Summer in New York, for me at least, is synonymous with eating delicious meals outside (sometimes in a park, sometimes on a sidewalk, but often on a rooftop), going to outdoor concerts, and (when possible) doing both. Usually, the city as a whole can achieve this ultimate aim by attending the New York Philharmonic’s “Concerts in the Parks” series, which brings this illustrious orchestra to each borough (even Staten Island) for a night of classical music—and sometimes fireworks! But this year, due to reasons unexplained (even to me—and I work for it!), the Philharmonic did not conduct this city-wide tour. However, an annual tradition on hiatus (just this one time, we promise), allows us the opportunity to discover other sources of entertainment. Festivals and arts series abound in this city, wherever there is space enough and an organization willing to present the artists. Already I’ve traveled to Red Hook Park for a concert—just one in the massive Summer Stage series put on by the City Parks Foundation, which embraces the entire city by staging concerts of various genres in nearly every sizable park. If you can’t find something to fill your Phil-hole, then you’re not even trying. Theater in the park, migrating street fests, food festivals, beer gardens, outdoor swing dancing, roof-top films … it’s a hectic three months trying to keep up, really. I, for one, try to go to as many free, outdoor concerts as I can. And thus far, without buying a single ticket, I have enjoyed three summer nights of live music from some of my favorite artists: Andrew Bird, The Decemberists, and Animal Collective.
So I felt relieved to see no line greeting me as I strolled into Prospect Park for the free Andrew Bird concert. Was I actually early, or was Andrew Bird not as popular as I’d thought? No, and no. As I walked to the bandshell, I discovered, much to my dismay, that the line was indeed long and that the organizer had instead strung it along the park road rather than letting it meander over the lawns. Undeterred (and something of a stickler for lines), I placed myself at its end with the knowledge that, even if the outcome was unfavorable, I could always find a vantage point outside. But fortunately, my perseverance paid off; I got in and—miraculously!—found an empty chair in amid the well-populated seating area.
After some introductions and acknowledgements by the organizers and local politicians, Andrew Bird took the stage. Although I’ve liked his music for a couple years, I’ve never seen him in concert; but, I have listened to enough live concerts via NPR to know that, in addition to his violin and whistling skills, he utilizes a loop station—as well as a steam-punk revolving double sound-funnel amplification device. And he immediately put all these instruments to good use, slowly building a song around captured violin samples as he sang and whistled along. After about five minutes it was easy to recognize Andrew Bird as a very talented musician, alarmingly so. It made one wonder if he even needed a band at all. But sure enough, the rest of his ensemble appeared, provided a base of rhythm, and settled in for a relaxing hour of music on a beautiful summer night. As an encore, Andrew Bird closed with a few solo pieces, sending us home whistling as we went.
Four nights later I returned to Prospect Park with my entourage of one: Tim, my uncle/roommate. It had rained off-and-on that day, and the forecast projected more showers in the evening, but we opportunistically took the trip to Brooklyn. I mean, this was for The Decemberists, after all—and I’d brought a picnic dinner that we were going to eat outside, dammit. In May I had failed to buy tickets for this concert and to see Animal Collective in July. Yes, I regretted waiting too long, but I was determined to get some food and people together outside the bandshell nonetheless. Scores of people had the same idea for the Andrew Bird concert, and I’d expected similar numbers this night, but the rain kept people away. (This, and perhaps also the fact that screening is placed around the bandshell so that only ticketholders can see the stage.)
Tim and I set up on a hill and began our meal with an eye on the clouds rolling in above Park Slope. The food distracted us from the opening band, fortunately, but at intermission came the rain. Once again, a certain Caddyshack quotation was apropos (and not even ironically!), and even held true. Our provisions and blanket soaked, I chose to stand under a tree with my umbrella—making occasional trips to the bathroom to warm my hands under the dryer. But then The Decemberists took the stage, and Colin Meloy (who commanded the rains to cease) and company warmed our spirits with songs new and old—but all ineluctably “Decembrian.” The indie darlings were as charming as when my uncle and I had seen them last, on their “Hazards of Love” Tour. Had I blogged back then, I would have raved about their start-to-finish performance of the album, and ranted on why more bands should do the same (with their own albums, of course.) Rather than Tim’s recent favorite, “January Hymn,” they opted to play the seasonal tunes “June Hymn” and “July, July.” And even though we have yet to hear “The Mariner’s Revenge” live (hence, we must see them in concert again), only a band like The Decemberists could have brought the best to a soggy summer evening.
A month later, Animal Collective arrived in town. I was so distraught with my self-inflicted failure to get tickets that I nearly boycotted the summer entirely. (Thank God it didn’t come to that!) But I dragged Tim and my miserable self out to Brooklyn to at least listen if I couldn’t be in the bandshell. Unlike The Decemberists concert, truly summer weather was upon us, making it a perfect night for sitting on the grass with pasta, crudités, and strange-but-good beer in hand. After such leisurely dining, some electro-noise makers took the stage. I can’t recall their name, or why their music wasn’t appealing—it just was. But eventually, eventually, out came a band I’ve been dying to hear in person since I became acquainted with their music last summer.
Now, I don’t want to say I was disappointed with Animal Collective, but in a small way I was. Partly, it had to do with the fact that I wasn’t bouncing to the chorus or electronic beats and samples among the sweating, gyrating crowd (a very different scene from, say, a Philharmonic concert). And then there was the fact that most of the songs they played were new and unfamiliar. Had I been in the crowd, I really wouldn’t have cared; but as I lay in the grass straining to hear a favorite song, I did notice. Not that they necessarily have “hits,” per se. So it makes sense that they would the majority of their infrequent live performances to test their latest collaborations. But they did play the seasonally-minded “Summertime Clothes”—an earworm that I’d supported to by listening to every day at least once. And as quietly as they began, Animal Collective faded out with their encore, leaving us at once entrance and abuzz.
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