Now that the sun has set on what some Calgarians hope will become an annual event, it’s time to take a look at the Calgary edition of the Virgin. The beer-swilling, hard-rock, sun-stroked version of me had a great time and didn’t question manoeuvring through puke-stained grass and standing in mile-long lineups. At the same time, the real me scowled beside the stage and questioned the strange stain on the shorts of the shirtless drunk kid swaying in front of me. Yes, it was lewd. It was crude. It was rock ’n’ roll.
The time to question the lineup and its lack of surprises has long passed. Certainly, the moment swarthy, skinny and dare I say sexy Scott Weiland sauntered — no, prowled —onto the stage, any hipster snob’s heart (including mine) should have melted. Any uncertainty regarding the headlining status of Stone Temple Pilots was laid to rest with the hit (and possibly drug)-fuelled romp through “Vasoline,” “Lady Picture Show” and “Sex Type Thing.” I sang along right beside the kid punching the air, spilling his $7 beer all over me.
STP certainly hit me harder than the Flaming Lips did. I know I may get in trouble for this, but if dressing up a bunch of fans in Teletubbie costumes and blowing confetti into the air constitutes a spectacular live show, then shit, man, get out those confetti canons and find me some groupies.
Getting back to the $7 beer, there are a couple of things organizers might want to address next year. I understand the premise behind not having porta-potties in the beer gardens was to keep the line moving, but once you waited in line for an hour to get your beer, who wanted to leave regardless of bodily functions?
Much was made of the whole “festival experience,” with a vendor village consisting of tattoos, posters, jewelry and a whole lot of cellphone booths, but there wasn’t much to distinguish that part of the festival from Calgary’s other summer showcases. There were the Xbox 360 and Rock Karaoke tents to tide audiences over during the dismal Crash Parallel and the even worse Three Days Grace sets on Saturday. Sandwiched between these alt-rock travesties was our shining light of Alberta music, Corb Lund, who was a true country superstar.
Fort Calgary turned out to be a great festival site, aside from the lack of shade. Generally a nicely laid out affair, the festival was unfortunately marred by people’s reluctance to use the trash bins. It seems that the city might have been right to be reluctant to pay for curbside recycling in Calgary — people couldn’t be bothered to walk the five extra metres to a recycling station, and just dropped their trash on the ground. Add to this the fact that “eco-angels” were handing out paper handbills imploring festival-goers to recycle, and the festival’s green status gets a little muddy.
Still, the highlights were plentiful — not least of which were The New Pornographers’ ode to ELO and a Gord Downie shout-out to The Summerlad. The headliners didn’t disappoint — watching the Tragically Hip front man was like watching a problem child acting out to his family onstage. And we were a family. One big ol’ sweaty, dirty, drunk Canadian family.
