ATP New York Proves That Indie Rock Has Become a Cushy Croquet Party for the Cool Kids
Since it seems the recently announced [NY ATP festival ] has been the recipient of near universal acclaim, I feel it necessary to assume the role of the bitter vintner, and squash the first flush of sour grapes. My gripe is not with the lineup, which is unassailable. Yes, I want curators My Bloody Valentine to bleed my ears with monitor squall, yes I want to see The Meat Puppets perform the album from which was culled one third of the material for Nirvana Unplugged (II), and yes, I want to tell people that I saw Built to Spill perform but make it abundantly clear that they were just OK (not to mention the better-than-OK likes of Shellac, Low, Autolux, Mogwai, Tortoise, et al.) So no, the problem is not that ATP New York is just too good. But its hard to get excited for a super-exclusive (3,000 capacity) self styled boutique festival held on a country club compound Upstate, even if it doesnt have corporate sponsors.
Compounds remind me of cults, and when it comes down to it - although Id prefer Thurston Moore to David Koresh as my rock and roll messiah – the festival for me conjures up a super-hip prison scene, a Park Slope Penitentiary. I see guards slyly mustachioed, leaning nonchalant on vintage rifles puffing Parliaments, and the mess house slop a melange of non-GMO, organic, locally produced vegan fare. I hear conversations about bass saturation in the loudspeakers and arguments about wireless availability and pillow threadcount between cell blocks. Someone makes a shiv out of Iphone components, and then maybe at some point, out of the wardens beneficence and in strict adherence to federal guidelines, the prisoners will be forced to listen to some music. . . And the beautiful pigs will be corralled to rapturously slurp delicacies at the sub-cultural trough. Or something.
My weird, overwrought, fever vision of pampered penal exclusivity notwithstanding, there is also the issue of economics here. An equation: $275 a ticket + lodging + food/drink + golf (it is at a country club) = A fucking ludicrous sum that neither I, nor anyone I know who would be interested, could possibly pay. I know Kevin Shields needs some cash since My Bloody Valentine hasnt released anything since 1991 (the tracks he made for the Lost in Translation soundtrack dont count as an album just like Lost in Translation barely counts as a movie. Kevin: get it together!), but there better be a cheap MBV McCarren show later this summer, or else Im tempted to think the guy is just a dick. It all boils down to a mixture of the previous complaints, which on their own, I admit, arent really much. So the show is super exclusive? So have most of the best shows Ive ever seen. So the show is super expensive? So what, mega-fans pay similar amounts to see Dylans sputtering blah, or get within a poles poke of Thom Yorkes googly eye all the time.
Really, ATP NY is just the snob indie version of the [Motley Cruise], a pricey vacation with an artsy pedigree for financially blessed in-group sophisticates. Its a cool show, but bullshit must be called: ATP glorifies bands from a certain history of stubborn artistic integrity and self sufficiency (golden, virtuous, indie rock), and draws lines between the then and the now. In this attempt, the ATP crew unwittingly betray the sad distance between '80s DIY and Catskills splendor, and more. If the cushy croquet party of ATP is the coolest kid at school, it shows just how dead that old indie rock is, how weirdly removed from its origin this thing called indie happens to be.
This doesnt mean I dont want to go.