Irreversible Entanglements

 

Most Pitchfork attendees go to the festival in search of indie rock, rap, and artists who mix the two (Noname, Nnamdi Ogbonnaya, Kweku Collins covering “Maps” by Yeah Yeah Yeahs in order to lure more hipsters to his set, etc.). Free jazz is a less popular genre among loyal Urban Outfitters customers—and, to be honest, I personally had no intention of seeing Irreversible Entanglements. (Guilty as charged—where else would I have gotten these cat-eye sunglasses?)

 

So, naturally, it’s surprising that the energy emanating from the Red Stage on Sunday afternoon drew troves of crowd members to see Irreversible Entanglements. Booming drums, thundering bass, and lightning flashes from the trumpet and saxophone created an infinite loop of momentum that effortlessly evolved and devolved as the set barreled on. Frontwoman and poet Camae Ayewa (also known as Moor Mother) let her body convulse with the music before she began to improvise poetry, standing still and staring with fierce intensity at one side of the stage. With lines like, “She was five and knew how to play dead on the floor of the church / At what age do we teach our daughters that monsters are real?,”  it was exhilarating to watch Ayewa reach into horrifying realities of racism and string together such rattling poetry. It would’ve been impossible for any member of Irreversible Entanglements to simply go through the motions—they needed to be severely in sync with themselves and one another in order to maintain their 50 minute-long improvisation, during which they harnessed the power of pushing their instruments, voices, and poetry to their limits.

 

Noname

 

Some musicians are admired (the crowd goes “Wow,”) while others are adored (the crowd goes “Aww”). Chicago-based rapper Noname, with her permanently lit up doe-eyes, her full giggles, and her boundless charm, is really, really adorable. Her music offers gorgeously earnest meditations on being a perfectly imperfect teenager, effortlessly rolling off her tongue like she’s whispering to you as you doze off in the same bed, getting lulled to sleep by deep conversations between best friends.

 

Unfortunately, Noname’s style translates a bit weirdly to live performances—it’s almost as if she (and her music) are too passive for the festival stage. It wasn’t her primary concern to give the audience an amazing show—when she stopped in the middle of one of her songs, she apologized, saying, “I smoked before this and forgot the lyrics,” with a little laugh. But Noname is lovable because she’s so real and she doesn’t make a huge deal out of her relative fame—the crowd was hyped nonetheless. 

]But they were so hyped that they often drowned out her mellow energy, the same way the punchy bass and drums made her unassuming rapping style sound a lot like mumbling. Not too long into the set, Noname asked her bandmates how much time was left. She seemed disappointed when they told her there were “20 whole minutes,” so she played one song and left the stage with at least 10 minutes to spare, causing fans to groan. An audience member, though disappointed, sympathized with the young rapper: “Let her live,” she said.

—Staff writer Danielle Eisenman can be reached at danielle.eisenman@thecrimson.com.