Whoop, whoop, that's the sound of the Police

Being a brief account of some bands and some antics at this year's Siren Music Festival, which was brought to you by the US Army and Clear Channel. (No wonder the village voice staff might strike.)

(That the July 4th Yo La Tengo/Malkmus/Laura Cantrell show was sponsored by, among other evil corporations Marriott, was similarly disarming.)

I was kind of nonplused about this year's siren lineup. Compared to three years ago, most of the bands were drab, cookie-cutter A&R wet dreams of what "indie rock" should sound like. (It's possible that they were competing with Pitchfork's Intonation festival for bookings.) I'm frankly pretty sick of the post strokes NYC "indie" explosion, and i need to hear a symphony. But i do kind of like the Siren Festival, and Coney Island and the beach are a lot of fun. And who knows, maybe i'd meet a nice young post-anarchist intellectual and she'd be all like "hey baby, let's go start a committed antihierarchical relationship." (Didn't happen, but whatevs.)

So i jumped on the D-train, Half-Blood Prince in hand, and arrived just in time to hear almost all of Dungen's set, which was pretty great. Between songs the bassist said "we came here all the way from Sweden, and you don't understannd a word we are saying. Good thing for you we're such a good band." Yay, ironic self-deprecating humor. Seeing Gustav Estes rock his flute made me feel proud of my former floutist self.

I went for a walk on the beach during Brendan Benson's set, but came back for some of it. Didn't doo too much for me. I liked when they played MIA's "Bucky Done Gun" on the PA afterwards though.

Spoon's set was tight and impressive and energetic, but i spent most of it being angry at the asshole fratboys a few feet in front of me who were slam-dancing, "skanking," and loudly shouting obnoxious shit at the band, i.e. "Fork! Oh, Spoon, my bad Spoon! SPOON." Real great use of ironic mislabeling of kitchen utensils, shithead. I was also worried about the rather drunk gentlemen next to me, who had, needing to drain their bladders of the 64 oz cups of cheap, watered down budweiser they'd been drinking and threatening to poor onto the heads of passersby, had urinated into the empty cups and set them on the ground, inducing fears of spillage from all of us whom the dutifully and courteously warned of the hazard.

What the hell is up with me and impromptu urinators, anyway? Am i some kind of pee-freak magnet?