Holy FUCK I hope they keep doing this I intend to go some year soon newvague: Hopscotch Thoughts, Downtown Raleigh, NC Sept 9-11, 2010 Everything I tell you is true. In good time, I assume you’re going to find here a collection of stories, photographs, accounts, interviews, and highly elaborate Press Stuff that I carefully sidestepped this past weekend. I wanted no involvement in the Machine; I’d had enough second-hand experience with this festival that my only desire was to rush from club to club, tripping over my own feet in clumsy, addled anticipation. I wanted to listen to bands without remembering names, focusing on the great wash of sound rather than jumping straight into adjectives and descriptors.  I wanted to get giddy with old pals without worrying about schedules and appointments. And so, I did. The Hopscotch-literal as concept and praxis struck me immediately as The Worst Idea Ever. Why boast 120+ bands, when the simple physics of being prevents attendees from seeing any number even near this? For those unaware, the festival stood true to its name; that is, one could “jump” from club to club, with the lineups arranged in some form of jagged coherency based on mutual friendship or sound. I’ll admit to grumbling through my teeth when the lineup was released. Friday, for example, I could cap off the night with Woods, Pontiak, Tortoise, Megafaun, Washed Out, or Kylesa. And those weren’t even all the choices; rather, just the ones I’d be stoked to see. The unfortunate circumstance of Hopscotch is that while these names look great on a bill, it’s impossible to fully experience them all. The official festival response to this: consider that the bands are playing at the same time a few blocks away from each other, and leave mid-set. What? But then, the redemption: full negative on the organizational side of things, it ended up being one of my favorite elements of the festival. I can’t tell you how enjoyable it was to rush from club to club, sometimes at a full run, with a pack of friends on the prowl. We all kept lineups tucked safely away in our back pockets, plucking them out more frequently than wallets and cellphones, pointing and mingling with people on the street about where we came from and where we were headed. We kept pens behind ears and drew rough circles around show times, making meetup plans for mutual listening. This, my friends, was the true Hopscotch spirit. You see, I didn’t get to watch Woods, but friends sent me pictures. I got a live video of Kylesa, and a full-on vocal Tortoise report. Washed Out was written about, and I can watch the Pontiak show on YouTube. I spent the night in the warm arms of Megafaun, happily gabbing about every detail post-set. The fact that attendees were limited by the constraints of space & time (goddamn them all) opened doors for an intense and deeply-felt sense of sharing and community. It made everyone connect, by both mutual excitement and slight obligation. It almost seemed like the perfect flaw. Because of this, Hopscotch felt more like a giant Raleigh hangout than an isolated event. Sharing experiences was the experience. Between day parties and after parties, the seventy-two hours bled into one another (and, of course, HS also claimed the day before with Howl and the day after with Dosh, among other things). The festival allowed for divisions and borders to be negated, as people flowed steadily through the streets, in and out of clubs, and through bars. It was one fluid, steady motion. We all lived three days in the warmest, sunniest, most golden night you could imagine, sleeping in our cars during the earlier parts of the day, and blinking, with bleary-eyed smiles, at one another across crowded rooms once we woke. We may have missed bands we like for those we love, but we were forced to connect in a way that we should, anyway: discussing, rapt and in awe, about how incredible our experiences were as they were happening. That constant reminder is what made Hopscotch truly great. -tina haver    

Holy FUCK

I hope they keep doing this

I intend to go some year soon

newvague:

Hopscotch Thoughts, Downtown Raleigh, NC Sept 9-11, 2010

Everything I tell you is true.

In good time, I assume you’re going to find here a collection of stories, photographs, accounts, interviews, and highly elaborate Press Stuff that I carefully sidestepped this past weekend. I wanted no involvement in the Machine; I’d had enough second-hand experience with this festival that my only desire was to rush from club to club, tripping over my own feet in clumsy, addled anticipation. I wanted to listen to bands without remembering names, focusing on the great wash of sound rather than jumping straight into adjectives and descriptors.  I wanted to get giddy with old pals without worrying about schedules and appointments. And so, I did.

The Hopscotch-literal as concept and praxis struck me immediately as The Worst Idea Ever. Why boast 120+ bands, when the simple physics of being prevents attendees from seeing any number even near this? For those unaware, the festival stood true to its name; that is, one could “jump” from club to club, with the lineups arranged in some form of jagged coherency based on mutual friendship or sound. I’ll admit to grumbling through my teeth when the lineup was released. Friday, for example, I could cap off the night with Woods, Pontiak, Tortoise, Megafaun, Washed Out, or Kylesa. And those weren’t even all the choices; rather, just the ones I’d be stoked to see. The unfortunate circumstance of Hopscotch is that while these names look great on a bill, it’s impossible to fully experience them all. The official festival response to this: consider that the bands are playing at the same time a few blocks away from each other, and leave mid-set. What?

But then, the redemption: full negative on the organizational side of things, it ended up being one of my favorite elements of the festival. I can’t tell you how enjoyable it was to rush from club to club, sometimes at a full run, with a pack of friends on the prowl. We all kept lineups tucked safely away in our back pockets, plucking them out more frequently than wallets and cellphones, pointing and mingling with people on the street about where we came from and where we were headed. We kept pens behind ears and drew rough circles around show times, making meetup plans for mutual listening. This, my friends, was the true Hopscotch spirit.

You see, I didn’t get to watch Woods, but friends sent me pictures. I got a live video of Kylesa, and a full-on vocal Tortoise report. Washed Out was written about, and I can watch the Pontiak show on YouTube. I spent the night in the warm arms of Megafaun, happily gabbing about every detail post-set. The fact that attendees were limited by the constraints of space & time (goddamn them all) opened doors for an intense and deeply-felt sense of sharing and community. It made everyone connect, by both mutual excitement and slight obligation. It almost seemed like the perfect flaw.

Because of this, Hopscotch felt more like a giant Raleigh hangout than an isolated event. Sharing experiences was the experience. Between day parties and after parties, the seventy-two hours bled into one another (and, of course, HS also claimed the day before with Howl and the day after with Dosh, among other things). The festival allowed for divisions and borders to be negated, as people flowed steadily through the streets, in and out of clubs, and through bars. It was one fluid, steady motion. We all lived three days in the warmest, sunniest, most golden night you could imagine, sleeping in our cars during the earlier parts of the day, and blinking, with bleary-eyed smiles, at one another across crowded rooms once we woke. We may have missed bands we like for those we love, but we were forced to connect in a way that we should, anyway: discussing, rapt and in awe, about how incredible our experiences were as they were happening. That constant reminder is what made Hopscotch truly great.

-tina haver    

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