On Saturday July 18, I tracked down dueling guitarists Ken Seeno and Dustin Wong of Baltimore’s frenetic art-noise band Ponytail and asked them some questions.

Ponytail's Dustin Wong, Photo: Andrew Nawrocki

TOC: How do you feel about being the only Bluegrass band at Pitchfork?
DW: (giggling) Feeling good! Feeling down to earth.

TOC: Everyone seems enamored with your origin story (Ponytail was formed as a class project at the Maryland Institute College of Art). Are you happy to have such a unique beginning, or do you get tired of having to constantly retell it?
KS: It’s a good story. It’s a real story. It’s the story of our lives (laughing). It’s definitely shocking, but I don’t think it could have worked for us any other way. I don’t know if I would be here if it had been different circumstances.
DW: I don’t think we would have met as friends, being like “We should start a band.”

TOC: Your sets are so high-energy. I’ve got to imagine that there are some nights after being on the road where you have to talk yourself into it?
KS: I mean, that’s what it’s about for us, you know? It’s a release and an escape…
DW: You have to channel…and when that runs out it’s like “Whoa! I’m tired!” I think I’ve lost a lot of weight because of this band.

TOC: I have to ask, with you all being from Baltimore, has John Waters shown up at any of your shows?
KS: Nah. I’ve seen him around, but he’s never been to a show.

TOC: One of the most unique things about Ponytail is that you don’t really use lyrics. How did (singer) Molly arrive at the vocal style for this group?
DW: I met up with Molly when we decided that she was going to be the singer, and we needed a point of reference…somewhere to start. I had this compilation of Peruvian huayno music from the ’60s, and their vocal style is very emotional in the sense of energy. We were listening to that and then were doing a call and response in the practice space, singing to each other. She just honed in on her own thing after that.

TOC: Was “Side-Ponytail” ever considered as the band name?
KS: That will be for our side project.
TOC: Like a prog-rock thing?
KS: Definitely! I’ve joked about it…

TOC: Based on your brand of music, I’ve got to imagine that your rehearsals are maybe not the most efficient proceedings?
DW: Yeah, it’s slow.

TOC: A lot of jamming?
DW: Yeah.
KS: We’re trying, especially now, to make it feel less like a job and keep our original style. That’s why we’re trying to take this time off. Do it our way. The method that worked for us for a long time was practicing once a week…like a normal garage band…not three or four times a week. That just kind of messes us up. We need time away to be individuals, so it doesn’t get boring.

TOC: Last question, what are you guys doing to keep Baltimore weird?
DW: It weirds us out. If you stay there, you become weird. You don’t weird it out.
KS: Baltimore is its own beast, and I’m just riding it, clinging onto its fur.

Last weekend, I caught up with Mew guitarist Bo Madsen before the Danish band’s live set in Union Park. In this excerpt, I ask him about the band’s video diaries and the “progressive rock” tag often attached to the group. Let’s roll tape.

A short while ago, Dave Navarro posted the following to his Twitter:

Time to address the rumors. Our Australia tour has been canceled. Stephen Perkins has injured his arm and is in the hospital being treated.

There is no further word to the extent of the drummer’s injuries. The band’s reunion tour was scheduled to cross Australia from July 25 to August 1, in other words right before their August 9 Lolla set. Somewhere C3 organizers are sweating hard. But, hey, that kid in Wavves just played Pitchfork with a broken wrist.

Update: The band’s publicist has issued the following statement.

Jane’s Addiction’s management has confirmed that percussionist Stephen Perkins has been admitted to the Infectious Disease Ward at Cedar’s-Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles for treatment of an infection in his elbow. Doctors expect to keep him there for the next few days for further diagnosis and observation while anti-biotic treatment continues.

Fans are being asked not to worry as a full recovery is expected over the next few weeks.

The press release makes no mention of Lollapalooza, which falls into that “next few weeks” window.

When I reached the Ashland Green Line station at 10:05pm, spent and elated, I spotted orange and yellow confetti scattered across the wooden platform slats and rail lines. I smiled. And did the math in my head: That’s a solid block and thirtysomething feet up from the main stage of the Pitchfork Fest. Chalk it up to a whole lot of joy. Or wind. Or gimmicks.

Photo: Martha Williams

See, it varies depending on who you talk to. Some folks see balloons, confettis, cute girls dressed as snow-bunnies, acid-trip videos of naked go-go dancers, a band enter the stage through a throbbing electric vagina, a human hamster ball and go, “Holy fuck!” Other jaded folk (and there are a good number of them at an indie festival) yawn. I’m glad I don’t feel dead inside just yet. (But I would imagine the folks who had to have Union Park clean by 9am didn’t share the sentiment.)

I was reminded of Knocked Up, which was on HBO late the night before, and the scene where Paul Rudd notes, “I wish I loved anything as much as my kids love bubbles.” Wayne Coyne and co. are dead set on putting that feeling into adults (and, well, the children of the adults, which are in growing number at this festival). The Oklahoman icon sums it up perfectly with the title of an unreleased rarity performed that night: “Enthusiasm For Life (Defeats Internal, Existential Fear).”

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Photo: Martha Williams

Is it hot water with honey and lemon? Herbal tea? Gargling saline? Whatever is it that Walkmen frontman Hamilton Leithauser (man, still such a great name) does to hold his vocal chords together, I hope it keeps working. The Pitchfork Festival stage has not been graced with such a bulging neck vein since Cat Power wailed. The guy just sings his fucking razor-sharp heart through his throat every night. The only other singer putting such forceful belting before mellow, moody tunes might be Björk. Which is one of the reasons how, when people ask, I say that I can adore the Walkmen’s F. Scott Fitzgerald–indebted garage rock and while feeling dead and numb inside to the mannered Ivy League indie of Grizzly Bear.

Another reason is the drummer. Matt Barrick is one of the most diminutive and distinctive percussionists in rock. He’s a jockey on his kit, giddying-up on his stoll, whipping his cymbals like a crop on a thoroughbred’s haunch. And he’s doing it in corduroy pants. Classy. Put the two guys together, and it’s a completely inimitable band, not to mention the warm rumble from Walter Martin’s vintage Vox bass, Paul Maroon’s high-tension-wire guitar and Pete Bauer’s piano work—played on a shit-beaten organ worn and weathered from decades of human oils and a punk life on the road.

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After DOOM’s passable Saturday performance, I was slightly pessimistic about Pharoahe Monch’s show Sunday afternoon. Though I’m a fan of the Queens-bred wordsmith’s twisting lyricism and pounding beats, I questioned whether a pigeonhole-dodging chameleon like Pharoahe Monch could rile up the chilled-out crowd of indie rock-loving pale folk. Without leaning on a mysterious alias gimmick, a catalogue of “Top 10” hits, or a “conscious rapper” rep, the rhymester had his work cut out for him. But his vivacious, boisterous set was performed with much soul and gusto and I was glad I didn’t pass up one of the weekend’s best sets. Monch prowled up and down the stage, delivering his lines with booming efficiency. His back-up singers/dancers were absolutely excellent, and provided a welcome dash of heartfelt R&B crooning. Saving the best for last, Monch poured water on the seething crowd and jumped on speakers during his invigorating rendition of “Simon Says.”

Time Out Chicago’s Pitchfork Music Festival 2009 gallery

No band at the fest better validated the Return of the ’90s theme our music writers observed in our current issue more than the Thermals did Sunday. Did we pay them off? Not that we know of, but we will say nice things about the band here. It wasn’t enough that the trio has the grungiest sound of anyone on the bill—Hutch Harris’s guitar has various settings but all fill out the full sonic distortion spectrum–and coupled with powerfully poppy songs—the band ends up on the good side of grunge. Harris’s look might have been slim Euro, pink and trendy, but his choice of tunes paid tribute to the tartan-friendly alternative fests of the past. Points for kicking off the set with a cover of Sonic Youth’s “100%,” more points for playing Green Day’s “Basket Case.” Between the band’s own peppy and pogo-worthy ditties, it banged out songs from Nirvana and the Breeders, reminding those of us (perhaps Pitchfork writers, too?) that most of us just wanna have fun and not be taken so goshdarn seriously all the time.

Time Out Chicago’s Pitchfork Music Festival 2009 gallery

I’m still a bit dizzy from spending the weekend with the indie tribe down in Union Park. Altogether, I found this year’s Pitchfork fest both pleasantly civilized and ear-pleasing (the sound was better than it has ever been before) and also curiously non-essential—meaning that I probably could have skipped a day and lived with myself just fine. Pitchfork is emblematic of all that is magical and not so mysterious about new media. It and blogs like it provide us with access to music and acts that would have been far under the radar before. But, without sounding like a Luddite, we’ve also lost one of the essential binding agents of any modern tribe: a sense of discovery. It is far more rare for a band to worm its way into our hearts by accident or by investigation than it is for us to hear about it via the Web. So we’ve traded access for discovery, matter for magic. But, ugh, I’m starting to sound like a bitter ol’ vinyl junkie or something. Nevermind. Here are five things to do today.

THEATER - Obscura
Dog & Pony Theatre Company kicks off its Ruff Play Reading Series with Northwestern alum Jennifer Barclay’s play about intrigue and eavesdropping among an apartment building’s inhabitants. ThreeWalls, 7pm, FREE!

MUSIC - John Legend + India.Arie + Vaughn Anthony
A quiet storm simmers over Highland Park as Legend kicks off a two-night stand joined by his brother, Vaughn Anthony, and neo-soul standby India.Arie. Don’t forget the Brie and chardonnay. Ravinia Pavilion, 7pm, $27–$68.

FILM - In Search of Beethoven
If your understanding of Beethoven stops somewhere after “He became deaf and still composed several masterpieces with no hearing at all…” here’s a chance to deepen your knowledge: In Search of Beethoven does the biographical stuff, but also, more importantly, includes musicians talking about what’s so great about Ludwig B’s music. Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N State St at Randolph St (312-846-2600). El: Brown, Green, Orange, Pink, Purple (rush hrs) to State/Lake; Red to Lake; Blue to Clark/Lake. Mon 20, Tue 21, Wed 22, Thu 23, Fri 24 at 5:30, 8:15pm, Sat 25 at 2:30, 8:15pm, Sun 26 at 2:30, 5:30pm. $9, students $7, members $5.

SHOPPING & STYLE - Morlen Sinoway Atelier sale
Deck yourself in stylish accessories by shopping this local designer’s summer jewelry sale. Find artful pieces marked 20% off now through the end of July. 1052 W Fulton Mkt (312-432-0100). El: Blue to Grand; Green to Ashland. Bus: 20. Mon 9:30am–5pm.

GAY & LESBIAN - Chances Dances
The vibe is irresistibly inclusive at this Wicker Park queer party. Subterranean, 9pm, FREE!

Bo Madsen of Mew Photo: Jacob Nelson

Holy shit! Pitchfork invited a singer to the festival after all!

Okay, that’s not entirely fair, and I’ll blame Saturday’s inexcusable Pains of Being Pure at Heart display of vocal vacuousness for that. Perhaps Kip Berman can hop a flight to Denmark after the festival to have a few (hundred) lessons with Mew frontman Jonas Bjerre, whose impressive vocal range and sterling intonation were the highlight of Sunday’s lineup.

The Danish prog-rockers got things under way with “New Terrain,” the understated first cut off their soon-to-be-released album, with Bo Madsen trading his guitar for bongos and Silas Jorgensen on keys instead of behind his usual drum kit. Keyboardist Nick Watts and bassist Bastian Juel then joined the trio for the remainder of the set, and savvy festival-goers forgoing the Grizzly Bear hour-of-critical-acclaim were treated to inspired Mew staples like “Comforting Sounds,” “Special,” and “Circuitry of the Wolf.”

Mew’s signature animations were absent from this show, the band having just flown in from Europe and unable to swing the logistics, but by the looks of the sea of intently bobbing heads surrounding me, it was clear they weren’t missed. For anyone who hasn’t seen/heard Jonas pull high D# after high D# out of thin air on “The Zookeeper’s Boy”, they’d do well to catch Mew when they are back in town at the Aragon at the end of August.

Time Out Chicago’s Pitchfork Music Festival 2009 gallery

The Canadian gentlemen of Women would like everyone to stop referring to their music as “Lo-Fi,” thank you very much. The foursome told me in an interview prior to their set that they prefer the term “Art Trash,” which seems fitting given the menagerie of sounds and instruments employed on their self-titled 2008 debut, recorded and released by illustrator/animator/sound-experimenter/Flemish Eye label-owner Chad VanGaalen.

It’s an album that should sound haphazard, each track angling into something new (from Beach Boys-style vocals to straight-up noise rock, with much in between)…but doesn’t. When asked to peg down what the cohesive element of the band’s sound is, bass player Matt Flegel immediately lit up and said “the bass playing…because I’m the bass player, and I don’t get recognition…ever.”

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