FYF Fest Day 2: Jonathan Richman, Yo La Tengo, Beach House, My Bloody Valentine, Sound Issues, and Mindie Kids (PHOTOS)

CoolDad's LA Adventure, Part 2

"This guy seems like he's pretty popular, but I have no idea who he is."

"Nah. People are just going over there 'cause he's the only one playing right now."

Whatever their reasons, the people who did make it over to Miranda to spend some time with Jonathan Richman and drummer Tommy Larkins got a treat. Richman can give you the feeling that his songs are made up right on the spot -- some of the lyrics are -- so his sets always feel special and spontaneous. Whether he's singing about an evening stroll through the plaza or the human body's innate desire to be outside, Richman is able to get to the essence of what it means to be human. He just makes everyone feel good. Getting to sit through his short set made the whole festival experience worthwhile.

I'd planned on taking it kind of easy for the next hour or so as I waited for the Carrie Stage sets to get started. As I sipped my $14 tequila, lime, cucumber, jalapeño, cilantro, agave, cayenne cocktail in the VIP area, though, I started to hear the pop / post-punk stylings of Brighton, UK quartet Fear of Men from over on the Charlotte Stage. After quickly downing my cocktail (nothing allowed out of the VIP area, you know), I made my way to the stage and really enjoyed what I heard. Fear of Men are one of the bands at the festival that definitely sold me a few records.

After quick snippets of Mac DeMarco and The Orwells, I decided to walk toward Carrie to stake out a spot for the day's headliners. Guards were finishing up and I was able to walk right up to the front and grab a spot just one row off of the barricade. Little did I know that this was very poor planning.

Kurt Vile was next and sounded great. I've always enjoyed his records. You really do get a much better sense of what a good musician Vile is when seeing him live. But as I looked around, I noticed the eye-rolling and pantomimed nap-taking of the mindie kids all around me. I realized that I had positioned myself among the early arrivals for Beach House and MGMT, each of whom were scheduled to go on later in the evening, about 3 hours later.

The full meaning of this didn't register with me because Yo La Tengo were up next, and I probably had a better view of the band than I ever did at even Maxwell's. It was daylight, and the festival style stage meant that I didn't have to contend with being blocked by some basketball player in front of me.

"Play 'Cherry Chapstick!!'" someone shouted. Guitarist Ira Kaplan, citing the tight festival scheduling, pointed out that the band would be playing a set comprised of scientifically chosen and focus grouped songs designed to produce the guaranteed most appropriate set for the day. No "Cherry Chapstick," but several other Yo La Tengo "hits" like "Autumn Sweater," "Ohm," "Stockholm Syndrome," and "Tom Courtenay."

"I thought they were gonna be lame, but they weren't bad," said one of my neighbors.

Then the degree of my misjudgment began to dawn on me as more mindie kids than I would have thought possible squeezed up front in preparation for Beach House. Barely able to move my arms, I decided to ride out the set from my position. I was beginning to worry that I really had no choice.

Beach House made me forget everything for a while as Victoria LeGrand's voice wormed its way into my brain and executed its patented hypnotic effect. I've never considered myself to be a Beach House fan, but hearing their songs back to back made me realize just how strong their catalog really is. They deserve their position as dream-pop standard bearers.

As soon as Beach House finished, things got serious. There was a crush as the crowd, thousands strong at this point, surged forward and pushed those of us in the front against the barricades. Again and again, there were groans as the entire crowd heaved itself forward in anticipation of MGMT. MGMT. I'm not kidding.

I couldn't take it any more and feigned illness so that the security guards would help me over the rail to freedom. It worked, and I bolted for the VIP section. From there, I got to hear all of the big hits from Oracular Spectacular. At one point, strangely, Henry Winkler joined the band on stage to play giant cowbell.

My plans to see My Bloody Valentine up close and personal had been trumped by my desire to survive, and I was feeling a bit depressed. I looked up at the end of MGMT's set, though, and saw a sea of mindie kids flowing away from the stage. Apparently, they were making their way to see Holy Ghost! on the Charlotte stage. I got up and got close, but not too close, to the stage for the act I'd been waiting to see for two days.

When the "Wear Earplugs" warning went up on the big screen, I heard folks foolishly wondering if earplugs were really necessary. I inserted my own.

My Bloody Valentine opened with "I Only Said," and I could feel the breeze created by the sound waves. People actually started leaving the immediate area with fingers in their ears. Then the unforgivable started to happen.

I don't remember exactly when it started, but the sound began to cut out for several seconds at a time. Most memorable and crushing to me was the moment, just after the opening riff on "Soon," when the PA went silent muting the guitar dive bomb at the beginning of the song. Kevin Shields was visibly angry, but the band continued.

After a short break to deal with the technical issues -- after which, the issues persisted -- the band played the rest of their set, apologizing just before the last song and thanking the audience for understanding. That last song was "You Made Me Realize."

For five straight minutes in the middle of the song, the band created a sonic storm that washed over the crowd and could be felt physically. My glasses vibrated on the bridge of my nose. The PA held out, and My Bloody Valentine got to leave their lasting impression. I have no idea how those not wearing earplugs withstood the barrage.

In all, I guess I enjoyed my first festival experience in twenty years. At FYF, I made some discoveries like Lemuria, Charles Bradley, and Fear of Men. Bands went on on time. Lines were minimal. Sound was, mostly, good. But essentially ruining My Bloody Valentine's set with sound problems cast a dark cloud over everything for me.

Given the choice between a festival and one, great, two- or three-hour evening with one of my favorite bands, I know what I'd choose every time.