Pitchfork Music Festival Paris

Now in its fourth edition, the Pitchfork Music Festival Paris, built by and around one of the most influential brands in online music journalism, is not a festival for mere trend-chasing regulars devoted to the coolest American website on the musical interwebz – quite the opposite. Today the festival stands as a major point of reference for fans keen to combine not only the pleasure of seeing great, established acts like Mogwai, Belle & Sebastian, St. Vincent and so on, but also the joy of discovering rising new artists (Shura, Movement) and others playing their very first show ever (Tobias Jesso Jr.), thus proving it has not only nerve but also enormous faith in its line-up.

Held inside the Grande halle de la Villette, an enormous iron-and-glass structure capable of holding more than 6,000 people, the Paris event is far from being a straightforward festival, since all the acts alternate on two facing stages, giving you the chance to see the entire line-up. Even so, it retains that festival atmosphere thanks to various areas dedicated to extra-musical activities, such as the games zone (foosball, swings, Pac-Man, Twister, etc.), the excellent indoor market stalls, and of course the decent food/relax area, which offers a limited variety (fish and chips, hot dogs or burgers – vegetarian options too) but never has excessively long queues. The only organizational flaws were the near-total impossibility of bringing food and water inside the venue (not even a bottle opened with the usual hidden cap trick), given searches as thorough as at an airport, and the fact that once you left the venue you couldn't get back in.

The task of opening the festival falls to Ought, the post-punk quartet signed to Constellation Records, who this year released the excellent "More Than Any Other Day". Any air of lost, wide-eyed kids they carry with them vanishes almost immediately, the moment they launch into the near-title track "Today, More Than Any Other Day". Their sound is warm, full, almost a mirror of what you hear on the record. Frontman Tim Beeler moves in jerky bursts like an early David Byrne, singing with a full, slightly crooked voice, acting as the set's catalyst. Theirs is a short set, played to a sparse crowd (something that will happen on every day of the festival for all the artists scheduled in the early part of the bill), but it's also one of the most convincing and gripping of the entire Pitchfork Paris.

For us, seeing How To Dress Well live feels like crossing the finish line after an endless race. Thanks to various Italian dates that were announced and then cancelled, we finally get to experience Tom Krell. The start is extremely promising, but it's a shame that his already-brief set is interrupted by prolonged technical problems. Tom even tries to joke about it, but it's genuinely hard to build the right atmosphere this way.

Notwist confirm what they've shown us since returning to the stage for their latest "Close To The Glass": they're a great live band. Krautrock digressions, reworked arrangements of their past and present repertoire, and finally the thing that holds it all together: the sheer enjoyment they take in playing the songs, the knowing glances between them, the ease with which they inhabit the stage. The only flaw, for the more nostalgic among us: they only played "This Room" from the masterpiece "Neon Golden".

Let's not pretend otherwise: one of the most anticipated bands of the entire festival is War On Drugs. Their latest effort, "Lost In The Dream", is one of the albums of the year, and expectations are sky-high. Granduciel and co. know this, and indeed their entire performance is built around it. "Burning" and "Eyes To The Wind" warm up the crowd and set the stage for the devastating one-two punch of "An Ocean In Between Two Waves" and "Under The Pressure". The audience is completely captivated; we are, a little less so. Hype is a nasty beast, especially when you love an album viscerally and its live rendition doesn't quite deliver. Here, what's missing is that ethereal, dreamlike sense of magic you can savor listening on headphones. The songs feel leaner, less warm, despite the musicians' evident chemistry. "Red Eyes" closes the set on a slight upswing, but it still feels like something's missing. The main course was served; the side dish wasn't.

The moment arrives for the evening's headliners, and you can tell from the fact that the crowd thickens considerably several minutes before the sets even begin, making it quite hard to move around. Up go Mogwai: their set mirrors what they've been doing in recent years, packed with tracks from Mr Beast onward that, aside from a couple of throwbacks ("Mogwai Fear Satan" and "Hunted By A Freak"), might make long-time fans wince. But the relatively young, not exactly "purist" makeup of the crowd, combined with the band's innate ability to keep their sound clean and then slam it into the audience's face with walls of noise, makes any complaint feel like a mere nostalgic indulgence; finally, the preview of the new EP "Teenage Exorcists" delivers more than expected live.

The finale belongs to two electronic-leaning artists: Jon Hopkins does what he does best, namely making techno accessible to the masses. Without changing anything about his usual, well-honed set, he adds a series of visuals drawn from urban and suburban landscapes that dress it all up nicely. A quick dash to grab the best spots, and here comes James Blake, with the same drums-and-guitar/effects duo setup we've watched since his first Italian appearance in Milan. The Brit "lays his cards on the table", so to speak, opening with CMYK from the EP of the same name, and the crowd is already at his feet.

You'd expect him to keep riding dancey tones, but instead he throws us off again with "Never Learnt To Share" and "Limit To Your Love". These won't be the only gems drawn from his debut, which the artist saves for the very end. Perhaps as a deliberate contrast, the selections from Overgrown instead lean toward a more dub-influenced sound, and while it might not hit quite as hard as its predecessor did, the bass certainly does the job: tracks like "Digital Lion" and "Voyeur" end up forcing their way into our bodies, making our ribcages resonate. He offers a kind of "cure" for that effect at the end, with the soaring, epic "The Wilhelm Scream" and, above all, with "Measurement", the closing track of the self-titled album — a rare gem, the summation of the artist's ability to lay his soul bare with just his voice, repeated in a sacred loop.

Day two, same routine as before. There are only a few of us down at the front for Perfect Pussy, and still no sign of Halloween masks nearby (they'll show up later). The band led by Meredith Graves delivers a peculiar performance, where what matters most is perhaps the singer's very presence on stage rather than the songs themselves. Gone is any hint of melody; the whole set rests on the rock-solid, relentless instrumental section and on Graves' harsh, near-unintelligible vocals (if you can call them that). Punk, fine; the crossover between music and performance art, fine too — but putting them at the start of the day was perhaps not the best choice. The air coming off the stage is too heavy to create any real connection between band and audience.

Things go much better with D.D. Dumbo and, afterward, with Son Lux. The Australian, freshly signed to 4AD, resets the mood inside the Grande Halle, steering it toward tempos better suited to the time slot and the situation: alone on stage, with voice and guitar loops, he proves more than capable of delivering a fine performance. Son Lux is a good representation of what Pitchfork has championed in recent years: experimental hip-hop, in a blend of genres ranging from post-rock to jazz that's fascinating, even if we can't call it our greatest passion.

Let's talk about hype again, this time with the hugely anticipated Future Islands, inexplicably slotted quite early in the lineup. Their now-famous Letterman appearance probably changed the course of their career, but it must be said straight away: these Americans really know how to work a stage. And how! They're the first act to dress for the occasion (respectively costumed as a wizard, as Lurch from the Addams Family, as a werewolf, with frontman Samuel Herring as Dracula), and their performance is explosive, forceful. On stage, Herring is an untamed beast, thrashing about like a madman as his makeup runs down his face, yet his voice never wavers, always rock-solid. He gives himself generously to the crowd and will also be the only artist at Pitchfork to crowdsurf. Plenty of songs from "Singles", but also several cuts from their earlier albums, proving theirs is a band that's been alive and active for years, not one built on a single lucky TV appearance.

The second day's lineup (truly staggering in terms of quality) continues with Danish artist MØ. A big crowd turns out for her, made up as a skeleton, especially among the younger attendees. Probably the first genuinely "trendy" moment of the Pitchfork bill. That said, Karen Marie Ørsted has earned the attention through a string of successful singles, and tonight she proves to be a convincing performer too. Strong pop instincts, modern sounds and real stage presence. Our expectations weren't the highest, but we were proven wrong.

MØ's set serves as the perfect lead-in to Chvrches, who follow. Lauren Mayberry takes the stage fully done up, candidly admitting that her original plan had been to dress as Princess Leia — an idea she abandoned after seeing Future Islands' fantastic costumes. Synths at full blast, and one single after another packed into a danceable set that leaves nothing to be desired; there's even room for the brand-new "Get Away", which takes no time at all to stick in our minds like tape.

The pairing that closes out this second day is the stuff of dreams. St. Vincent is now, in every respect, a world-class pop star. Forget the folk artist of her early days: David Byrne changed her (for the better), and her latest, self-titled album stands as proof. Sure, her music can't simply be filed under "pop": call it art-rock if you like, but that's beside the point.

Annie Clark's transformation is genuinely astonishing: a kind of postmodern witch, sexy and mesmerizing, capable of scratching and seducing all at once. On stage, it's no longer (just) about the music, but a full 360-degree experience: there are choreographed dance moves with her keyboardist, an inspired monologue, the swagger of someone who knows she's a diva and can afford to do whatever she pleases. Add to that, as in her case, the ability to write truly great songs, and the picture is complete. Very, very few artists are able to engage and draw in as broad and varied an audience as St. Vincent.

A complete contrast are Belle & Sebastian, unchanging through the ages as long as they stick to the old repertoire. It's hard not to melt at “Fox In The Snow”, unthinkable to stay still during “The Boy With the Arab Strap”, and just as tough not to feel a lump in your throat over “Like Dylan In The Movie” or the absolute classics “Sleep The Clock Around” and “Get Me Away From Here I’m Dying”. But what really makes you wince are the new tracks – “Allie”, “Perfect Couples” and the already-released “The Party Line” – which will most likely end up on what could well be the worst album the Glasgow band ever makes. “Perfect Couples”, in particular, is a rambling, aimless suite of over six minutes, stuffed with some rather embarrassing world-music tambourines. Add to that Stevie on vocals (let's be honest, singing isn't his strong suit), swinging between exhausting refrains and an awkward crooner delivery, and the omens of a flop album become almost a certainty.

The third day looks set to be tough for two reasons: topping day two is nearly impossible, and the extended hours (from 4pm to 5am) make it a real marathon to get through. We miss Jessy Lanza in favour of some wholesome Parisian sightseeing, and arrive just in time to catch Charlotte OC's performance. The singer from Blackburn shows real personality, delivering a powerful soul voice over minimal electronics with a sure-fire impact. A sort of low-key BANKS (for now), who's already won over the sparse crowd gathered at the Grande Halle as early as 5pm.

Next up is one of the artists this writer was most looking forward to. Tobias Jesso Jr. is a Canadian songwriter who writes piano-and-voice songs so heart-wrenching they'll make your chest ache. His is a peculiar story: after years spent in Los Angeles trying to make it as a pop songwriter, he rediscovered himself as an artist in his own right once back home (with some help from ex-Girls member JR White). This is his first-ever concert, save for a small live performance for La Blogothèque a month earlier, and Tobias looks, in every way, like the nerdy guy next door straight out of any American comedy. Except this one happens to be a kind of lyrical phenomenon, the sort destined for success.

His songs are about love, breakups, failures. Many of them are new to most of the audience, but the silence that accompanies his performance is striking. A sign that Tobias has stolen everyone's heart.

A radical shift with Kwamie Liv, brought in to replace another newcomer, Ben Khan, who dropped out. Minimal electronic beats, maxed-out bass and a commanding R&B voice steer the mood toward the sound that will define the rest of the day.

Australia's Movement are the first to draw a big crowd today. Theirs is one of those names Pitchfork regulars have long circled in red. And indeed, this trio of trip-hop/electronic sounds, not too subtly indebted to James Blake, deserves all the attention it's been getting so far. Much of the credit goes to Lewis Wade, the band's keyboardist and singer. He has real stage presence, but above all a stunning voice, extremely communicative and capable of hitting soaring peaks. By the end of the festival, nearly everyone will rank Movement's set among the best performances of the three days.

The last traces of rock'n'roll come courtesy of Foxygen, the band that with their latest album “…And Star Power” dusted off that vintage Sixties/Seventies rock (Beatles, Stones, Elton John and so on), trying to reframe it in a more modern light. It's a half-successful operation, and the same can be said of tonight's performance. Setting aside all the melodic exploration of the studio record, Foxygen deliver an ultra-tight, lively set, complete with backing singers/dancers like a stadium rock band. Sam France is the 2014 version of Iggy Pop, bare-chested and pulling all the moves of a seasoned rockstar. He throws himself into it, trying to galvanize a crowd that only follows him in fits and starts, perhaps thrown off by this kind of show. After all, the main draws of this third day (the first to sell out) are all electronic acts, and it's easy to imagine this isn't the best possible crowd for the Americans. One to revisit.

Tune-Yards take the stage with a particularly eccentric lineup: a nerdy-looking bassist, a fellow percussionist, and two backing singers, one of whom is dressed as a skeleton in full, if very belated, Halloween style. Even though only three songs come from the previous “w h o k i l l”, with the set favoring the still-strong Nikki Nack, the performance is more than solid, enriched by Merrill's vocal samples built up live on the spot and often broken up by dance moves and breaks that bring to mind what happened the night before with St. Vincent.

José Gonzalez is good. With an acoustic guitar and a sweet voice, he's capable of bewitching a crowd as large as Pitchfork's. What worked against him was the timing of his slot in the lineup. At a moment when the musical tension was building steadily, Gonzalez's acoustic songs killed the mood entirely. That said, if he comes to a venue near you of the right size, don't miss him.

Jungle then have an easy time bringing the crowd back to life. We take it all in from the front rows, where the audience turns wild and the urge to move is now at its peak. The two English producers Josh Lloyd-Watson and Tom McFarland set themselves up in front of adjacent synths, both with guitars slung over their shoulders. They're backed by a six- or seven-piece band, backing singers included. They do exactly what you'd expect: get people dancing. Their electro-funk is flawless, maybe even too faithful to the studio versions, but the songs are irresistible, and you simply can't stay still listening to tracks like “The Heat”, “Busy Earnin” or “Julia”.

For the festival's finale we're back in electronic territory as on Thursday, but this time the setup is much more clearly built for dancing. Caribou is the standout act of the night: backed by musicians dressed, like him, in total white "A Clockwork Orange" style, he delivers the set he's currently touring with, built around “Swim” and the latest “Our Love“. Whether it's the atmosphere, Jessy Lanza's guest appearance on “Second Chance”, the surprise touch of colored balloons dropped from the ceiling during “Can’t Do Without You”, or simply the alcohol in most people's systems, the crowd is euphoric, and not dancing is simply not an option.

The following act, Four Tet, draws the hardcore crowd (fewer, in truth, than those who turned out for Dan Snaith and co.) determined to make the most of the night: it's a straightforward run through the artist's catalogue, played with a steady four-on-the-floor pulse that, without ever surprising, still hits the mark in getting everyone dancing.

We decide to skip staying up for Kaytranada and wait to catch only Jamie XX, whose set doesn't exactly shine with personality (or rather, with personal touches, since even his “I Take Care Of You” only surprises the crowd for the first few seconds before fading away). So we cut out halfway through his performance, leaving the rest to those less picky.

At the end you'll find our video report in collaboration with Going Solo:

Ride the wave of great music

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