The Red Barn was exactly what it claimed to be—a red barn, presumably with some kind of student lounge or something on the lower floor, but all the appearances of an actual red barn on the main floor. I set up my mics in the back then grabbed a folding chair to sit about 5 rows back from the stage area. Joshua Burkett played first as Joshua, and I'm told that he's the owner of Mystery Train, but more importantly he's a great singer/songwriter in the vein of Six Organs of Admittance. This was to be his penultimate solo acoustic performance before reportedly switching over to electric and forming a band with some other people in the near future. His sound is folky finger picking with hushed vocals, but it was nearly inaudible because of tiny Klipsch PA speakers and nascent sound-people trying to learn the job a little too late. Nonetheless, he put on a fine performance and had some great songs to start off the evening. He also seemed to set the tone for the crowd, who were incredibly quiet and respectful during performances, something I would take for granted at that moment.

Six Organs of Admittance (photo by Joshua Pfeffer)

Six Organs of Admittance were next, and Ben Chasney began by playing a few songs solo on acoustic guitar. As he was soundchecking, he pounded on the floor with his foot once or twice, later telling me that he does this at every soundcheck to determine how much thump he can muster when stomping during his songs. His set began very quietly, but once he got comfortable, he really began to get into the music. He played a song I recognized from Dark Noontide and then one I didn't know, but both were absolutely compelling. His voice is rich and soothing, warm yet dark, but more than anything it's extremely mesmerizing. There's just something about it that you can't tear your attention away from it, no matter what is going on around you. As his singing increased in intensity, so did his foot stomping on the wooden stage. As he realized the volume encompassed in just one stomp, he began to beat his feet more fervently, choosing different sections of the stage below him to strike with his boot. The result was a constant thundering bellow to accompany his tight guitar playing, effectively creating an even spookier atmosphere in the big red barn. During his third song, he continued humming the melody while putting his guitar down, rattling a few items on the floor with his hands before settling on a tambourine. Continuing to carry the acappella notes, he shook the tambourine while channeling the song with greater force, pounding on his knee, shaking his fist, as if pulling the tune from another place, a netherworld, slyly stealing a sacred spirit's soulful sounds. Nancy later commented that this part of the show genuinely scared her, and I must admit I agree. I wasn't sure if he was going to leap out his chair at people in the audience or not. But when the song ended, he simply said thank you and picked up his guitar again, as if the spirit had slipped away unnoticed. He was joined for the next two songs by Ethan Miller from Comets on Fire, and together, they did songs that were as enchanting as they were ferocious. The first began rather mellow, descending single notes played in unison, but at the bridge Ethan cranked up the amp and blasted a mighty sonic assault for a few minutes, writhing and twisting his guitar to pull amazing sounds from the equipment before letting it fade away, rejoining the descending single notes of the chorus in time for the song to end. The second was a little darker but equally beautiful, again punctuated by Ethan's outbursts that were the perfect compliment to Ben's agile and fantastic playing. This was absolutely one of the highlights of my weekend.

The final act of this show was Ghost, and frankly I wasn't sure what to expect other than the possibility of a very long show, from what I'd heard about the recent tour. The first two songs were very quiet folky songs, having an almost ancient mystical quality to them. But then I guess they decided it was time to tear the roof off the sucka, and the next few songs were all-out rock jams with full on guitar solos from the inimitable Michio Kurihara, a slight man of hefty virtuosity who single-handedly made each Ghost show worth seeing many times over. They used many different instruments including theremin, lute, recorders, and other items I could not identify. Having only heard some of their albums a few times beforehand, I was surprised to find myself thoroughly entranced by their whole performance, wishing they could've played more than just a little over an hour. Regardless of the length, the songs were great, signaling the start of a fantastic weekend of live music for all of us.

The ride to Boston from Amherst was only about 2 hours, but I was entertained that whole time by Dave's stories of Nashville lore. He was a bartender for many years and is also friends with a few Nashville area musicians (including members of Lambchop), so he was able to regale me with tales of Steve Earle's cocaine use and examples of Lambchop debauchery during long excruciating European tours. We got to the hotel and bedded down by about 2 AM, which would turn out to be the earliest we'd get to bed over the next few days.

We decided pretty early on that we would go to the club and shop at the merch tables right off the bat, then take our goods back to the hotel before returning for the music. I wasted no time emptying my pockets on vinyl and discs, but somehow I still managed to screw up my counts when buying things for other people, so I still ended up purchasing even more records before the end of the weekend. A quick cab ride ensured safe harbor for my musical investments, and soon we were back at the club ready to take in the tunes. Unfortunately, there were some scheduling problems on Friday (that would continue to plague the management for most of the weekend). The original plan was to have a second stage built at Axis on the second floor, but apparently the construction had not been completed (which doesn't surprise me one bit if they are anything like the construction schmucks that are descending this month on every road in the county that I need to use on a daily basis, the bastards). So, the club next door named Avalon was kind enough to open their doors to the wayward masses. Axis is a bit of a dive bar with a floor area surrounded at the side and rear by two tiers of raised surface about three steps high, such that there was a decent amount of room for people to move around and be able to see adequately. Avalon is more of a discotheque where national acts occasionally play (Sonic Youth had played there during their last jaunt through town) and had a large wooden dance floor surrounded by a raised surface about two steps high. There were bars on either side, and other seating areas, but most everything was roped off for the sake of minimizing the mess created by Terrastockers, as the disco kids would reclaim their dance turf on Friday and Saturday nights following the conclusion of the last T5 sets. Merch tables were all over Avalon, with only Twisted Village and Byron Coley's table occupying space in Axis. There was an amazing variety of music for sale by the various vendors, but I had to set limits for myself to ensure that I would save enough money to get us home. These limits did not prevent me from buying $50 in used discs from Twisted Village before the weekend was out, most of which were new releases I had been thinking of buying new. So, actually I was saving money, if you think about it just the right way! The clubs were connected by an interior doorway, and that was especially helpful since it rained all damn weekend without fail. The only drawback proved to be the running back and forth with recording gear, but it all worked out for the best in the end.

We arrived back at Axis in time to see ST37 finish their set. They sounded pretty full-on rock guitar as I approached, but I missed out on the rest of the set. By this time Nonloc and Pat Orchard had already played as well. The first band we caught was Stone Breath, and they were very quiet and folky. The lead singer had a deep bellowing voice, but I was totally distracted by the lyrical content, which seemed to be some kind of wiccan ceremony committed to song (lots of dancing candle flames and knives and other sorts of spell talk that doesn't jive too well with me for reasons I'll spare you from hearing at this time). Thinking that the lyrics had to be heard to be believed, I decided to commit to memory the next line I clearly heard. That line ended up being: "His skin is green, but his blood is red / Drink the blood" or something very much like that. I don't know if it was a tribute to the infamous alien autopsy or a story about coming to the darkside as a result of dissecting a frog in 8th-grade biology class. Either way, I was not too into it and waited patiently for the next act. [Editors note: Stone Breath are not and never have been Wiccans or neo-pagans and the lyrics quoted are incorrect]

The Iditarod was next, and they were somewhat similar in sound without the questionable words. Again, it was pretty mellow stuff, mostly folky with picked guitar and quiet adornments from the supporting cast. I liked them and looked forward to hearing their contribution to the T5 7" box set. Hopewell was after that, and they were the first really rockin' band to take the stage after our arrival. Anthemic rock that reminded me alternately of Radiohead and Mercury Rev, which is not necessarily a good or a bad thing, it just is what it is. They were pretty impressive with a tune from "Jesus Christ Superstar" near the end of their set that segued into their own original. Wish I had taped them, but I had no idea that they would rock.

There was a dinner break at this point, and I ventured out with Martin and a gentleman named Roy to try Thai food for the first time. I picked the rice with chicken and nuts, but I wasn't able to eat very much of it for some reason. It still makes me wish we had good food somewhere in my portion of the boondocks. When we got back to the club, it was announced that The Essex Green would not be able to play in their scheduled slot because they were stuck in traffic. Charlambides was next, and they were the first act to take the stage at the Avalon, as the preceding half of the day's performances had all taken place at Axis. Their music was lovely and hypnotic, and the crowd was absolutely silent, incredibly respectful even. This might've been because people were still on dinner break, or maybe the bulk of the weekend crowd hadn't arrived yet at that time, but I didn't realize at the time how precious and rare that silence would be over the course of the weekend. I saw many people nodding off or closing their eyes during the set, but that was completely understandable given the soothing drone the trio emitted from the large empty stage. A pedal steel was accompanied by a lap slide and another guitar, creating a sensual blend of delayed and repeating tones that seemed to massage your scalp into total submissive bliss. Those with their eyes open looked somewhat bored watching the band pluck their gear slowly and deliberately, but those with eyes closed were busy exploring the vast reaches of the mind, content to merely guess at what kind of visual accompaniment was being created onstage. Perhaps I should mention at this time that there was indeed some visual activity to observe during every performance, usually patterns and images that were manipulated and repeated, always interesting enough to keep your attention if the music being played wasn't appealing enough for you. There were several sequences that were absolutely excellent, and I wish I could see videotape of them again synchronized with the music. Charlambides were superb, a real treat.

Major Stars followed in the Axis room, and they were a fitting choice sandwiched between two mellow artists. They are a blistering quartet of furious rock power, although I must admit that at times I think they go on a bit too long with not enough change. However, they had a new bass player with them, a fellow named Dave who had been recruited just 18 hours earlier. He made a substantial difference in their sound compared to the last time I saw them (opening for Acid Mothers Temple earlier in the year), anchoring the flowing fingerwork of the lead guitarist while providing some ample improv of his own when the time was right. It should also be mentioned that these guys (and gal) are loud, and that the sound must have been penetrating my ears through the eye sockets since my earplugs were in so tight. I liked them better this time than last, and more than Windy & Carl for that matter. Windy & Carl are a guy/fem duo who play minimalistic drones, except that they are a bit too minimalist for me, relying far too much on the pedals to do all the work. To me, the magic to be found in minimalism is exploring individual tones and the way they interact with one another, not playing one note for 40 minutes with little-if-any variation on that simple theme. Granted, there were some decent moments, but overall I was left hoping that they would finish a first song and begin a second one in a different key or at least containing a new note. This was not to be, as they ended their set with the same sound that began the song. I'm sure others enjoyed it more, but I was not one of them. I respect the drone, but give me just a touch of variety in the process, if you please.

Ghost wrapped up the first night of Terrastock 5, and somehow they were able to weave a magnificent aural tapestry that was just as incredible as the night before. The set was very similar to the one we'd witnessed in Amherst, but the sound was far superior, capturing every high and low with clarity and punch. It's difficult to describe everything that goes on during a Ghost performance. One thing I can say without reservation is that Michio Kurihara is one outstanding guitarist, and few rival his ability to create astounding sounds from such a common tool. He would later perform with Damon & Naomi as well as Tom Rapp, but his work with Ghost is the most compelling. Another highlight for me is a device played by Masaki Batoh known only as the Hurdy Gurdy. It's a long rectangular box with a strap that is slung over one shoulder, and a crank is on one end of the box with a curly red patch cord running into an amp nearby. The textures emanating from that box are also hard to put into words, like a delayed thumb piano, perhaps? He would crank the handle at varying rates of speed, and discerning the result in the heady mix of other sounds proved to be somewhat difficult for me. At one point he would open the box and touch the interior strings of the instrument, producing a shimmering effect that I found especially interesting. I wanted to get a closer look at the Hurdy Gurdy in Amherst but didn't take the chance. It was quite lovely, indeed. But getting back to the tunes, Ghost began with the strumming folk tunes that I had heard in the Red Barn, including some flute and lute. As their set progresses, they add increasingly more frantic music to the mix until the last few songs are totally rampant, with thick layers of activity blurring the aural lines within the ears, yet never as disorienting or noisy as an Acid Mothers Temple track. After being vaguely familiar with them before the trip, I can now safely say that Ghost will garner much more of my attention in the months and years to come, especially the work of Kurihara in White Heaven or other projects.

With day one of T5 over, it was time to move to the second and considerably less advertised gathering of the evening. The venture was to take place at the loft of the band The Sunburned Hand of the Man in Somerville, approximately 15 minutes from my hotel. Keep in mind that I'm not from Boston and only operating on directions provided by the show's hosts. I did pretty well for the most part, got lost at one point but got some quick help from a friendly cab. After thinking we were lost on several more occasions, we found the street and were able to locate the house pretty easily after that. Parking was another matter, altogether, which required hauling down to The Home Depot several blocks away and hiking back to the loft. This wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that we had been traveling on a one-way street, and I wasn't clear on how to get back to the hotel from there, much less how to get my car back to the loft so I could pick up everyone in the rain. But these things worked out on their own eventually (with the aid of several repeated illegal turns beneath an underpass), and I felt like I'd learned a little about driving in Boston before weekend's end.

The loft, as I have come to call this place that I believe is properly known as 7 Sherman Street, looked to be a combination of a live-in practice space and occasional party locale. The room could maybe hold 100 people tops, including all bands and affiliated personnel. It was cozy to say the least, but actually quite a welcome change from the bleak and dank interior of the clubs downtown. We arrived in time to see Shackamaxon play first, which constituted some sparse textures accented with bursts of feedback or related discordance. The highlight of the evening was Matt Valentine and Erika Elder of Tower Recordings performing as The MVEE Medicine Show. Matt played an old open-tuned guitar while she added various subtle nuances to the mix. A definite treat, despite the fact that they only played for less than a half-hour. Enos Slaughter was next, which featured members from Sunburned Hand of the Man and The No Neck Blues Band. They engaged in some free guitar work coupled with other guitars processing unrelated patterns of notes and noise. Franklin's Mint played last, again featuring members of SHotM (should I have resorted to acronyms sooner?). Apparently we had missed a brief set by them earlier in the evening, but they regaled the remaining watchers with two rock songs and a Dylan cover, providing a nice contrast to an evening of free-form and fringe fun from Mass-area performers. The drummer from SHotM was joined by a gal named Betsy, and the two belted out some fantastic twin vocals that really lit up the small room. I only wish they had played the Velvet Underground cover I had heard them muttering about just before the Dylan tune. We piled back into the car after that and headed for the hotel, but not before stopping at a Dunkin Donuts on the way to indulge in late-night eatings, a trend that would be upheld for the remainder of the weekend.

Our tardy arrival forced us to miss the first three acts on Saturday: Ethereal Counterbalance, Greg Weeks, and The Lucky Bishops respectively. Setting up in time for Paik in Avalon, we witnessed one of the few guitar rock bands on the bill that weekend, an instrumental group well versed in the art of nuance and dynamic. Songs would lumber on then swell to a peak before gently disintegrating back to a base tune. I was hoping for more punch at times, but the entrancing effect of repetitive and less busy guitar work may have been their saving grace instead. Several songs were genuinely beautiful and stirring while others seemed to labor a bit longer without reaching a definitive climax to satisfy, but they were great nonetheless. The songs with more volume were my favorites from them.

Six Organs of Admittance took the Axis stage after this, and Ben was noticably nervous from the beginning. Apparently he was under the impression that he would be playing on the other stage, as he seemed unprepared when people began streaming in for his performance. The stage fright seemingly mounted when he had to tune up in front of a full room anticipating his first song of the set. But he handled the pressure gracefully, quietly offering a few jokes as he geared up for the start. Once the guitar was ready, he strummed a few times and began singing without announcement. People talking on the perimeter of the room slowly began to take notice as he played and sang, and the residual chatter was dampened by the rapt attention of the majority of the audience. His singing and picking clearly became more emotive with each song that he performed, a trait that characterizes the intensity he channels each time he plays. He even attempted to stomp his foot in time to the music just as he had done in Amherst, but his efforts were stymied by the solid, dense surface that made up the front of the stage (prompting me to wonder to myself, probably in a state of sleep deprivation, if it would be possible to create a device called a "stomping board" that would sound like a boot hitting a wooden floor, as it surely would've been an ideal invention for this set). Ben played several songs solo acoustic before being joined by Ethan Miller once again. The duo played some songs that I recognized from the show two nights earlier before Joshua came onstage as well to play acoustic guitar on the last song. The final song featured all three repeating a simple mantra while playing along, and the effect was nothing short of transcendent, a shambolic chant that had neither words nor melody, just three voices echoing the chosen refrain as their simultaneous playing pushed them farther and further. It was an amazing set, I felt it ended much too soon.

We opted to take a dinner break while Dipsomaniacs played only because I couldn't choose another set I was willing to miss with so many great acts playing later in the evening. We made our return in time to catch The Essex Green, who were now to play during what would've been the scheduled dinner break had it not been for their traffic misfortune the day before. They put on a solid performance, playing essentially straightforward pop songs with an occasional psych flourish, always keeping the song structures tight. There was plenty of variety in their songs, however, with laidback ballads being followed by more uptempo numbers. Yet somehow I felt disappointed by their show, whether because I didn't know their songs well, or perhaps I was expecting more than I should've been.

Landing was up next, and I suppose it would be only fair to mention that Daron Gardner of Fakejazz infamy is a member of this band. That's not to say that his presence in any way influenced my perception of the band, especially when I didn't even introduce myself to the man until after the conclusion of their set (and who knows how much of that brief interaction was remembered, as the weekend becomes more blurry the deeper I delve into it). Regardless, Landing was an ambient excursion into parts hitherto unexplored thus far in the weekend, with the drone carefully balanced against keyboard taps and guitar touches, lending a suitable backdrop to Adrienne's understated vocals. I particularly enjoyed when the individual elements making up each song would begin to noticeably congeal into a thick and swirling mass of pulsing drone, then unravel and fade into silence without much ado.

Motorpsycho was by far the most riff-ready, balls-out, we've-come-for-to-rawk-your-mama's-daughters psych band to play the festival, and they were more akin to early '70s Black Sabbath than the perceived Terrascope sound (the definition of which is still open to debate as far as I can tell). We're talking long-hair head-bangers with black t-shirts and licks aplenty laying down hot and heavy grooves for the restless masses. It was the perfect band to place in the early evening, sending out a wake-up call in the event that people had begun to rest their eyes. Anthemic rock songs were played with appropriately mind-bending solos while their drummer made some of the most entertaining faces of the weekend (you know what I'm talking about, the way drummers will have this open-mouth expression of mock surprise on their face just before crashing their cymbals or toppling their toms without warning). Motorpsycho went all out for their full set, one of the few bands to actually eclipse their given 45-minute time slot, but there was never a dull moment. Personally, I wish there had been more bands like this on the weekend's bill to compensate for a few of the listless acts that seemed to ride the coattails of critical acclaim into their positions of prominence.

Surface of Eceon played after that on the same Axis stage that Landing had occupied previously, which was probably by design since three members of Landing are also in this group. Despite the apparent redundancy in performers, Surface of Eceon plays by a different set of rules than Landing, choosing to introduce more traditional rock instrumentation into the minimal mix, if you will. Long, harmonious drones are eschewed in favor of more shifting patterns that slowly but surely give way to a discernible beat, eventually unveiling a soft vocal that is layered gently into the growing body of repeating tones. The steady tempo keeps the songs grounded, maintaining contact with home base instead of becoming lost in endless piles of pedal play. Their set seemed rather brief but was very good.

The next performers were Damon & Naomi, of whom I am admittedly not very fond, yet I wanted to give them a chance to impress me. Instead of playing only as a duo, they were joined on guitar by Kurihara for a few songs, which made a world of difference. However, on their own I thought their songs were too uninspired and simple for my tastes, and I hoped they would find a way to liven up the sound before the set was over. There's only so much that can be done with basic guitar strumming and male/female vox. Don't get me wrong, they have a pleasant style, even inoffensive you could say. But aside from Kurihara's incredible contributions, I was unable to find myself any more interested in the band after seeing them play live, which was a mild disappointment.

Tom Rapp (photo by Joshua Pfeffer)

Tom Rapp closed out the shows for Saturday, and his brief set had plenty of guest appearances from family members and Terrastock performers alike. He played guitar and sang for most songs, but other songs were sung by his wife, his son, or a small impromptu chorus of singers including Damon, Naomi and Masaki Batoh from Ghost. While Rapp's songs weren't any more complex than those who played before him, his voice was plaintive and expressive, singing lyrics that were poetic and thought-provoking. He was having fun just being there, and that in itself was infectious, coming through in each one of his songs without fail.

As soon as the last set concluded, we packed up the gear and headed back to the hotel. Once all the necessary troops had been assembled, we headed out to the loft in Somerville for even more live music. We missed Paul Flaherty unfortunately, but we got there in time to catch the Mountains of Mattallama. This consisted of an Asian woman (from NNCK) wailing at the top of her lungs while an Asian man squeezed some shrill skronks from his sax at top volume. It lasted under five minutes, but it left quite an impression. She even joined in on sax for a few ear-piercing squawks, and the resulting tone is hard to describe. Dissonant, loud, in-your-face, and unforgettable.

Eloe Emoe followed, and the two of them were able to stir quite a commotion themselves. The drummer was a scraggly whiteboy-afro who attacked the kit recklessly but managed to create the occasional vamp when it struck him, not at all unlike US Maple, for example. The other band member was a tall gal in platform boots wearing a short skirt and a long bass playing through a bass cabinet nearly as high as she was, powered by a tube amp and cabinet that required two people to push. It was an awful lot of sound for a small room, so much so that it felt like the rumbling mass might punch through your sternum and extract your insides on the spot. She plucked some churning noise from the instrument for a few minutes before resting the bass against the amp so she could get a glass of water, giving the drummer a chance to stretch out over the repeating slab of distorted low-end feedback. They were finished in less than ten minutes, but I really liked the combination of frenetic drums and crazy bass.

The Sunburned Hand of the Man took over their home turf after that, taking several minutes to connect and juice all of the components that would make up their rather dizzying blend of sounds. There were ten members in all, and they often switched between the various available instruments as well. At first there were several guys playing flute while keyboard notes became apparent from synthesizers and a short upright piano off to the side. Then as the thick stew began to stir, the bass became more prominent, the drummer picked up the pace, and soon the whole impossible mess was beginning to form a throbbing, evolving organism that threatened to consume the room in its entirety without warning. The bulk of the sound was guitars and bass, thundering headlong into uncertainty with the full rumble of a Kyuss song, dense with layers of movement. Then it all falls out, the bottom seems to disappear underneath the weight of the accompaniment, and suddenly there is just the rattle of handheld percussion instruments as shimmering guitar tones spiral away toward the ceiling or the sky and beyond. I remember there being this huge beaming grin on my face during the whole performance, unsure of what I was actually witnessing but absolutely certain that I was loving every second of it. Maybe it was just because we were in their house, but they made sure to let everybody know who owned the loft with that set.

The ever-enigmatic No Neck Blues Band was to perform next, and I was wondering what to expect from this fabled ensemble. I had heard tales of performances lasting several hours with many members playing multiple instruments in that timeframe, but there appeared to be a smaller representation of the collective in the house this particular evening. No matter, as they were intent on making an indelible impression. They began without introduction, synth noises gurgling while hand drums began to etch rhythms into the floor as conversations in the back of the room slowly quieted in response. Once a groove was established, the woman mentioned above in Mountains of Mattallama, began to sing and wail alternately while dropping an assortment of bells and chimes onto pots and pans at her feet, then scrambled all of the cooking wares together to cause a cacophony of metallic collisions as her bandmates played on behind her. The beat continued to simmer as the volume was slowly increased with the addition of more guitar and drums, led by a man hitting two congas with a mallet. It wasn't long before this initial tangent gave way to another and then another, each sound splintering into a separate direction, barely held together by virtue of their proximity as opposed to the actual sounds. It was thoroughly engaging but ended much too early for my tastes, as I felt they were just getting started when the players began to fade off together. Clocking in at just over a half-hour, I had certainly hoped for more but was definitely satisfied with what I had witnessed, unsure of all the different textures I had just experienced but eager to hear them on tape.

This would surely be a tough act to follow, and Joshua was given the distinction of making that attempt. After setting up his lone amp and tuning two guitars, he played with the same quiet and graceful poise that I remembered seeing in Amherst. All conversation in the room ceased after a few notes had rung from his guitar, and the intimacy of the setting only enhanced an already amazing performance. His songs sound dark and foreboding, and his voice, which barely rose above a whisper at the last show, was more pronounced than before. Perhaps his confidence grew when given the full attention of the audience because his playing and singing only got stronger as the set continued, but he rarely opened his eyes to acknowledge anyone present, conserving all his energy for the music instead. It was an excellent set, and a damn shame that it was his last as a solo musician (word is he'll be picking up an electric with some bandmates in the near future).

Joshua Burkett (photo by Joshua Pfeffer)

The second night at the loft came to a close with Ben Chasney from Six Organs of Admittance playing electric guitar along with Ethan Miller on a borrowed bass (with only 3 strings, as one was broken during the SHotM set) and Chris Corsano on drums. Ben had been lobbying for a drummer all evening, and Chris accepted the position with little prior notice. Just before they began to play, Ben briefed Chris on the chords for the second song, saying that he should just follow along for the first. And with that, the impromptu trio launched into a fierce rush of blistering guitar solo noise bomb that I hoped would last all night, if not longer. Ben flailed about the room, Ethan threw himself around with equal abandon, and Chris did a great job of just trying to stay on top of the chaos. It was an inspired albeit extremely short performance, as both songs were finished in under 15 minutes. But not without making believers out of the remaining attendees, who hooped and hollered enthusiastically as the three said goodnight, leaving the crowd to ponder the full effect of what had just been witnessed.

We piled back into the car for the ride back to the hotel, but not without stopping at Dunkin Donuts on the way for fresh coffee and necessary edibles. Exhaustion took over once we reached our room, and many fine pastries were left uneaten as a result of that. There was still one more full day of music left, so sleep was in order if we hoped to survive. I checked the alarm clock to see if I had it set right this time, then, drifted off to sleep before I knew it.

My goal was to arrive in time for the Lily's, and we did just that, although I missed the first minute of their set while getting my equipment set up. They were playing on the Axis stage, as only one club would be hosting the entire day's events (while Avalon was apparently reserved exclusively for the disco kids, who wouldn't be arriving until later in the evening anyway, but hey it's not my hot dog stand, is it?). A second stage had been constructed to the left of the main one, fortified with Marshall stacks behind the steel mesh fence that normally served as a walkway to the regular stage, presumably for the bands to use to save time in changing over from one act to the next. Remarkably, the idea went off with very few hitches, as bands were able to gear up and tear down with relatively little distraction to the audience. The only drawback from a musical standpoint was that the stage was set up at such an angle that the amps were pointed toward the right side of the bar instead of straight into the crowd, so it took a while for the sound crew to orient themselves to the new arrangement and properly balance the instruments for each band. This was obviously a minor distraction considering the fact that a new stage had been built overnight.

Nonetheless, the Lily's took the stage and churned through a fabulous collection of rocking psych-pop gems, including a favorite of mine, "Shovel into Spade Kit." The sounds were mighty powerful, and Kurt Heasley was much more of a leg-kicking lead singer than I had imagined, fronting the band with an awful lot of energy for an early Sunday afternoon. They played a number of songs I didn't recognize, but the entire set was quite enjoyable, with Kurt's charisma offsetting some of the sloppiness that made them come off as unrehearsed yet endearing. One of the few bands to push their set past the allotted 45-minute, they were likely spurred on by the appreciative fans in the club who screamed their support loud and clear after each number. It was a good start to the day.

Barbara Manning & the Go-Luckys! played next, and they were a solid trio offering quick two-minute pogo hops with clever lyrical turns and rhythms that started or stopped without warning. Although I liked what they were doing, I personally prefer to listen to that particular style in moderation, as some of the songs started to sound rather similar after a while. This is not to say that they weren't good, just that after several days of music, I was becoming increasingly jaded from hearing so much of it in such a short span.

The Sunshine Fix followed, featuring Bill Doss of Olivia Tremor Control, if I'm not mistaken. Their set consisted of hooky pop gems that relied on guitar and punch for most of the power, and the mixture was a pleasing one. There was a similar musical thread running through each of the compositions, and some of the songs seemed to bleed into one another as the band played on, but they were very good to these ears. I think the best description I can muster at this point would be pure psych power pop led by able guitars who like to rock out as opposed to trip out. There was plenty of volume with the guitar front and center, perhaps to compensate for a few disjointed moments onstage. They didn't appear comfortable being a live outfit, but scheduling could be to blame for that. They were able to compensate with a full, loud sound.

Occupying the side stage next were the Lothars, who initially caught my attention by having dual theremin players positioned at opposite ends of a large synth. Expectations proved to be misleading, as they were content to conjure a plodding soundscape that failed to take advantage of the unique instrumentation. The ambient miasma hung over the room without developing beyond the same rudimentary steps that opened their performance. I was sincerely hoping for the theremin twins to bust out some squealing or squawking, or at least do something to make them apparent in the mix, but their unyielding job was to maintain a steady tone. While there were some interesting sounds being made, I was rather disappointed with the end result.

Even before Sonic Youth took the stage, one outspoken critic began a heckle that would last for their entire set. "Sucking Geffen's dick" was the tired mantra of this particular loudmouth, who apparently was still struggling with the fact that Sonic Youth signed to a major label nearly a dozen years ago. But hey, I hear living in the past is the big thing in music these days, so have at it. Despite the minimal distraction, Sonic Youth came out to the biggest ovation of the weekend and proceeded to run through "Murray Street" in sequential order. Personally, I was banking on them doing something more extraordinary for T5 than simply playing their album all the way through, but beggars can't be choosers, I suppose. The heckler was relentless through most of the set, but the only hint of acknowledgment given occurred Thurston said the next song was an oldie for everyone at T5 before starting into "Radical Adults Lick Godhead Style." The band played very well, and it was great to hear the album in order, but I was feeling mildly jaded since I'd seen them twice two months earlier, so the new songs were quite familiar to me by then. I hoped they would still do something unexpected for an encore or final song, but it was not to be, as "Sympathy for the Strawberry" ended without incident, and the band thanked the audience for their undivided attention. I was just excited to see them play again, as always, so I can register no formal complaints about their set. They continue to play with spirit and conviction at every show, even when appearing before an assorted blend of music lovers from all over the globe.

The dinner break was our chance to escape the confines of the club for a while, so we grabbed a bite to eat at Burrito Max on Kenmore Square. It was great food, but we got a lot more than we could consume in one sitting (I had a burrito that was bigger than my head). We took our time getting back, missing the majority of Delicate AWOL's set, which actually had some decent rhythms from what I was picking up. Although I regret not being able to see every act over the course of the weekend, standing in a dark and smoky club for days on end can be disorienting and exhausting after a while. Fresh air and circulation are necessary, so sacrifices must be made in order to maintain an operating level of sanity. As Sunday began to wear on, my legs and back were really starting to holler at me. But the quest for constant music was being fulfilled, and I figured my body could recuperate once I got home.

The Bevis Frond took the stage and launched headlong into a guitar-driven frenzy of riffs and solos, one of the more aggressive performances of the weekend. They had lots of support from the attendees to fuel their high-energy selections, and the feeling was infectious after several numbers. They powered through one song after the other with the occasional ballad inserted to allow everyone to catch their breath. It was a driving blend of straight-up rock songs, some with a psych twist and others as more conventional jams. Being unfamiliar with their catalog, I was convinced to check it out after seeing them live. Guitar rock like that will win me over every time.

Although Lockgroove was up next, I was outside or at a lounge down the street for the majority of their set. I wish I could've caught them after hearing a friend's description, but there were circumstances beyond my control (plus the bathrooms at the Axis were thoroughly disgusting, so a new substitute was in order when Avalon was unavailable). When I returned, they were finishing up their last song, and I liked what I heard. It sounded like a bouncy bass-led rock vamp, definite foot-tapping material. They left the stage all too soon after an impressive close.

Bardo Pond took the main stage after that, and they were prepared to do good damage. Opening with an older track called "No Time To Waste," they stirred up a thick mean cloud of sound that kept expanding throughout the room, swallowing all random noise in its wake. If people were not transfixed on the band, they at least ceased to idly chatter. The best song of the night, and definitely a highlight of the weekend for me, was their faithful rendition of Pavement's "Home," with Isobel Campbell copping a smooth delivery that cleverly rivals a live Malkmus. John and Michael Gibbons smothered the cover in fuzz as Clint Takeda anchored the heavy chord progressions, leaving Ed Farnsworth to pummel his kit mercilessly for each available drum fill. Michael shredded the key melody all over the chorus, and it was all I could to hold myself back from singing along in some kind of bellowing distorted-guitar-solo scream. After a lengthy coda, the band eased a gentle mass of droning feedback into a new mellow song that features quiet guitar and voice. To end the set, they performed a number entitled "Knight of Frogs" that I've had the distinct pleasure of experiencing before, and this time it was no less incredible, a slowly building epic that pulls you under before you even realize it. I have to say that this is one of the few bands playing today that you must see to believe.

When Subarachnoid Space began to play on the side stage, I thought the bass player would be prominent because of his position at front and center. I had no idea it would be bowel-rattling, teeth-chattering rolling thunder that could dislodge a loose frontal lobe. They kicked out hooks and grooves that were propelled to greater depths by the big bass. Unfortunately for them, prolonged exposure to this kind of rumbling volume can take a toll on the mind and body (and ears as well). As much as I enjoyed their sound, I was ready for a change of pace by the time The Spacious Mind started up on the main stage. They played a liberated brand of rock that veered in many directions without settling on any certain one. It was a style that avoided the trappings of being too jammy by evolving and staying interesting to the end. I think they felt rushed by the brevity of the set, as some sections probably could've stretched out more if given the opportunity. Regardless of the intangibles, they put on a great show and were a welcome inclusion on the bill.

Kinski was a band I had heard before but did not know much about. I quickly learned that they were loud and sounded somewhat like Mogwai at times, with their razor-sharp tunes drifting over waves of distorted buzzing and pounding drums. They were relentless in their attack, with some songs extending longer than the interest of the original idea. But what they lacked in changes they made up for in brute force, and it was easy to get your head-nod on to the repetitive rhythms and heavy strumming. They put on a great show and would've commanded more of my interest if it hadn't been Sunday evening.

The festival closers were Acid Mothers Temple, and I knew what to expect from them. It was to be a psychedelic meltdown of monumental proportions, with Kawabata Makoto leading the charge by extracting the sounds of the deep cosmos from his able instrument. They began with "Pink Lady Lemonade," and unfolded its subtle transformations over many unending minutes. That led directly to the spiritual intonations of "La Novia," the only other song to be played during their 45-minute set. There is a bridge to the song where the band stops altogether, leaving an awkward pause to which the audience responds. As they begin to clap, a quick count signifies the re-launch of the main theme, and people are caught off-guard by the sudden blast of bass licks and searing guitar work. They continue on like this for quite a while, rending ever more adventurous noises from their instruments before Makoto breaks a string. Soon his guitar is brought over his head and down onto the ground, breaking into several large chunks. The rest of the group played as he tossed the fragments of his shattered guitar into the audience in a rather dangerous fashion. One shard nearly reached the back of the room, but all were salvaged by enthusiastic souvenir hunters. When no more chaos could be wrought from the broken pieces of his guitar, Makoto waved his hand to depart from the stage. The music came to an end, and everyone said goodbye before exiting rather hastily. We packed up our belongings as quickly as we could and headed back to the hotel without delay.

The next day we would drive back to our place of origin to resume our normal lives. Of course, our last evening wouldn't be complete without a stop at a Dunkin Donuts. About the only regret I have about this weekend of excellent live music was the substantial hotel bill I had to pay for a room and parking. Granted, the festival helped us get a place to stay at a considerable discount, and we were given a riverfront room for a fraction of the normal cost. We just didn't get much of a chance to appreciate that view when taking in so much incredible music in such a short time span. If you ever get the opportunity to see a full weekend of live music at a decent price, I highly recommend you take advantage of it.