07/06/2024-07/07/2024 Mosswood Meltdown, Oakland
The B-52’s Setlist (07/06/2024)
Redd Kross Setlist (07/06/2024)
Gibby Haynes Setlist (07/07/2024)
The Egyptian Lover Setlist (07/07/2024)
MOSSWOOD MELTDOWN 2024 LINEUP Read More
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The most welcome things about Mosswood Meltdown are the singular Bay Area vibes. You won’t find the impersonal, bigger-budget festival here, with wannabes and posers asking impatiently, “Who the f– is this band?” and waiting to be wowed when love lies in knowing and loving the music before you even reach the venue. This festival is not for the musically lost, wandering through sun-parched tundras of strangers, focused on selfies and before-and-afterparties (although Mosswood had those, too). Mosswood feels homegrown, with a community vibe baked in the summer-y July Oakland heat, full of people you see around town, at shows, at art exhibits, at the bus stop.
And, oh yeah: The music rocks, too. It doesn’t hurt that legendary filmmaker John Waters has now hosted ten illustrious years of the Bay Area festival, always slicing through the heat and DIY grime with his witty, stream-of-consciousness intros. For this year’s intro to the much-anticipated headliner, the B-52s, he managed to fit the words “Marjorie Taylor Greene” in the same line with “drag queen,” namechecking enemies and heroes in the same breath as “Hate Couture Punks ‘R’ Us.” I’ve never been lucky enough to spot him on my Muni bus… someday, I hope.
Vibe check: Oakland was sweltering in the low 90s on Saturday, the first day of the festival. I ran into friends from “the City” (San Francisco), “the Town” (Oakland), and “the Island” (Alameda). It was mid-afternoon by the time my friend and I arrived. As a weather-sensitive San Franciscan who’s used to chilly, fogswept summers, and who longs for the endless pool parties of my former L.A. existence, I spent time recuperating from the East Bay heat at my friend’s apartment complex pool. We arrived at Mosswood right when the hairstylists from Pony Salon in Oakland closed up their booth; they were offering free bang trims, but said we could come back tomorrow. Amoeba Records, local vintage clothing shops, and myriad other vendors were thronged with people browsing between bands. This year, there was only one stage, which meant some lag time between the bands’ sets. By mid-afternoon, the food lines were endlessly long, but it was so hot that I didn’t feel like eating until I got home hours later.
We had just missed a drag show by legendary local Peaches Christ, but we did catch Hunx & His Punx, a longtime Mosswood favorite, as they barreled through a raucously fun set. “Only one thousand more songs to go!” promised Hunx, aka Singer Seth Bogart, after every song. In-between sunny punk ditties that sounded like a mash-up of retro Best Coast pop hooks and slightly snarling Ramones riffs, he shared anecdotes about people in bands he slept with, admired, loved, liked, and loathed. It was a dishy set of fun, punky bops that set the crowd alight.
I’ve always loved the fuzzy rock ‘n roll fantasies of Redd Kross. An L.A. band with a New York heart, they’re all about heavy guitar distortion overlaid with supremely catchy hooks. A bit glam, a bit punk, all fun. Even with the sound problems that riddled their set, I couldn’t not bop my head to “Jimmy’s Fantasy,” with its loud-quiet-loudness and singalong vibe: “Cast the hex with your echo-plex/ You don’t ever wanna have… sex.” No wonder with the rock they bring, that Thurston Moore called them one of the most important bands of the last 30-40 years.
My friends and I all gushed after the B-52s’ set about how startling good they were. John Waters’ intro for them was apt: “[They had] big hits without becoming big shits. …We all know the surreal power of the lobster.” Indeed. Backstage, press people and fans alike ogled Kate Pierson’s beautifully glittering red dress, taking pictures from across the way before she even stepped onstage. Fred Schneider and Cindy Wilson also cut a fine figure, less ostentatious in appearance but all primed to perform. Onstage, the band were simply spot-on. A 101 course in how to sing and perform perfect pop hits from the decades of their existence, their vocals sounding like they were preserved in amber all these years later, belting out “Rock Lobster,” “Deadbeat Club,” “Roam,” “Love Shack,” “Private Idaho,” in steady succession. Friends who’d seen them on their “farewell tour” last year said they were even better on this night, and the crowd gave as good as they got. By the end of the set, we practically collapsed in gratitude.
Day 2—Sunday—was a more subdued affair. The afternoon temps were not as punishing, and the crowds had thinned out considerably since yesterday. But the vibes were no less immaculate. I got into a random conversation with a record store worker from L.A. about Britpop bands (I was wearing a Suede t-shirt)—we swapped stories about our favorite b-sides and the awe-inspiring charisma of seeing Jarvis Cocker shopping at an NYC record shop. It cemented the mood that this weekend is for friendly, diehard music lovers, not fighters.
Egyptian Lover—aka American musician, DJ, vocalist, and producer Gregory James Broussard—played snippets of “Planet Rock” in-between vintage beats recalling his ‘80s DJ years. He encouraged the crowd to chant plenty of swear words and get up to dance to his filthy, retro beats, to which pockets of people happily obliged.
Starry-eyed, I spotted Mosswood alumni the Linda Lindas backstage, enjoying the scene as they disappeared into the crowd before Gibby Haynes’ (of Butthole Surfers) prog-rock-y set with a stage full of musicians and kids. Chaotically dissonant, Haynes occasionally proffered wrenchingly beautiful bits of melody that reminded me of early Pavement, with random, curious bits of lyrical nonsense about Garry Shandling or Arnold Palmer. I dug it.
I spotted an Oakland friend I hadn’t seen in years, who encouraged me to stay for Big Freedia, the high-energy rapper who’s worked with the likes of Beyonce. But another friend had already tapped out long before Big Freedia and the band I’d hoped to stay upright long enough to catch, the Mummies, local legends and garage punk afficionados from San Bruno, who’ve been kicking it since the late ‘80s. Alas, it seemed like the hunger and fatigue from a weekend’s worth of immaculate Oakland vibes caught up with me. I had to hop on BART and get ready for work the next day. But as Mosswood frequently welcomes bands back for encores even years later, I didn’t worry about what I was missing. I only looked forward to more of what I got, for years to come.
Gibby Haynes |
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Redd Kross |
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The B-52’s at Mosswood Meltdown (06 Jul 2024) |
Robin Lapid ♥ weheartmusic.com ♥ twitter.com |
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