-kind voice, and lain low by the clock-like precision of every member of the setlist. The four artists performing the songs that Mr. Powers so lovingly crafted have perfected the infectious groove, and make the complex and demanding composition seem effortless, a testament, again, to the desire to better the product. Powers’ spacey, Greenwood-esque keys are balanced by a driving, ripping bass line that acts every ounce the perfect counterpoint. The musicianship present on the stage is astounding.

Never have I seen a band so focused on the success of the composition itself and less about their own part being featured. They are mechanically tight, and they are like nothing you’ve ever seen. They’re called Youth Lagoon, and next to Piehole, is the best thing to come out of Boise, ID in quite some time.

High on Trevor Powers, I pushed through the crowd to the Vampire Weekend set. Having seen them several years ago during their first headlining tour, I was excited to see what the last 4 years had done to them as a band. I was not to be disappointed. Vampire Weekend was simply made to be performed at night in front of thousands. They had me from the first soweto-laced drumline, and twinkling, jangly guitar riff. I’d love to be able to break down every song, but the simple truth is they had me so engrossed that it was impossible to be objective. I can tell you that their version of Horchata was inspired, stretching far beyond its normal confine, and taking on a new and shiny form as not a song, but a performance piece. Vampire Weekend has gone from an acceptable band to one that is not to be missed, especially in May, at the Gorge, with 9,000 of your closest friends.

Next I went to Macklemore. It was good, and he was good and it was all good, but not great, or even worth staying for, because behind me……I could hear the Harlem Shake.

Baauer is the epitome of a one-hit wonder. The Harlem Shake has become a phenomenon of epic proportions, spawning millions of internet parodies, pop-culture references, and even a place in the common lexicon, and all of this is well-deserved. The guy made a sick beat that makes it damn-near impossible to hold still, and reliably leads to fun times. In a giant tent filled with million-dollar light and sound systems, Baauer held court. With an ADD-like frenzy of ads and drops, he was the king of the room, building up the anticipation to a fever pitch and teasingly unleashing the drop on the offbeat, making skulls in the vicinity simply explode from the release. Though the version of his hit song was not the one I expected or wanted to hear, I didn’t care. I was dancing and didn’t want to/couldn’t stop. I know everyone is poo-poo-ing dubstep, and hating on Skrillex and Nero and the other well-known DJs of the genre, but dub is undeniable in its ability to incite groove, and in a packed tent on a clear cold night in the desert, Baauer created an undeniable groove.

Overall Friday was a complete success. The spirit of Sasquatch! is alive and well and, despite not loving every band, I loved the entire day.

— Andrew Harris, music writer, The Monarch Review