San Diego’s annual Street Scene festival was truly a sight to behold. A large section of San Diego’s downtown and West Village was sectioned off and made home to four stages, forty bands, and thousands upon thousands of voracious music lovers. From bros rolling joints to cute hipster chicks with flasks taped to their thighs, the surroundings were cramped, but everyone was in such a good mood that no one seemed to mind the lack of breathing room.
^^ TV On The Radio ^^
The showtimes for next week’s massive Street Scene festival have been released. People with great taste will have the agonizing task of choosing between staying at The New Pornographers’ show or defecting to TV On The Radio halfway through, and dance fans will have to choose between MGMT and Hot Chip, but for the most part things are spread out pretty well. The festivities start one week from today, so be sure to snatch up some tickets if you haven’t done so already.
Showtimes after the jump:
For the scant few who haven’t heard yet, San Diego’s annual Street Scene festival will once again be rearing its enormous head on September 19th and 20th.
The colossal all-ages event brings a whopping forty bands on four stages to downtown San Diego, including Beck, Spoon, TV On The Radio, MGMT, The New Pornographers, The National, Cold War Kids, Justice, X, and longtime Owl&Bear favorites/interviewees Man Man. And for anybody who feels overwhelmed by the sheer number of great bands performing and would like to introduce a little suckiness into their diet—and would like that suckiness to sound like Paul Simon vomiting—have no fear, because Vampire Weekend will also be performing.
Note: Photos in this essay depict re-enactments of actual events, not the events themselves.
Thursday, July 12
McCaskill picked me up at my folks’ house at 9PM. We weren’t planning to leave Jackson until about 1 or 2AM, but we’d decided to hang out a while and say goodbyes because, naturally, we may never come back.
Instead of going to the bar, for obvious reasons, we opted for dinner. Regardless, as with alcohol, we are both bottomless pits for food. The meal was uneventful, save for the fact that our waitress had apparently served McCaskill once before, and had taken offense to a conversation about foreskins. Despite this, the food was palatable and (hopefully) spit-free.