Randomville: Capitol Hill Block Party 2008 in Review

Friday July 25^thEpiphanies tend to occur at the most unexpected times. For instance, wading through ankle-deep discarded plastic beer cups as you muscle between a sweaty throng of inebriated concert revelers, you realize that debauchery is as much (maybe more) a part of outdoor concerts as the music itself. Why fight enlightenment? Welcome to Seattle’s annual Capitol Hill Block Party.

An eclectic mix of electronic, hip-hop and rock acts from around the Emerald City and featuring headliners from as far away as NYC, the festival promised something for even the most discerning tastes. Swilling started early, long before Seattle hip-hop duo Common Market opened the main stage at 4:30pm. Under the blazing July heat, rhyme-spitter RA Scion riled the crowds early with aggressive lyricism and DJ Sabzi's succinct spinning.

Next up: a brief reprieve from the summer sun (but not the heat) at the King Cobra bar for Truckasauras, an electronic trio (and their visual artist friend on a projector) with a panache for Nintendo beats and all things excessively American. As the three bent over their elaborate electronics setup, Hulkamania erupted on-screen and someone in back shouted "You're not Girl Talk!" As is their nature, Truck could only laugh it off.

Ryan Trudell probably never expected all the untold hours spent playing Game Boy in his younger days would eventually bring him the attention he and fellow knob twisters Tyler and Adam Swan have received in recent months. Using a sequencer program known as the Nanoloop (which is played on the Game Boy), Trudell’s nostalgic bleeps—lo-fi and dirty as the basement house-parties the band is used to playing—is signaling a sea change in the way people think about electronic music. The band’s debut album, Tea Parties, Guns, and Valor, was recorded with little more than two drum machines, a Commodore 64, and of course, the Game Boy. Yet there is nothing minimal about it. In a culture that celebrates plasticity—breast implants, Botox and the like—a Truckasauras-sized dose of over-indulgent Americana couldn’t be more fitting.

When I meet up with Trudell, the band has just finished their set as part of Seattle’s Capitol Hill Block Party. He sparks a cigarette. We loiter on the sidewalk next to the group’s van as the heat of the day begins to subside. Truckasauras has already been hailed by some as the future of techno, and whether the boys and their heaps of gear run with the title or not makes little difference; their legend grows daily. They’ve received so much positive press lately in fact, that they were contacted to play the Sasquatch! Music Festival this spring on the strength of their media buzz alone. “We don’t have a manager or anything,” Trudell says. “We got there just from the hype of our live shows.”

Their mid-day performance under the sweltering Eastern Washington sun found the band awestruck that so many had come to see them play, but even more surprised that they themselves were playing there at all. The booze, which was passed around freely during the set, might have helped.

When I ask him jokingly how important the presence of Maker’s Mark on stage at their Sasquatch! appearance was, Trudell replies simply, “Integral. We kind of had to force ourselves to get in the mood at noon.”

Though the leap from basement to summer festival has no doubt been a sudden transition, the band meets their increased exposure with nothing if not complete humility. Especially considering Truckasauras is a side project (sprouted from their full-time band, Foscil).

Live Truck is an auditory and visual experience of overwhelming (and usually ironic) proportions. Fourth member Dan Bordon’s video projections flash an epileptic collage of Wrestle Mania archives, exploding helicopters and the nations’ brightest red, white and blues; it’s a hallucinogenic display of all things camp. American flags are often worn as capes.

“We’re not trying to get too political or anything,” Trudell says of the images that accompany the electronic maelstrom of beeps and programmed beats.” The whole concept is supposed to be tongue-in-cheek, uber-partiotism. All the gear we rock is shit you would find in any convenience store across America. Over-the-top huge knives with eagles on the handles. Mesh hats,” Trudell says.

Adam Swan lounges against the van in just such a green John Deere hat; Trudell’s t-shirt depicts a cartoon semi-truck spouting steam and fury. “That’s the whole essence of Truckasaurus. It’s a car-crushing beast that burns like two hundred gallons a minute or whatever and it’s glorious, but it totally represents the excesses of our consumer culture.”

After the new Foscil album—which the band hopes to have finished before the lease runs out on their studio/house space in Seattle’s Greenlake neighborhood this fall—all energy will be honed on Truck. The follow-up to Tea Parties will focus on utilizing new equipment, a Korg MS-20 synthesizer among others. What began as a diversion will more than likely be a full time ride from now on. “Truckasauras is kind of our drunken party outlet,” Trudell says.

With any luck the party won’t be ending any time soon. “It’s kind of surprising that so many people like our shit because it’s not techno, it’s not really hip-hop and it’s not terribly danceable. But I’m glad [they] dig it,” Trudell says as he takes a drag from his cigarette. “I hope they do.”

Girl Talk's actual performance later on resulted in a serious sardine effect from one side of Pike Street to the next. The first few dozen fans up-front flailed on stage for a raucous dance party at the invitation of man-behind-the-mixers Gregg Gillis, whose sampled samples shook the block as the crowds below were squished elbow to elbow in a human traffic jam. I don't think I've ever seen so much ironically worn thrift store clothing in one place before in my entire life.

The Nuemo's stage was no less packed, but an open spot on the stairwell provided a clear line of sight for the Dodo's psychedelic-folk frenzy. Duo Meric Long and Logan Kroeber translated their latest album Visiter in ferocious fashion, hardly resting between tracks that transitioned seamlessly.

Back on the main stage, Tim Harrington (of Les Savy Fav)'s reliably unpredictable antics (at one point wearing a purple King's cape and crown with a glowing scepter and boxer shorts) were best viewed from the second floor of Quinn's, where the spectacle seemed all the more ridiculous from behind glass.

Shortly after twilight, an ambulance arrived to scoop up an unconscious (passed-out?) girl at the all-ages (of all places) Vera stage, just as Natalie Portman's Shaved Head began thumping their disco-fried, post-pubescent dance rock. I didn't really feel like dancing anyway.

Afro-pop influenced ivy leaguers Vampire Weekend filled their headlining spot with plenty of taut melodies and youthful exuberance. The two and three minute song lengths certainly worked in the crowd's favor, as their attention span had faded long ago as surely as they had.

Saturday July 26^th -The forecast called for rain and clouds sailed ominously overhead early in the morning, but luckily for Saturday’s attendees, threats of inclement weather didn't pan out. I arrived just in time to discover Seattle hip-hop outfit the Physics over at the Vera stage. Their homage to beer--which included someone dancing on stage in a brown bottle costume--and lithe sampling of Souls Of Mischief's early 90s classic "93 'til Infinity" proved the city's vibrant hip-hop underground grows deeper every minute.

The aching Appalachian folk of the Cave Singers, Kimya Dawson's unbearably infantile lo-fi acoustic fare, and Fleet Foxes' over abundance of four-part harmonies lulled the main stage into a comfortable stupor for the better part of the next three hours. I opted instead to watch Sleepy Eyes Of Death from the balcony of the King Cobra. Too bad the band only got to play three songs due to technical difficulties. That's what happens when you have six synthesizers I suppose. Still, their deafening instrumental space-rock was as pulverizingly good as any band all day who actually got to play their whole set.

Hall & Oates aficionados and electronic wizards Chromeo revitalized the main stage crowd at sunset with infectious dance grooves and vocodered vocals. Rampant chants of "Chromeo! Chromeo!" between songs were well warranted. For sheer body-shaking abandon, the duo couldn't be beat.

Craig Finn and his power-chord cohorts in the Hold Steady sounded best from a friend's apartment deck a few blocks away, where it could still be heard but more easily ignored. Something about Finn's semi-sung/spoken deadpan has always been hard for me to stomach; a plethora of cheese arena riffs don't bolster the enthusiasm much either.

Closing out the two-day festival were the Eastern European strains of Colorado's DeVotchKa. Their Balkanized blend of gypsy waltz, traditional music and modern pop song-craft prompted giddy hand clapping and at least one excited individual to clamber on stage for a momentary shimmy before security (and then police) wrestled him off. Who would have thought an accordion was capable of such a thing?