It’s no secret that I’ve had massive festival fatigue the last few years. I don’t think culture’s primary or best purpose is as a destination vacation. The music – film, theater, books – we love should be part of our day-to-day lives, the food we eat, the air we breathe, and especially the conversations we have.
But as with anything, there are exceptions. At its best, a festival adds to that community; it enriches those lives. A good festival draws tribes together, it celebrates the good work they’ve done, it makes connections, and it plants seeds to grow back in our own communities.
I’ve been lucky to know several of these festivals but my favorite is Gonerfest, deep in Memphis and run by the estimable record store and label Goner Records. With an eye to keeping us all safe in this pandemic, like so many festivals have, they pivoted to digital.
In doing so, my favorite music festival cut a template for any other festival. Gonerfest did the best job I’ve seen in these 6 months of lockdown: they captured everything I wanted from the festival except being in Memphis. And they almost got that!
One of my favorite things about this switch to online is it amplified the one thing all of us being in the room doesn’t give us: a look at how we’re living. The creative use of everyone’s home turf made my heart swell in my chest: Toads’ punky exuberance on their home turf at Oakland’s 1-2-3-4-Go record store; Nick Allison’s set in fellow Austin band Golden Boys’ art gallery; Columbus heroes Cheater Slicks in a college auditorium beautifully filmed by Guinea Worms’ Wil Foster; Oh Boland in the grass of Galway.
And my favorite, New Zealand taking advantage of their well-managed take on the crisis by throwing a real show: five bands in an actual club (Whammy Bar that’s on my list if I ever make it close to that part of the world again). Two previous Goner favorites delivered and cemented my love for them: Bloodbags’ muscular, thoughtful rock, and the intoxicating dual-vocal swirl and slicing acid trail guitar of Na Noise. The other three bands brought it, Ounce’s twin drummer Sabbath-fried choogle and Dick Move’s swinging rhythm and witty, clipped songs made them among my favorite new bands, as Guardian Singles’ searing pop vibrated the molecules all the way here.
It’s not Gonerfest if I don’t discover at least a handful of new favorite bands. Beyond the Kiwis mentioned above, I fell hard for the crispy-edged Stonesy Americans of Michael Beach and Nick Allison & The Players Lounge and the skewed anthems of The Exbats, a trio with a dazzling lead singer behind the drums.
The regulars also came out swinging hard. Jack Oblivian and The Sheiks kicked things off with a rugged, sultry set from the beautiful twilight panorama of Midtown from the rooftop of Crosstown Arts. Zerodent bit off twitching, aggressive postpunk. True Sons of Thunder set a surging baseline and got me excited for their new full-length on Total Punk. Aquarian Blood continued to grow into their beautifully textured take on moody British folk.
Goner has always done a great job with side activities and they excelled here with a chat room, Zoom “bars” and a killer slate of films and talks. My favorite was the footage of the documentary on Memphis-centered civil rights group The Invaders with one of central participants and the soundtrack composer King Khan (who played the first Gonerfest, MC’ed Saturday’s day show, and introduced excellent sets by his daughters, Saba Lou and Bella and the Bizarre) but I was also entranced by This Film Should Not Exist, about a shambling Country Teasers/Oblivians tour, and Tyler Keith’s (Apostles, Neckbones, Preacher’s Kids) deep dive into Hill Country gospel and blues with jaw-dropping footage of Shardé Thomas, RL Burnside, and Rev. John Wilkins.
The thing I hope most for – on that secondary list after staying healthy, employed, warm – in this moment is that collectively we’re able to meet in person and feel the heat of music together next year. But I’m also warmed by this feeling of being less alone and getting to do something with my friends. Even from our own houses.
Screen of Distance 