Langer-ruminations...

It had been just over 8 years since my last trip to Big Cypress Seminole Reservation, and as I drove up snake road I had many flashbacks to the 24-hour period of anguish and anticipation that I had endured on the same stretch of pavement in 1999. This time we were driving at speeds that cars normally go on highways and not staring at tail lights through the night. So that was a good thing. I hoped it was a sign that Langerado had made the right move by upping from Markham Park and heading further from the environs of Fort Lauderdale.

However, I think that Langerado’s leap to the swampy interior of Florida was perhaps premature. I felt that the size and scope of last year’s festival was ideal—I still claim that last year’s offering might have been the most perfect festival I’ve yet attended. Last year’s success can be attributed to the incredibly dense and diverse lineup, a perfectly-sized venue, and it goes without saying that Florida’s weather in early March is simply a wonderful way to awaken slumbering senses. Sadly, this year’s festival paled in comparison, as the size of the venue seemed larger than necessary, the lineup was thinner and less astutely arranged, and the combination of torrential rains, tornado warnings and a Saturday night cold front plagued the festival this year.

There were highlights, of course. Grace Potter’s Sunday afternoon set was one such gem: try as you might to dismiss her as a pretty face with hot red boots, there’s no way you can deny the vocal talents and showmanship that this girl is blessed with. Add to that firstly some charisma on the keys (indeed, she was playing Marco Benevento’s organ that day and fearlessly channeling his rock-neck expression) and secondly some chops on the guitar, and you’ve got a Grade A performer that is a delight to behold. The full-band drum breakdown was an entertaining indication of how Grace and her band-members interact playfully and intrepidly while creating music, and I would endorse their act to any fan of rootsy rock n roll--or to anyone who simply likes to watch babes in boots belt it out. (I think that's most of us...)



The Wood Brothers were my Saturday-in-the-sunshine pick, delivering some tunes from their forthcoming album, Loaded, along with some of the stellar tunes from Ways Not To Lose. Their harmonies and plucky breakdowns are candy to my ears: having seen their very first gig at Tonic in March of 2005, it is a real pleasure to see how they have grown ever-more comfortable making music together, and it is a sound that isn’t being played better by any duo out there.

American Babies had an early set on Saturday, but my fave musical offering of the Brothers Hamilton, Sir Russo, and Scott Metzger was a fortuitous stroll by the JamCruise tent where they were delivering an acoustic mini-set, and Russo invited Metzger up onto his lap for some brotherly love of his own. Danjaboots in action:



Bands I had hoped to see for the first time (and love thereafter) included Of Montreal, The National, and Ghostland Observatory. I was distracted by shaving cream and histrionic stage-wear at Of Montreal, and felt that their music wasn’t as compelling live as it was on my iPod (huh? I know… I, too, thought bands were supposed to be better live than on your F train commute). The National disappointed me by sounding like a thinner, less-spirited version of Arcade Fire, with all the live gusto of a dead legless lizard (see above). And Ghostland Observatory escaped me for scheduling reasons, as I was packing up gear from shooting the previous Chickee Hut pair, The Benevento-Russo Duo.

It is hard to evaluate the musical merit of shows that you are committed to capturing in other ways, so take my shout-outs to The Duo and Earl Greyhound with a grain of salt. But Joe and Marco delivered a truly solid set, in classic Duo form, and their large, enthusiastic crowd (on-stage as well as off) was surely treated to one of the best sets at the festival. Tommy Hamilton sat in for a trio of songs, and while at the time I was more concerned with capturing him in the frame than listening to his sonic output, I will say that he played harder and faster than I knew he was capable of, and I’m beginning to like the sound of the Duo with a guitar. But, hey, I like my breakfast cereal with a guitar, too.

Earl Greyhound had an opening slot on Friday that was well-attended considering the seemingly premature time slot for such hard rock. They have a sound that is very hard for most soundboards to translate: their intricate vocal harmonies need to be balanced with thundering drums and lightening quick electric guitar shredding, so the high winds and short soundcheck didn’t do EG any favors. But they delivered their Soft Targets standards tightly, and their newer songs show great promise in the Rock Your Face category.

Sierra Leone's Refugee All-Stars were a lovely Friday evening sunset feel-good dance party; Citizen Cope was a mellow but mellifluous surprise; the Beastie Boys were nothing but fun; Phil Lesh sounded kind of like every other Phil Lesh show I’ve seen before; Mickey Hart gave me nothing to complain about but nothing to blog home about either: hosting Steve Kimock and former Deep Banana Blackout front-woman Jen Durkin (whom I recognized solely from her signature spinning moves).

But the biggest surprise (read: disappointment) of the festival was R.E.M. Granted, their music isn’t exactly what I would have selected for a Saturday night headliner (you could never top last year’s Sat Night rocker from My Morning Jacket), and granted they had to deal with a brutal change in weather that severely stunted the festival revelry, but the morose and political set –even while peppered with those cool throw-backs like Orange Crush--was just not what the doctor ordered. And there was slim pickins for alternatives between 9-12, so patrons were pretty much forced to stick those sets out. Absolutely none of the late night options (Phix, Disco Biscuits, STS9 and the like…) were enough to tempt me to turn into a pumpkin, so this festy patron got two rare solid nights of sleep. I don’t regret for one moment missing any of the pre-dawn activity—my only regret is not making it to MMW and Scofield’s set post-Duo. That might have provided me with enough warmth to stick out Stipe and company.

It will be interesting to see how Langerado responds with next year’s festival: either they will need a deeper lineup to justify having such a large, remote location or they may have to consider a return to the safe haven of Markham Park. Unless the lineup sees a return to something rivalling last year’s highlights, I have reservations about returning to Big Cypress—pun intended.

All photots courtesy the lovely and talented Mercy Southam.