Day two of Hangout Fest was the day I tried Tinder and immediately got paired with a photographer who had trouble with press credentials, proving just how small the world is and the prowess of the algorithm. More often than not, however, representative bios pointed to slightly perturbed locals — quite a few “I live here”s! — and Hangout Fest partiers seeking drugs and something extra. I got feebly proposed to after confirming my match was Hangout-bound then went straight into the festival for Beats Antique. When dating has been condensed to a digital deck of playing cards and finger movement, the world-bending music and eventual giant blow-up cyclops of Beats Antique may be the only thing that makes sense. The band was far-reaching, rolling from a Bassnectar remix to Les Claypool’s “Beezlebub,” all the while being helmed by the inimitable Zoe Jakes. It was Jakes’ percussion and bellydancing that first drew onlookers to the sound for the largest crowd I’d so far seen in the early afternoon.
Young Fathers had quite the following as well. Situated on the cozy Salt Life Stage, the explosive trio’s energy emitted so far out it was impossible to find a passive listener until you hit the sand. Young Fathers played an even mix from breakthrough debut Dead as well as their latest LP, White Men Are Black Men Too. Tracks were laid out like discarded, charred vehicles on a dystopian raceway as Young Fathers aggressively rolled through a fiery “War” and “Feasting.” For a stark change of pace, I ventured into my first VIP area by the Surf Stage for the Mowglis, a band that is as happy-go-lucky as their name suggests. They don’t conjure nostalgia per se but rather speak to the saccharine notions of pop in earnest ways few have done since fun. was ruling the charts with their mildly nihilistic “We Are Young.” Except the Mowgli’s don’t have that edge; they literally say they’re “in love with love” and boy do they mean it. Owing either to the band or the general makeup of folks willing to spend nearly $1,100 on VIP tickets, the entire VIP section was middle-aged and more concerned with getting into a giant hammock without falling than truly digging into the Mowgli’s.
The band closing with their mega-hit “San Francisco” at least got some of the hammock-dwellers up and dancing, presumably because they’d heard it on the radio before. Not that it’s a bad thing. “San Francisco” is so incredibly ubiquitous it’s as if it took an Uber straight to your eardrums nightly and even during surge pricing. The Mowgli’s said this was their last show for a while but repeatedly took the time to thank the audience and repeatedly say how much they love their fans. Talib Kweli was next on my list and, with a little bit of chanting, his band — yes, he brought a full band and yes, it was fantastic — opened with “Seven Nation Army.” The power of the fans was evident as Kweli primed them with “Going Hard,” then raced through hip-hop lessons a la Tribe Called Quest’s “Scenario.” Stagehands and workers were everywhere, possibly outnumbering the surprisingly large crowd on their lunch break for Beats Antique. If the people putting on the show have stopped what they’re doing to see an act then you better pay attention.
By late afternoon, I’d seen one more Native American headdress (seriously, why?) and a possibly illicit GoPro monopod, which pretty much looked exactly like a selfie stick, shoddy plastic and all. I can only hope that the lack of headdresses was due to tighter security, though it’s fairly unlikely. Saturday’s security ultimately amounted to a lot of yelling to empty your pockets as well as confusion. Given the cycle of a three day festival, by Sunday no one should really care what’s coming in or out of the Hangout. They will have been resigned to their attendees. Barring Major Lazer’s gimmickry of faux cash, a barrage of dancers, and the type of crowd that would write their hotel name and room number on a pizza box to hoist up for an hour and a half, Hangout Fest Day 2 closed with a whole lot of rock. Strand of Oaks gave the type of sincere speech that was somewhat lacking by the overkill aspects of the Mowgli’s. When he said playing onstage was the best feeling of his life, that he’d essentially bleed out for his audience, he sincerely meant it. It also helped that Strand of Oaks’ songs had that sultry appeal of Ryan Adams meets the Gaslight Anthem.
Drive-By Truckers followed similarly. They’d made a dedicated effort to, well, rock. The band had even mentioned it in interviews: no more sad sack songs; for now, their live shows would just be a straight-up jam session. The band opened with “Where The Devil Don’t Stay” and by the time they’d hit their mid-point at “Girls Who Smoke,” had been trading riffs all the way to their fiddle player. The band was plugged in and amped up and the crowd absolutely loved it. I lost track of photographers taking video and shooting the loud and proud VIP section shouting along to every word of “Lookout Mountain.”
Father John Misty’s audience similarly followed along for the ride. When FJM repeatedly yells “Coachella” and throws a half-bitten green apple to the crowd, they’re either offended enough to leave, thereby preserving the Misty mystique or actually in on the joke. Misty played mostly to I Love You Honeybear and pulled out all the stops for “Bored In The USA,” by bringing up fans for perhaps the most dejected round of fist-pumping I’d ever seen. Blow-up swans joined the audience and Father John Misty serenaded one to “Chateau Lobby #4 (in C for Two Virgin).” It was surprisingly ethereal. Hangout Fest continues to impress and surprise (shoutout to Jack U for stepping in to fill Sam Smith’s set) and, barring the headdresses, that is more than welcome.
