White Lung kicked off what would be a mostly punk Saturday at Union Park. It only took one song to settle in until the mosh pit broke out, but basically the kids were looking for any excuse to pummel into each other under the blistering sun. The Vancouver rockers kept things simple, essentially offering two-minute arsenals of straightforward rapid power chords from their 2012 album Deranged Records release “Sorry”. The chic attitude of lead singer Mish Way accounted for the rest of the band members, whom remained generally stationary while strumming rapid renditions of songs like “Bag” and “Take the Mirror”. Maybe it was the humid 1pm time slot or the transition from a more accommodating enclosed DIY garage venue, but White Lung’s set seemed somewhat dedicated to playing as fast as they can and getting the hell out of there. Never the less, it got the ball rolling as Mish half heartedly apologized to whoever plays after her for, “ruining the mic with my lipstick”. 

While White Lung took a nonchalant approach to their commotion, Pissed Jeans brought pure drollery to their sludgy punk spectacle. “We getting that Bjork money! We be getting that Belle & Sebastian money!” front man Matt Kosloff rejoiced. It was a total abandonment of any pretentiousness throughout the unorthodox forty minutes, and an assortment of choice quotes from Kosloff. “Youthink it’s hot out there?” he berated the crowd. “Try playing up here in the shade!” To say they performed songs would be an utter overstatement. They sabotaged tracks off their latest album “Honeys” such as “Cathouse” and “You’re Different (In Person)”, stripping them to the core resulting in a rambunctious debacle that alienated onlookers as much as it ignited them. When bassist Randy Huth harshly plucked the bass line intro to “Bathroom Laughter”, the opportunity to join the pit was too hard to resist, and I immersed myself into the testosterone frenzy, resulting in my backpack ripping open and scattering its contents across the disheveled lawn. Kudos for the kind moshers who helped gather my belongings amongst the chaos. 

If there was a breakout act Saturday, Parquet Courts fit the bill. There was a certain buzz about the crowd before they took the stage, and the secluded Blue Stage was over capacity as attendees congested together for a set that was short on filler and heavy on just about everything else. Parquet Courts delivered the fuzzed slacker punk as they rattled off tracks from last year’s impressive “Light Up Gold”. The crowd chanted along to staples like “Borrowed Time” and “Master of My Craft” verbatim, and guitarist/singers Andrew Savage and Austin Brown humbly thanked the boisterous congregation accumulated in front of them during the sparse moments of stage banter. Parquet Courts played tight and sounded crisp, displaying a profound confidence in themselves and their distorted melodies of boredom and discontentment. The set closer “Stoned and Starving” not only reflected the hungry demeanor of the masses, but left the crowd craving for more. 

Metz was loud, especially for just three people. Even the sound check was intimidating, and I soon felt bad for the 60 year old gentleman next to me who boldly went no-earplug during slashing renditions of tracks like “The Mule” and “Negative Space”. The crowd surfing was fluent as guitarist/singer Alex Edkins screamed along to the feedback induced mayhem provided by the turbulent distorted bass of Hayden Menzies and chain smoking drummer Chris Slorach’s relentless pounding. Their early Nirvana and Jesus Lizard influences glistened through ear piercing feedback that fueled the crowd into an exuberant frenzy. They ended on “Wet Blanket” which resulted in an unforgiving five minutes of apocalyptic noise almost unperceivable for human decibel levels, but was undoubtedly heard loud and clear.  

While big sister comparisons are inevitable, Solange Knowles stood her own, providing a much-needed break from an afternoon devoted to restless commotion. Her body bended like a slinky to her backing band’s R&B blends of 80’s pop and neo soul. The crowd swayed along at Solange’s persistence to the funky likes of “Don’t Let Me Down” and “Locked in Closets”. Her vocals were more Badu than Beyonce, and her dancing was an honest spontaneous reaction to the countless joyous bass driven grooves. “Let’s turn this mother fucker into a grind fest!” she urged the audience, and everyone willingly obliged. Her vocals channeled a Motown essence, and she brought the house down with her falsetto range on the splendid jam “Losing You”. Solange was all smiles as everyone let loose in the dusk breeze.