Features | Festivals

Pitchfork Music Festival 2011: Photo Round-up 1

By The Staff & Nate Smith | 14 August 2011

:: All photos by Nate Smith

Day 1 :: Friday


Explosive indigestion: the drummer’s secret means to achieving polyrhythmic bass kicks.


Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry.

It was at this point that Yanni split in two.

The look of a man about to ride his drum kit, and ride it hard.

Try as he might, Ian just couldn’t pull off the Weird Al rubber guitar trick.

Sudden ending of songs and recurring saliva damage to microphones prompts security to institute an emergency “no burritos in the front row” policy.


Thurston Moore

“…and so we were, truly, Little Women.” Thank you.

Weird…when you play Sonic Youth songs on an acoustic guitar it turns out they’re all just “Polly.”

Guided by Voices

“Everyone staying hydrated out there? That’s good. Good.”

Wearing yellow pants and flying guitar: bread and butter.

An angry dad reminds his kids that Guitar Hero is, quote, “fucking bullshit,” before spitefully defecating on their Xbox.

The crowd went silent when it looked like Pollard was going for his highest kick yet; little did they know that this was the cause of an errant banana peel.

“I bet I look so fucking awesome in these pants right now. I’m glad I picked stripes for their slimming effect.”

Living free in the moment of not playing a hospital or old folks’ home.

It may look like Pollard’s saluting the crowd, but really he’s seeing past them to a colonel walking outside the park.

So ye say ye want to sail for adventure? Methinks the seas be stormy this day my friends.

Animal Collective

Contents: weed, carefully wrapped organic alfalfa sprout & beet root sandwiches, distortion pedals, weed.

Sega nostalgia is a powerful thing.

“Seriously, it hurts your brain less if you don’t look directly at it.”

And then, after unveiling the giant diamond, Animal Collective proposed to the Pitchfork Music Festival. To Animal Collective’s surprise, the Pitchfork Festival refused, saying they were saving themselves for Kanye.

Geologist finally understands his name.

ATTENTION: We’ve captured Ryan Schreiber’s soul in this giant crystal, and we’re not letting it free until someone gets me that fucking iced coffee I asked for three hours ago.


Next Page