I turned 30 in January. It’s been a somewhat rough six months of adjustment to the idea that I have to be some sort of “real” adult now. Though I’m not yet married or a mom, I’m very clearly on that path in the next couple years. And never have I felt more so than at this year’s Hangout Festival in Gulf Shores. The fest has always skewed younger with a heavy dose of bro, but this year it seemed through the roof. Girls that were in no way over 18 wandered around the beach in barely-there bikinis covered only by asymmetrical adult-sized doilies or hideous kimonos covered in giant tacky roses, their heads crowned with floral wreaths of varying sizes (some worked in that “crunchy” way, while others were probably glued together from Michael’s supplies the night before–– probably by their mother).
The festival organizers are clearly aware that this is their target audience––young people with few obligations and plentiful disposable income––and the lineup reflected that, featuring radio hitmakers such as Bastille and Capital Cities (whom my friends and I just referred to as “The Safe and Sounds,” a nod to their rather annoying hit single), as well as perennial dance tent favorites like STS9 and Pretty Lights. That’s not to say it was all bad, of course. Every festival is going to have some element you don’t care for. I simply want to prepare you dear readers, that this is a festival you might have to work a little bit harder at if you want to get past the surface.
Just as Bonnaroo began slowly adding acts to a Thursday night “kick-off ” a few years back, Hangout has begun the same slow progression (though they charge extra for entry to this party, where at Bonnaroo it’s all included in the price of your ticket). We landed at the beach in time to see the closing act, the insanely popular DJ Gregg Gillis (better known as Girl Talk). The tent was packed out and the energy electric. His set focused mostly on newer tracks, all following his pattern of masterfully layering modern hip-hop with pop favorites from the 1970s to now. I always find it telling to watch the crowd and see who reacts to which part of the songs. It’s obvious when folks know only the rap part, but every now and then you’ll spot the person who is going nuts over the sample of “Rock Lobster” (I see you friend––you are my soulstar). Towards the end of the set, Gillis seemed to be teasing festival closer––and most-anticipated act of the weekend–– Outkast’s big hit “B.O.B.” Either it was wishful thinking on my part or he didn’t get the feedback he wanted from the crowd, but nonetheless he didn’t drop it. The set still ended on a high note though, and it had me ready to tackle day one the next morning.
After some mango mimosas (we fancy, y’all) and catching up with old friends, we headed out to start our weekend off with last month’s AG cover boys, ATL’s own Black Lips. For such an early slot (why they always gotta put the punk bands at high noon?) the guys had the crowd’s energy up pretty well. The biggest response of the set came from “Bad Kids” off their 2007 album Good Bad Not Evil and they closed with a nice nod to home, declaring “This song goes out to the people of New Orleans” before tearing into a blazing rendition of “Oh Katrina.”
Our next move was to the main stage on the beach for Israeli multi- instrumentalists Balkan Beat Box. They kept the energy up their entire set and really got people dancing. Launching into their original track “Hermetico,” lead singer Tomer Yosef gave a little laugh and said “now you hear the real thing.” He was referring to the fact that the track had been chopped and sampled for Jason Derulo’s revolting ode to international boning, “Talk Dirty to Me.” With a variety of both common and uncommon instrumentation and a high-energy dance set, BBB filled the void left by the absence of my other favorite international/world music bands, Gogol Bordello and Beats Antique.
One of the benefits of having scored an amazing condo just outside the fest years ago and getting to return to it every year is that many sets can be heard with crystal clarity from our balcony. Such was the case with songbird Ingrid Michaelson and rapper Wiz Khalifa. Both had large crowds gathered at the Chevrolet Stage for their afternoon sets. We ventured back out for a smoky sundown set from Gary Clark Jr. I’ve seen him a handful of times and it’s always been hit or miss whether or not he truly engages the audience. Thankfully he was “on” at Hangout and his set flew by, full of searing riffs and sexy melodies.
The dusk set from California rockers Queens of the Stone Age was one of our most anticipated of the day. Unfortunately, it was at the Chevrolet stage, which has sadly become too well known for its crap sound once you pass the barrier of the sound booth. If the crowd is any bigger, you’re in for uneven sound dependent on the winds coming off the ocean. QOTSA tore through a tight set and their hefty rock was a great change of pace, but I can’t help resenting the fact that just because I didn’t eschew seeing other acts to “camp” for them, I don’t get quality sound. It’s something the festival truly needs to address.
The Black Keys had no such disadvantage, as they were on the main Hangout stage. Unfortunately, good sound can’t save a dull performance. I love The Black Keys in theory. I love them on records and old videos of small club performances. But my only live experiences with them have been at outdoor festivals and the duo simply struggles to fill that sonic space, always leaving me disappointed with their effort and energy. They came on 15 minutes late and left 15 minutes early, effectively cutting a half hour from an already flaccid set.
Saturday began much like Friday, with us catching the day’s only real “punk” band at the Palladia stage (which is across the street from the beach on a plot of turf/gravel). Diarrhea Planet––ignore the heinous name––is just pure FUN. There were folks crowd surfing on donut rafts and the band surfing into the crowd while still playing. They encouraged audience members to whip out their phones and find some beach love on Tinder during the set, and also promised—via Twitter—to make the Black Lips’ set the day before seem like “An evening with Yanni.” They even busted out a bouncy garage rock cover of Outkast’s “Hey Ya,” which didn’t disappoint. I would see these guys again at any festival on earth. Or any club. Or my back yard.
After that killer start, we headed over to the BMI stage to palate cleanse with country/rock multi-instrumentalist Alejandro Rose- Garcia, aka Shakey Graves. Sporting a white tank and giant cowboy hat, he rocked the guitar and kickdrum on his own for a bit before inviting up some collaborators. I would have loved to stay to see more, but frankly this stage needs rethinking. It is smack in the middle of what is normally the parking lot for the Gulf Shores public beach and as such is nothing but asphalt and is therefore AS HOT AS THE CENTER OF HELL ITSELF. Seriously, guys. Let’s roll in a couple palm trees or something. Damn.
From here we headed back to the condo for a break and got treated to a wonderful mellow show by Tegan & Sara on the Chevrolet stage. The funny part is that the sound for that stage is actually leaps and bounds better on our balcony than when we’re standing in front of it. Ain’t that grand? Next up was Amos Lee on the main stage, backed by local gospel choir Port City United Voices. He played a huge set of original material and threw in some inspired covers, including a back-to-back run of Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls” and Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” But no cover of the weekend could top his closer: a soulful, gospel choir-propelled, not even the least bit ironic, version of Boyz II Men’s “End of the Road.”
The Flaming Lips’ Wayne Coyne didn’t come out in his traditional “human hamster ball” for their Hangout set, but the band did open with a classic fan favorite “She Don’t Use Jelly,” followed by what is probably their biggest hit, “Do You Realize?” The stage setup was crazy as always, including girls in giant rainbow, mushroom and flower costumes. Coyne sported a tinsel kimono and a bodysuit made to look as if his skin had been flayed off, exposing the musculature beneath. In addition to their own weirdo anthems, the Lips covered David Bowie’s “Heroes” (I wasn’t sold, but it was better than the time The Wallflowers did it) and closed with The Beatles’ “Lucy in the Sky (With Diamonds),” a reminder that their next venture is to be a collaborative cover of Sgt. Pepper’s.
Next we wandered to see New Orleans’ own Trombone Shorty, who was getting it hard in front of a massive crowd. He should definitely have been on a larger stage and I hope he gets one next time. From there we headed to the only show all weekend I agreed to “camp out” for. I saw Modest Mouse years ago at Bonnaroo and it was amazing. I’ve been a fan since college and I anticipated a crowd of fellow fans ready to lose their minds. What I found was a bit horrifying. I don’t know how it happened, but there were approximately eight million people at this show. And three of them knew a Modest Mouse song that wasn’t “Float On.” My friend and I muttered bitter old person words under our breath as we hoped they would forego their hit and infuriate the fickle crowd. No such luck. The set leaned heavily on tracks from their most popular (and that is a relative term) release, Good News for People Who Love Bad News, but we did get treated to a few gems (namely the track that put me over the edge the minute I heard the guitarist strum a few telling chords––“Tiny Cities Made of Ashes”). Lead singer Isaac Brock, looking far less drunk and bloated these days, sported a pair of purple boardshorts (not gonna lie, kinda short) and spoke very little during the set. His only real interaction came after the one-two punch of “Satin in a Coffin” and “Bukowski,” during which he looked into the crowd and leaned to the mic, bemused, to say that he was pretty sure he had just fed a young man down front a “shit sandwich,” judging by the look on his face. He followed with, “I would never want to do that, literally, but I’m pretty sure that’s what I just did to him.” If more songs from The Moon and Antarctica or Lonesome Crowded West = shit sandwich, then I’ll happily take one.
Sunday began with a dip in the Gulf to the tune of Blackberry Smoke, which sounded fittingly jammy. At the request of a condo mate, we then agreed to check out Bastille, who had a stupid huge crowd and was, of course, hard to hear (Chevrolet stage, I wish I could fix you). It only made sense to shift to Reignwolf, a Canadian band fronted by Jordan Cook, a guy who clearly went to the “Rock God” school of frontman training. I had the fortune of catching them at Voodoo last fall and knew it would be a show worth seeing. They didn’t disappoint, crawling down in the crowd (gear and all) for the last quarter of the show, happy to be just pouring liquid sex on everyone. Who knew Canada could be so badass? They seem very grateful for their fans and are still enjoying every second of their ascent.
We would revisit the BMI stage at sundown when, while still hot, there was a small break in the sun that allowed us to enjoy one of the best sets of the weekend, put on by Birmingham- based soul outfit St. Paul and The Broken Bones. Lead singer Paul Janeway, dressed in his Sunday best, sweated and belted his way through a tight set list that culminated in a blowout cover of Otis Redding ’s “Try a Little Tenderness.” I would see them again, even in an asphalt parking lot. It was that good.
The evening, and the festival, winding down, we made two last brief stops. The first was Andrew W.K. The unbridled joy of seeing five huge metalhead dudes playing Ramones-esque party rock with a heavy dose of ‘60s doo-wop was just too much to resist. I would gladly hire this band to play my wedding. On the other side of the fest, surf ballader Jack Johnson was relegated to the sound blackhole of the Chevrolet stage (which backfired in a major way as the entire internet seems to be angry about not getting to hear him). Attempting to balance his sound with the general crowd noise of the hordes amassing for Outkast and the ill-placed “dance tent” in the middle of the beach left me feeling frustrated. And no one should ever be frustrated at a concert by a dude who sings a song called “Bubble Toes.” Period.
We finally made our way down the beach through the thickening crowd to get set for Outkast. The crowd was the biggest of the weekend by far and full of what seemed to be lots of kids who had no clue who Outkast was (we actually heard Ludacris’ “Roll Out” attributed to them by the wise young men behind us, educating their lady friends). Once the show started, there was excellent interplay between Andre & Big Boi. They opened with “B.O.B” and hit almost all their career highlights (including “Mrs. Jackson,” “I Love the Way You Move,” “Hey Ya,” “Rosa Parks,” “Roses,” and “So Fresh So Clean.”) Their set, as with all the other headlining ones, ended a bit early (and somewhat abruptly) with a rousing rendition of “The Whole World.” I was crestfallen that we didn’t get to hear my sleeper favorite from their catalog, “Morris Brown,” but it was otherwise a rad set top to bottom and a truly solid way to close the festival.
Some other general observations from this year included that the Camelbak filling stations are awesome and well placed. Staffed and easy to move efficiently through, the organizers seemed set on making sure folks could stay hydrated. Blu e-cigarettes and Chevrolet both sponsored areas of “beach access” (in the past, there was zero access to the ocean from inside the fest) that, by all accounts, went over well. No drowning hippies. No insurance nightmares. The VIP and “Super VIP” areas are well stocked and appropriately elevated (for peering down at the plebeians of course) and if you’ve got the money for it and prefer not to rub elbows with drunk teens, it’s likely worth it more so than at most festivals.
One major, noticeable difference this year was a seriously beefed up law enforcement presence. Security (run by NOLA’s own Fess Security) took far more time searching bags/persons than usual (even in the VIP/Media/ Staff lines) and past each security table was a foreboding line of Alabama State Troopers and area Sheriff ’s deputies, ready to pluck you out of line if they thought you hadn’t been searched well enough (or you just looked sketchy I guess). I watched no less than five people (include a Hangout staffer) get “detained” over the weekend. Including two that were firmly in cuffs. It’s no secret that the city of Gulf Shores has been in contentious discussion with festival organizers about the future of Hangout. While it’s been a boon to the local economy, many residents feel it’s not worth the hassle or the obnoxious influx of drunk/drug-addled young people. So perhaps increased police presence was a concession the festival made to the city in order to keep negotiations open. Either way, it felt pretty heavy; there were cops staked out on top of a condo watching people in line and radio-ing down regarding suspicious activities/persons, so I’m sure it no doubt impacted some people’s enjoyment of the weekend. Nonetheless, “loyalty passes” went on sale the last day of this year’s festival for next year’s as-yet-undetermined fest, so let’s all cross our fingers that things get worked out.
