The night before Pitchfork started despair had turned my heart darker than the blackest night. I was crying myself to sleep listening to “Lost In Everyone” by Doldrums on repeat. I didn’t have a ticket to the festival and my beautiful sprite Bjork was headlining opening night. I was literally the most unlucky person in the world. I can’t think of anything worse than not having a ticket to see a live concert by your most adored musician. As the hour passed midnight, my tears of sadness turned to tears of maniacal joy as I hatched a fool proof plan to get in to the fest. As I cried over the next hour, my tears began to physically manifest themselves as simulacrum of my pleasure (Bjork-shaped Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Bites).
The idea was so simple I’m amazed no one has ever tried it before-dress up as a delivery person and say that I need to get in to deliver something. But what? I needed something that would be completely believable, but not dumb like pizza or beer. It hit me after about 20 minutes of thinking really hard while listening to William Elliot Whitmore. I started gathering supplies and before too long I was off and running like Forrest Gump. Proud of how quickly I went from morose to excited, I decided to reward myself with my 73rd listen to The Knife’s Shaking The Habitual.
After a couple hours in the kitchen, I made my way over to Union Park in my delivery man costume. If you want a visual idea of it, mix Ad Rock’s cop in the Sabotage video with Jim Carrey’s delivery get up from the first Ace Ventura movie. It was so hot my fake mustache kept coming off, and I was getting nervous that my plan might fail. That was silly, though. Security at music festivals is so lax I’m amazed anyone even stops to get checked. What are they gonna do? Arrest you? They aren’t cops.
I decided that if I’m gonna play a delivery person, I shouldn’t go stand in line to get in like everyone else. So I went to the back where I saw Joanna Newsom’s Saab pulling in. I didn’t try to evade anyone, rather I walked right up to a security guy and stated my business: “Hi, I have a delivery of vegan Rice Krispie treats for Trash Talk.” He gave me one of those looks, like “Hey man…it’s too early for people to be messing with me right now so you better clarify yourself.” I said, “I don’t know, man. You know how these musician-types are. It’s gotta be vegan this, soy that. ‘Is your wi-fi organic?’ Come on, I’m sweating my balls off out here. You think I like delivering vegan Rice Krispie treats to people all day?” Maybe it was my display of irritation that made the security dude feel like we had bonded somehow, but with a head nod in the direction of Trash Talk’s manager, he let me pass.
Here’s a situation I hadn’t thought of: Now that I’m in, what do I do with the Rice Krispie treats? It didn’t matter, I guess. I could hear Daughn Gibson’s set from across the park, and like Scooby-Doo I was lifted up and carried away by the music until I found myself surrounded by a bunch of sweaty guys with one pant leg rolled up. I thought it was odd that there was so much flannel being worn in the blazing heat, but whatever-PITCHFORK!!!
I started to mentally prepare myself for Bjork’s set which was only five hours away. My best bet, I thought, would be to just get near the stage and wait it out. Granted I couldn’t care less about any of the other bands playing, it’ll be worth it to see Bjork up close and personal. Who is Mikal Cronin? Why are all these people crying at the same time? Is that Stuart Murdoch over there drinking out of a flask that Mac DeMarco brought in? There were answers to these questions, but I didn’t care.
By the time Woods was half way through their set I was so bored I thought I would die. Oh my god, it was literally so hot I was having visions. I thought I saw Solange eating a bratwurst with Kim Deal, but like, why would those two be hanging out. What could they possibly have in com…oh. Maybe it really was them. They did seem to be eating the bratwurst quite angrily. Are there any fun bands playing Pitchfork that aren’t headliners. I slept through Trash Talk’s set, but I heard the guy was crowdsurfing or something. Maybe they really enjoyed those treats. I bet that was fun-oh wait, I don’t even like touching MY sweaty back. Why woud I wanna hold up a guy who I am sure is even more sweaty than me? Oh, and my mustache finally came off for good during Angel Olsen’s set. I think it got bored and committed suicide.
Things started to pick up a bit when Joanna Newsom came out and played her harp a bit. It was fun watching a lot of people cringe and cover their ears. I remember when Y’s came out and people were all over her. I dug that, but the triple album she put out after was just awful. Like, literally the worst music I’ve ever heard. And there was a summer where I only listened to Miley Cyrus’s “Party In The USA,” so that’s saying something. Newsom was on Sesame Street, though, so she’s cool with me.
Finally, after standing around completely unimpressed by anything and everything around me, it was time for Bjork. I was so excited I nearly peed myself like five different times, but my training allowed me to hold it. People were coming to the stage now, apparently they were avoiding Newsom’s shrill vocals by staying as far back as they could. I threw a couple elbows in the air just to make sure no one tried to get in front of me. At a festival fear is your best weapon. The sky was starting to get dark, but I didn’t think anything of it.
Oh my God!!! Bjork came out in one of those interesting outfits she’s always wearing!!! I love Bjork so much! Even if she opened with “Cosmogony,” which isn’t one of my favorites. WOOOOOO!!!! BJORK!!!!!!!! “Hunter!!” This is my favorite song ever!!!!! Yes! Yes! Yes!!!!!! This is literally the greatest night in the history of Chicago. Nothing can damper how amazing this is!!!! Oh crap I just got dripped on. I hope it doesn’t start raining.
Bjork’s music is way better than anything else Pitchfork lined up for this weekend. The high from her music is a million times better than any drug. It makes me feel all warm and perfect. I wish the concept from Being John Malkovich was real, only with Bjork, so I could go and live inside her brain forever. Pretty heavy on Biophilia and Votaic, but that’s ok with me. I’ve seen her perform all the really old stuff a couple times. AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!! “Army Of Me” is being played! Oh my god! If I’m sucked up by the heavens in the rapture right now, my life would be wholly complete!
I’m starting to get wet. What’s happening. Why is Bjork stopping? WTF is going on?!?!?!? Why are people leaving?? It’s just a little rain! Come on you wimps! This isn’t Wire this is freaking Bjork!!! Seriously? Are you being serious? Are you seriously canceling the rest of the show? You’ve got to be effing kidding me! This is literally the greatest atrocity ever.
I got home and checked Twitter. Apparently Phish and Pearl Jam both got rained out as well. But who cares, they both suck anyway. Eddie Vedder couldn’t hold Bjork’s purse made out of decorative soaps and wind chimes. Oh come on! Pearl Jam got to play their full show once the storm passed?? Stupid Pitchfork! I hate you so much! I’m never going back! Wait, what? Belle & Sebastian is playing tomorrow night? Hmmmm….