I was in a unique position with regards to Pondamonium. Besides having an interest in going, I also had a job with the Madison Mallards i.e. the organization hosting the event. So, yes, Madison hipsters and grunge fans, I got paid to see Garbage and the Flaming Lips. It meant sacrificing a chance to stand on the field while Wayne Conye launched balloons and confetti into the crowd, of course, but it gave me a different perspective for this review.
Pondamonium was almost botched by the rain—like some cold backhand slap in the face of August and aural delight, the rain hit multiple times during the show. At best it sprinkled, but at other times it was a real downpour, and having solely a raincoat did not help me much. Then again, it was fun to hear the unified cry of panic and “oh shit” when the rain struck in the dark just before the Flaming Lips took the stage. Despite the rain, Pondamonium ran pretty smoothly. Garbage didn’t take the stage until around 6:45 p.m. but there were a slew of choice opening bands.
Chicago’s The Congregation opened, a band tailor-made for a festival/outdoor venue. Loud, brash, and large, The Congregation played a sort of taut, vamped, grooving soul/rock ‘n’ roll set. The sort of group that would have had a healthy career backing Otis Redding, bless his soul, had they not found a gem in lead singer Gina Bloom. The sure highlight was a cover of the Stooges’ “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” revving Iggy Pop’s drudge into pure fireworks—including some spectacular wah-wah work from guitarist Charlie Wayne.
Next was the Royal Bangs, a band out of Knoxville who’s been gaining traction—besides an appearance on David Letterman last year, the Royal Bangs are also signed to Audio Eagle Records, curated by The Black Keys drummer Patrick Carney. There was plenty of fizz and pop onstage as band members jumped around, the guitar sang and skronked, and the lead singer banged on keyboards. Chris Rusk, the drummer, was especially impressive.
The Dum Dum Girls took the stage after that, greeting a growing number of fans and playing during some of the only sunlight to grace the entire day. From my vantage point, the lyrics were lost in translation, but frankly, no one gave a damn, what with the music swirling and spiraling out like smoke.
After a preparatory lull, it was Garabage’s turn. But before that I should explain something peculiar, something I wasn’t expecting. What struck me about Pondamonium, besides the unconventional venue, was how many legitimate Garbage fans there were, not just “I like Garbage but I’m really here to watch the Flaming Lips warp my mind” fans. Some of these people were ECSTATIC. They had VIP PASSES. Some of them LEFT after Garbage was done.
And watching these Garbage VIPs, I noticed something very obvious. These people were old. These were the people who likely remembered Garbage in their early days, who were basking in that very palpable Gen-X nostalgia. The guys and girls up there had likely been very hip way back when. Now the guys were wearing trim, respectable polo shirts and the girls were dancing the menopausal mamba to “Only Happy When It Rains.” It was a peculiar cultural excavation.
On a related note, Garbage’s set was plenty entertaining, not just for Garbage fanatics. A whirr of noise and soaring vocals from Shirley Manson made her appear like a sleek metal dervish.
But Garbage, the Dum Dum Girls, and every other band on the roster were merely warm-ups to the Flaming Lips. There are only a few bands—Pink Floyd and their ilk, that can manipulate the live stage as much as the Flaming Lips do. They went all out: confetti cannons, smoke machines, an inflated smiling star, a gigantic screen hooked up to a camera into which Wayne Conye crooned and screamed. And of course, they brought out the hamster ball. The Flaming Lips redefined “grandiose” for me, and made a strong case for the potential of Pondamonium in years to come.
