Festival Review: The Rogers Picnic

As an appetizer to this weekend’s Lollapalooza, the first annual Rogers Picnic was put on July 29th at Toronto’s Historic Fort York. The daylong fest was the stage for performances by—in order—Apostle of Hustle, Little Brother, the Dears, the New Pornographers, Tegan and Sara, Bad Brains, Bedouin Soundclash and the Roots. For all the lesser-known bands at the beginning of that list, the day was a celebration of Canadian music; for the last three it was a celebration of selling tickets.

The fest could have gone any which way, being the first of its kind set in a (frankly0 awkward location with an especially eclectic lineup of acts. Fort York is a genuine historic fort, equipped with stone walls, canons and wooden spikes. And maybe it was the beautiful weather, or the modest $50 price for the day, or the sight of the legendary Bad Brains after years of absence, or the incredible payoff by the Roots at the end of the day—but somehow it all clicked.

Things kicked off slowly with Apostle of Hustle—a very indie jam-rock band that didn’t jam as much as they could have, but knew their place all the same. Just over a hundred people had arrived by this point, and most were sitting down on their picnic blankets, talking, enjoying the company of their friends—a handful were at the front of the stage to support the band. But the boys didn’t seem to mind; it was nearly 2 pm and everyone was just relaxing, having a good time.

And then, lead singer Andrew Whiteman spoke a few words to the audience directly—I’m paraphrasing here—words about a Canadian Mountie with copious amounts of hydroponic pot and LSD (one dreadlocked dude standing up yelled in agreement at this). The Mountie, Whiteman continued, was holding, in his left hand, the bloody, severed head of George W. Bush.

Almost immediately, everyone looked confusedly at somebody else. A few people cheered.

Whiteman said something about a republican audience and continued—“In his right hand, he’s holding the bloody, severed head of Stephen Harper!” This got a few more cheers but people were still generally confused and unsettled by this interruption. And then Hustle jammed some more. Maybe it was the fact that they were on at 2 pm, or maybe they’re not engaging enough musicians to pull off a political rant, but not too many cheers accompanied them off the stage.

Most forgot about Hustle and their random political outburst by the time Little Brother came onstage. The hip-hop quartet brought audience members to their feet with a tremendous amount of energy and original style. Warming Roots fans up for what would later come, Brother displayed a lot of fun chemistry and awareness of what makes a good show. It’s unfortunate that they’re not any bigger. For hip-hop fans, keep an eye for them if they’re touring in your area. Chances are they’ll be playing a cheap but incredible concert.

Totally revamping the atmosphere after that were the Dears, a cinematic indie-rock group with some of the most intense musicians of the day. Lead guitarist Patrick Krief and drummer George Donoso put on beyond intense performances, and quickly became the most enjoyable aspect of the drawn-out Dears set. While the songs were beautifully constructed, the sound quality wasn’t terrific, which dampened the mood a bit. Between the increasingly scorching heat and the length of each of their songs, unless you were a true Dears fan, odds are you started to get a little bored during their set. Nevertheless, they were rocking out harder than anything else anyone had seen that day, and as my friend confirmed, they’re a lot better when they’re playing mid-sized venues at night.

When the New Pornographers stepped up to the plate, it really started to scorch; so much so that lead singer Carl Newman and Neko Case-replacement Kathryn Calder had a cute exchange about how they only play Toronto in extreme conditions (the last time they played being February, once again outdoors). As a fan of the band, and their name being one of the main draws for me that day, I was a little disappointed by how still they were as they played a variety of their songs, both new and old. They sounded extremely tight, but to the point that it just sounded like a studio recording; it was fun but a little disappointing. An exception was granted twice—once for “Twin Cinema”, where they didn’t move so much as they rocked the hell out of it, and once for “The Bleeding Heart Show”, which they used as an epic sing-along finale that got more people standing than had been all day.

I wish I could comment more on Tegan and Sara, but I’d never heard their stuff before, so I used their set to lineup for a water and go to the bathroom. This took about a combined hour to accomplish. For what it’s worth, considering I’d never heard them before, I was impressed with their energy and they have a really cute onstage presence. I’ll stick around if I ever see them again.

Next up were the ones people were waiting for. Bad Brains—the black hardcore punk group that pioneered their genre. The players, now in their 50s and looking more like Rasta hobos than ever, brought a whole new scene to the Picnic. People paid the fifty-dollar charge to come just before their set and leave just after. Mohawks, ex-hippies, ex-punks and a dude with a “Girls Gone Wild” trucker hat all swarmed to the front and instantly began moshing as soon as the music began. I quickly realized that I wanted to be able to say that I’ve moshed to Bad Brains, so I put away my camera in my friend’s bag and joined in. The crowd wasn’t wild, but it was appreciative—any time a song ended, we’d look up from the madness of 20 people pushing each other to find Brains’ frontman H.R. standing there, smiling complacently, his palms together and pointing skyward. Or he’d be in a monk-like pose, slowly moving his head to the frantic punk music, like a smiling Buddha overlooking anarchy. It was a little surreal, to say the least, but comforting to know that rock stars don’t lose their edge past their midlife crises.

Anyone who was sitting down for Bad Brains stood up for Bedouin Soundclash, and almost everyone who was moshing for Brains left or sat down in the back for Bedouin. On the one hand, the drastic change in style was nice because it balance out the evening; on the other hand, Bedouin simply could not follow Bad Brains in terms of either quality musicianship or level of excitement. For anyone whose heart was racing from Brains, Bedouin was both a delightful breather and a painful bore; each of their songs felt too long and too uninteresting to watch played live. I was hoping for something a lot more engaging, but they were too slight. Their music doesn’t pack enough of a punch to watch live. If you’re a fan, I apologize—you’d probably have liked it regardless—but for anyone on the fence, don’t bother with Bedouin. Their finale of “When The Night Feels My Song” was more epic and interesting than anything else, but it took them over an hour to get there.

The Roots have been called the greatest live band of our time. I will agree to this. As soon as Black Thought walked onstage, he commanded it. Their intensified versions of “Game Theory”, “Here I Come” and “Don’t Feel Right” were wonderfully received, while their rendition of ”Jungle Boogie” and older classics like “The Seed 2.0”, played in twice its normal tempo, had fans screaming louder than the music could be heard. It would have been enough of a hit to end the night, even if bassist Hub hadn’t played his utterly ridiculous solo for three minutes, slapping and picking and distorting three times in a minute. This drove fans crazy enough; they didn’t need to bring on De La Soul as special guests for a mini-set of their own. And De La Soul didn't need to call out Lupe Fiasco from nowhere to perform a song or two and dance around excitedly. All this would have been enough to fulfill concert-goers lives—and then they all stopped simultaneously and held tableau while Black Thought walked through everyone, narrating their goodbye.

By just watching the Roots perform onstage, you can tell that they’re doing exactly what they want to be doing. Their love of music shines through, and that’s what makes them so much fun to see live. I cannot recommend seeing them enough, and rest-assured, you can expect an equally positive review in a week when I see them in Chicago.

If you ever find yourself in Toronto around late July next year, the Rogers Picnic is worth checking out. With no crippling sound problems, a small-ish crowd and a chilled out atmosphere, unless their lineup fails miserably next year, it’s a show worth watching.