God bless those sad-sack indie scenesters who thought it’d be so cool to saunter up to the House of Blues box office Saturday night, begging and pleading for a pair of sold out Bloc Party tickets and a dish of caviar on a golden platter.
Boo hoo. Unfortunately, there’s more bad news. On the same night, the poorly advertised Wall of Sound Festival graced us with its presence in the lesser explored portion of our metroplex, Fort Worth. Fifty dollars and that dish of caviar says you missed this grand opportunity of live music redemption as well. Aw, shucks.
Nestled somewhere between downtown Fort Worth and the Stockyards, virtually hidden from the hoards of boot-wearing, beer-toting cowboys carousing that Saturday night, was Fort Worth’s annual attempt to galvanize the west’s pedantic, ho-hum spirit toward indie music. And no, Flickerstick does not count.
Stages were set, arts and merchandise tents erected, indie nom-de-tunes like Red Monroe, The Books and Ume were invited to play. And on paper, this event was indeed the second-most promising musical tour-de-force set to kick off last Saturday night.
Well, as a promotion of independent music and rising artistry in and around DFW’s floundering arts scene, the one-day, 40-band music festival was an utter disaster. This gutsy attempt to conjure indie awareness in the far west was an embarrassing flop that had the genuinely enthralled tucking their hope for a small-scale ACL in by 9:45 p.m.
Allow me to set the stage.
An unsettling chill of anxiety quelled my excitement as I approached the dusty baseball stadium turned outdoor venue, La Grave Field, around 7 p.m. I saw scanty patches of cars strewn about the parking lot and, considering I was already six hours late, my anxiety heightened as my expectations fell.
I clutched a set list that promised Explosions In The Sky, Ume, Ghostland Observatory and a couple other Austinites brave enough to crawl up from their comfort zones on Sixth Street. I paced inside stealthily, hoping to steal a front row glimpse of these widely coveted bands if no one else was going to.
Fortunately for me, but not for the promoters, vendors and artists wasting their valuable time in Fort Worth, I caught that spectacular glimpse, comfortably resting my elbows on the side-stage inches away from each band.
Headliners Explosions In The Sky played a bleak 20-minute set for a small, unenthused crowd of about 100, and I really can’t blame them. Explosions In The Sky awed a crowd 10 times that size at Austin City Limits ’06. Playing for a crowd of the walking dead just seems downright unfair to the band that pioneered the layered, cosmic sound we now refer to as dream-pop.
The theme of peace, love and indie music, coupled with the wide gamut of unknowns and indie moguls equated a stunning concept, but reality’s acrid bite and a weak fan base in Fort Worth destroyed this year’s hopes for progress.
The fans were aloof and disinterested, and the general ambiance and spirit of the festival was soaked with a wet blanket of timorous hip gyrations and embarrassing applause after sets.
This faux-festival was filled with unprecedented amounts of potential but was brought down not by the weather or the obnoxious demands of some high-strung artisan, but by the patrons themselves, or lack thereof.
In all, The Wall of Sound Festival is a great step in the right direction for the Dallas-Fort Worth music scene, but after this sham-showing of indie fans, the whole thing’s got me asking: Is it even worth it?
If these are the fans and festivals associated with Dallas’ indie scene, I need to find a new fad.
And fast.
