TV on the Radio, My Morning Jacket, Beck Close Out Hangout Festival Day 3 (FESTIVAL RECAP/PHOTOS)

The final day of Hangout Fest was forcibly meandering in the best of ways, barring the lengthy shuttle bus ride over a bridge just to turn around and head back the same direction. As we passed over a gulf inlet for the second time, the bro to my right stopped chugging his liter of bud light long enough to suggest taking a completely different bus. The women sitting behind us said the bus ride took “literally an hour.” It literally didn’t. By the time our bus had dropped us at Hangout, it was still the early afternoon and there were enough slow-moving folks where the bus ride itself seemed like it was just fitting the theme.

A weekend-long festival is exhausting, especially one with the sun beating back at you off the gulf like an omniscient evil eye. Over the course of the weekend, the gulf was referred to as an ocean, the sea, a river, and its actual designation, though it didn’t seem to mind. Those beat down beach vibes made for a fitting canvas for St Lucia’s South African soundscape. When the Night could very easily be the perma-soundtrack to the Gulf Shores area. Owing to the lax vibes of the crowd, St Lucia swapped their usual manic energy for something a little more reigned in a la the evenly-paced “Elevate.” Taking that cue certainly worked in the band’s favor as a throng of fans began twirling and dancing, shaking off the sand and dust from a very busy weekend.

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Security was most certainly tuckered out as well. I saw two selfie sticks, the first of which was brandished during St Lucia’s set right in front of security. Both were met without consequences. Long live the selfie sticke, I guess. Soon it was off to the main stage for Vance Joy, whose singer-songwriter vibe perpetuated the mellow for the most part. It’s hard to stay relatively calm when you’ve got hundreds of fans screaming adoration through the barricades and straight to the elevated stage, though. Joy is a gifted songwriter with the voice of a band rather than a lone singer. His sound more than filled the stage, a considerable feat given its expanse. Drawing heavily from Dream Your Life Away, Joy made you long for a lover, a dance partner, and more material from the singer-songwriter. He’s a relative festival newcomer but a solid booking move on Hangout’s part.

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TV On The Radio continued their festival reign with a slightly jumbled version of their typical festival setlist. It’s a well worn formula that is proven to work and boy did it ever. After catching TVOTR at countless festival this year and last, I can’t not get goosebumps during opener “Young Liars.” It is Tunde Adebimpe at his absolute purest, surrounded by the rattling off the rails percussion and thrum of droning guitar threatening to explode around him like the last survivor of a bombed out city. They’re the type of band that make you want to literally (and I mean this) run towards the stage and attach your energy to theirs in an endless feedback loop of intensity. Perhaps the greatest moment of stage banter came smack in the middle of their set, when Adebimpe called out a fan in the middle of the audience for wearing an afro wig, demanding the wig-wearer remove it. For all my misgivings as to whether I was the only one outraged at headdresses and downright offensive garb, it was comforting to see TVOTR take a stand and hear the scattered clapping of solidarity mounting a crescendo.

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Lake Street Dive proved to be the second surprise of my day, stopping me dead in my tracks as they went through a sweet cover of the Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back.” Rachael Price’s voice combined with a full horn section and the expert bass work of Bridget Kearney absolutely brought the house down and had fans begging for an encore, even though the quartet weren’t scheduled to close out the stage. The Lone Bellow similarly brought the heat over at the BMI Stage, an expertly decorated venue surrounded by blue shipping containers, life preservers, and strands of rope leading to a ropey chandelier hanging dead center. Even the paella cooks were rapping their spatulas in time to “Green Eyes and a Heart of Gold” like they were paid as percussionists.

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The hands down best and only band to get the lethargic Surf Stage VIP section up and moving happened to be My Morning Jacket closing out said stage. Fans willfully left their hammocks and danced atop their chaise lounges to “Victory Dance” and “Spring (Among the Living).” The Jim James-led outfit was awash in the glow of psychedelic lights and a carousel of solos and shreds, their guitars ablaze like the setting sun. Even the sultry “Only Memories Remain” evoked amber hues and kept festgoers dancing. It was hard to bring myself to head to the main stage for Beck, they were so damn captivating. Beck did not disappoint however. In between a strange tinder saga involving finally meeting the only sane person using the app all weekend, (who, coincidentally, was working the fest itself) I loaned my shoes to a woman who’d had her’s stolen and danced around a faux yurt to the hilarious, sweet sounds of “Debra,” Beck’s underrated ode to a retail worker and her sister.

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Beck called Hangout Fest paradise, cut a brilliant promo for “Hell Yes” and even unleashed “Sex Laws” in a fan-pleasing set that culminated in a fireworks show and the blaring of “Sweet Home Alabama” on the PA after his band had riffed on the tune as they were being introduced. The fans crowding into buses who were chanting, singing — and to quote my final shuttle driver, getting turnt up — weren’t ready to leave the musical beachfront Nirvana that had been built. Already, tickets were being bought and reserved for next year’s Hangout Fest. The standard incubation period of a festival is about three to five years and Hangout is watching the tail lights of year six leave festival grounds stuffed with happy fans. Take off the headdress and take a bow, Hangout, you’ve made it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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