the second in a three part TI series
Crowds rank at the top of my dislikes, and the great outdoors are not far behind. So the not-too-crowded, non-camping Treasure Island, a sort of zitty but humble stepsister of bigger festivals like Coachella, seemed just fine to me.
It was still a music festival, with two days’ worth of all the harem pants and Camel-Baks that one may expect, but it seemed quite aware of its insignificance, content with two stages, a few big names, and a halfhearted pirate theme. Treasure Island is big enough to book Beck, James Blake, and Animal Collective but lowkey enough to let you in without a fuss if you forget to print out your tickets—not that I’m speaking from experience.
While the sun was out, the festival felt nearly empty: people were steadily filing in through the festival’s gates all day, but other than the quirky Giraffage or the crowd-pleasing STRFKR, few daytime acts seemed capable of luring festivalgoers away from the free massages and overpriced mac ‘n’ cheese available in various booths away from the stages. Treasure Island itself is a tiny but unique place to wander, surrounded by the Bay and populated only by unflinchingly grey buildings. (Oddly enough, the island’s bomb shelter-y structures are military hangars, built after the 1939 Golden Gate International Exposition’s fairgrounds were torn down, and have since been used as sound stages for The Parent Trap, Rent, and Flubber. Thanks, Wikipedia, for drawing new connections between some childhood favorites.
As far as main attractions go, Treasure Island booked a wide variety of acts: Beck, James Blake, Atoms for Peace, Major Lazer, and Animal Collective were some of the bigger names in the fest’s indie-dancey-jangly lineup, but the dedicated fanbases of groups like Sleigh Bells, STRFKR, Haim, Disclosure, and Giraffage certainly turned up. For me, the highlight of the weekend was STRKFR’s high-energy set. The moshing preteens around us seemed to agree, going wild for the rambunctious costumed backup dancers, crowd-surfing sumo wrestlers, astronauts, and rabbits who kept it light but pulled off a visually interesting show in broad daylight. Major Lazer and Disclosure landed similarly on the high end of the trance/dance spectrum, the trippier side of things having reached its peak in James Blake’s dreamy and intense sunset show.
The grounds of Treasure Island were dotted with a few less musical attractions: a steampunk-ish performance piece that turned buzz cuts into art, a trailer full of pirates begging to catalog your dreams and nightmares, and a tented (and mercifully warm) library of zines and cartoons, to name a few. Come nightfall, the crafts pavilion dedicated all of its resources (more Etsy than essential) to the distribution of space blankets to fight against the cold. (Thorough investigation by my partner-in-grime Brittany Newell has concluded that their effectiveness is largely due to the power of suggestion, though her scientific objectivity may have been compromised by stubbornly wearing said blanket baboushka-style.)
The silvery sheen that the blankets lent the crowd gave the later acts a dreamy quality, as the shiny masses huddled against the cold and rocked from side to side for each night’s slower acts like Atoms for Peace and James Blake. At night, the festival felt more natural, less self-conscious: the appeal of each show rose as the iPhone camera flashes slowed, and in our search for warmth, the crowd got too close together to judge each other’s outfits. When it came time for the festival’s closing act, I was so dazed by the light-show, recalling times I’d fallen asleep in my mom’s backseat, that I didn’t even care that I didn’t know a single song by Beck. It was something to sway to.
(‘16, Community & Events Manager) is an overripe Georgia peach with an Internet addiction. See more at http://www.ericeich.com.