Governors Island was once a lump of 90 acres in Upper New York Bay, by the Buttermilk Channel. In 1776, America used the modest pebble to defend itself from the British during the Revolutionary War. In the 1900s, the ground under Lexington Avenue came up to make room for trains, and came down as the second half of a historic and more sizable lump of 172 acres. One is wont to speculate what a Revolutionary soldier might have made of the throngs present for the final act of the Governors Ball: sun-baked youths with brightly painted faces, gyrating madly to earth-rumbling vibrations triggered by a young man in a canted cap, atop a quadrilateral throne of variegated lights.
Large music festivals have become massively popular over the last decade, and thus far none have suffered interruptions of musket fire. The Governors Ball felt a lot like a big festival, with a solid lineup, greasy food-karts, and a general concern about the whereabouts of someone named "Molly." But it also maintained the unique flavor of a limited, one-day affair. The grounds were laid out such that a short walk from one stage took you past the basketball and volleyball courts and the public-access water fountain, and in the time it takes to down a funnel cake, there was another electronic performer giving it to you in the face.
After a Passion Pit DJ set featuring a rendition of "Sleepyhead" inlaid with the Jackson 5's "I Want You Back," Philadephia-based Mac Miller exuberantly delivered his rhymes to an overwhelmingly high-schoolian following. His lyrics jumped thematically between cutting class, smoking weed, and other puerile joys to which countless other boychicks can surely relate. The thoroughly tattooed Miller demonstrated an impressive flow, which he unfolded during calculated breaks in his DJ's beats.
The unanimous cream of the hip-hop crop, however, was Big Boi, who answered unspoken Outkastian questions by loosing "Ms. Jackson," "So Fresh, So Clean," and "Bombs Over Baghdad," right off the bat. After returning from a brief technical difficulty when the amplifiers faded out, a member of Boi's posse hollered, "Let me hear you say BULL-SHIT!" "BULL-SHIT," we responded, and then everything was forgiven upon a heavy drop into the intro of "Shutterbug." There was nothing terribly frilly about Big Boi's set, save the harem of dancing women - but there's no denying his prowess on the mic.
Over on the other stage, Australia was cleaning house. Miami Horror front man and producer Benjamin Plant exuded incredible energy, including several signature "guitar as phallus" thrustations. On the whole, the band's economical instrumentation was extremely impressive; the four-piece outfit filled the island with sound, discoesque guitar licks flicking about rumbling, melodic bass lines in a sheen of synth pads. Their first major single, "Sometimes" elicited a slight spike of crowd recognition, though the tune struck me as just another gem in a shimmering set of dance-pop.
As the day melted into evening, Empire of the Sun emerged in the twilight as the festival's most radiant act. Polished and poised, the trio put a psychedelic dream to music, enhanced by committed performance artists including a cadre of colorful, latex-laden dancers. Lead singer Luke Steele seemed both confident and brittle beneath a massive blue peacock headpiece; his vocal delivery carried traces of both timidity and adroitness. When all was said and done, the three costumed musicians bowed deeply as though it were the end of a musical, which seemed appropriate.
There are perhaps no better candidates to DJ a party than Girl Talk and Pretty Lights. It's always tricky determining what they're doing on their Macbooks besides pressing play, though it doesn't matter ultimately since it sounds so good. Nobody in the house came to see Kelly Clarkson, but mixed with the right beats, GT had us all bellowing "Since You've Been Gone" into the night sky 'neath streams of fluttering toilet paper. Pretty Lights, meanwhile, unleashed his standard fare of soul samples with monstrous buzzing bass and wonderfully syncopated wobbles and scratches. He later reached into his eclectic catalog and pulled out a synthy remix of Pink Floyd's "Time," as well as a sexy interlacing of Radiohead and Nirvana.
In all, the inaugural Governors Ball was a celebration, a workout, and a message to New York City: summer's here.
