It mirrors some of my own experiences.

- The End All answer the question, “What happens when you indiscriminately mash left-coast punk with metalcore?”  The curious experiment at least offers an entertaining live show as the lead singer transitions seamlessly between styles as disparate as Taking Back Sunday and The Devil Wears Prada and the drummer tries to decide whether he wants to imitate Travis Barker or Aaron Gillespie.  The schizophrenic band also managed the only amusing Justin Bieber cover I’ve heard to date.

- From Giants brought their folksy Canadian charm to the stage.  The Manitobans regaled us with wonderful female harmonies and stripped down, subtle music.  It felt calmed, hushed, and comfortable.  The audience sank into From Giants’ mellow tunes.  If the post-show response serves as any indication, the band possesses a bright future.  Fans mobbed their merch table, requiring a quick CD resupply after initial stock ran out.

- Exhausted after a long week with sweltering temperatures, my compatriots and I settled in on the soft couches of the Chelsea Cafe for a relaxing final evening.  Aubrey and Erich Siemens opened the night.  The schedule had them listed as separate sets, but they spent as much time singing together as performing solo.  I really enjoyed both, but neither left a lasting impact on my memory.

However, I don’t think anyone could encounter the soul of Maron and not remember her wonderful talent.  Her bluesy music comes to life when infused with her matchless voice.  She provides that deep passionate cry that blues requires.

Despite her relatively young age, you can see her proof of skill in the musicians that choose to play with her.  The drummer, guitarist, and bassist (Jeff Ebel, I believe) all had gray in their hair and the level of precision that comes with a lifetime of practice.  Each seemed up to the task of excellent session work.  Each seemed to relish in this talented lineup.  Of course, many of the guitarists I know love to play the blues anyway.

At the conclusion  of a sometimes joyous and sometimes frustrating festival, Maron’s performance provided the necessary catharsis.

Erich Siemens and Aubrey at Chelsea Cafe.  (Photo by Angelica Schmitt)

- Blood and Water, a pop-rock band from the Bay area of California, provided the only real nod to ska during this year’s festival.  After the a great personal year for ska last year – including a great showing from Send Out Scuds at least year’s Cornerstone – I thought fourth wave might finally emerge in 2011.  Unfortunately, I had to settle for a little bit of that classic ska upbeat from Blood and Water’s able guitarist.

I expected as much from them.  Blood and Water’s closing song “Sleep It Off” emerged as one of the standouts on the Ska Lives!, a free downloadable compilation.  They recorded that song, as well as the rest of their second LP, with Masaki Liu, the producer for all six Five Iron Frenzy records.

Blood and Water also demonstrates an impressive list of influences.  Talking with the friendly and approachable band after their first set, we discussed the merits of Five Iron, MxPx, and Foo Fighters.  Sunday, they played a set of acoustic covers including Coldplay, Radiohead’s “High and Dry”, and the Foo Fighters’ “Best of You.”

In spite of these advantages, I find most of Blood and Water’s music rather forgettable.  They don’t do anything wrong, but they lack a hook or the soulful emotion needed to really capture an audience’s imagination.  I root for their success, but I wonder if they possess the spark to make an impact.  Regardless of other shortcomings, should a band show signs of that charisma from the start, or can they develop it over time?

Blood and Water, Main Stage.  Photo by Angelica Schmitt

- I only caught two songs from Anna Lisa, but a voice that pure makes an impact.  The backup vocalist for Josh Garrels played two sets at the Arkansas stage.  I managed to wander by at the end of both.  Her voice draws you in.  She has an angelic quality mixed with that disarming southern charm.  She reminds me of one of those great country voices of the past, shades of Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, and Tammy Wynette.

- Saturday marked the only day I spent a significant amount of time at an otherwise weak Main Stage.  Seabird played another solid set.  I have enjoyed watching them climb the ladder from third tier stages to the Gallery and now to the big time.  Blindside also played an entertaining set despite my prior misgivings.  The Scandinavians lacked the posturing and self-importance typical of the hard rock genre (see: Skillet, Cornerstone 20Ten).  They possessed a genuine desire to connect with their audience.

- You missed the best show of Saturday.  While Anberlin offered another presumably mediocre performance on Main Stage, Joplin, Missouri’s Dead American Radio poured their hearts out to five or six of us at the secluded Sancrosanct Stage.  The left-coast style punks draw instant comparisons to Blink-182.  Drummer Chase Cox demonstrates an incredible talent and energy.  Guitarist/vocalist Ty Warden plays a fast, trebly lead with expertise while also spouting fun lyrics that inspire the audience to sing along.  Bassist Bryan Ross even looks the doppelganger of Blink’s Tom Delonge.  Dead American Radio quickly emerged as my favorite new band of the 2011 Cornerstone Festival.

Despite this frustrating early showing, Dead American Radio played to a better crowd Sunday.  The great location of the Texas stage allowed passerbys suffering from metalcore overload to hear and taste the suddenly rare commodity of a left-coast style punk band.  A crowd of five to ten swelled to thirty or forty interested fans by the end of their thirty minute set.  If circumstances hadn’t forced the band to cancel their third set, they surely would have enjoyed even greater success.

However, the band no longer has instruments of their own.  Circumstances force them to rely on the good graces of other musicians.  On May 22, 2011, an F5 tornado tore through their hometown causing $3 billion in property damage and 159 casualties.  Dead American Radio’s practice space fell in the path of the tornado tossing their instruments some “forty or fifty miles away.”  Playing less than two months later, they had no merch to sale, no record to promote.  They just wanted to draw attention to the plight of those victims.  In their words, they just want people to “listen to the stories of the people of Joplin.”

Dead American Radio deflected attention from themselves, but you could tell that the wounds remained fresh.  My intuitive EMT girlfriend indicated that they showed the signs of shock, not the medical shock, but the more lasting effect.  From my own work with Hurricane Katrina victims, I too noticed the different ways disaster weighs on people.  Warden possessed an edge of depression; he still carries the anomie.  Cox seemed happy to get away and do something, anything, that felt normal again.  Such vulnerability in a band only makes the audience like them more, but I would not wish such tragedy on anyone.

I mention the tornado only in keeping with the band’s wishes for awareness and empathy with the victims.  Truly, the music and performance of Dead American radio stands on it’s own merits.

Jeff the Girl: Be at the skatepark at 11:30 tonight.

Me: Why?

Jeff the Girl (walking away): Just be there!

When Leanor – better known as Five Iron Frenzy’s Jeff the Girl – told me to go to the skatepark, I first thought, “Secret Five Iron reunion show?!”  Such a possibility seemed highly unlikely, but diehard fans hold an irrational hope for their favorite bands.  I recalled that Five Iron played their first Cornerstone shows at the skatepark – the precursor to the modern generator stages.  What better way to generate buzz for a possible reunion than by playing an impromptu show at the site of one of your earliest successes?

Alas, I did not witness the return of perfect ska goodness.  I didn’t leave disappointed either.  Jeff the Girl had placed me in the center of the best experience of this year’s festival.

Next to the skatepark stands a shed about the size of a small ranch house.  Over six Cornerstones, I walked past the building countless times without ever really acknowledging the building’s presence.  The aluminum walled structure sits on a concrete slab that juts out towards the skatepark.  Over this patio stands a sliding metal door that reaches from floor to ceiling.  At various points in its existence the shed has surely housed tools as disparate as farm equipment and stage pieces.

As I approached the shed, a floodlight shone onto the patio.  A table sat to the left of the sliding door with Beggars merchandise.  A small crowd gathered but no one seemed privy to the secret of this meeting.

People moved in and out of the shed through a smaller door in the large sliding door.  Through it, I spied music equipment, amps and guitars.  I heard tuning and sound checks.  Somebody planned to play a show in this little shed!  Certainly the Cornerstone officials hadn’t given permission for this guerilla performance.  Then again, Cornerstone has long promoted an atmosphere of Christian liberalism.  As long as something doesn’t disturb the public order, they have a tendency to turn a blind eye to lesser disruptions like this.

Suddenly a couple of men shoved the large sliding door to the right.  As many of us herded into the shed as possible, but less room existed there than anticipated.  Walls divided the shed into thirds with the show in the center  third.  The band stood right on top of their audience in a space no bigger than a bedroom.  Friends of the band sat in the rafters to the right of the “stage,” but most listeners remained on the patio.  Still, with a now gaping hole in the side of the building, even those fans could enjoy the show.

Debtor opened the show.  I’d seen the band at previous Cornerstones.  I don’t dislike the hardcore punk band, but the vocals involve too much screaming, border too much on metalcore, for me to really enjoy them.

But really who played or what they played became irrelevant in this situation.  The scene, the experience, the novelty became larger than any one band or any group of fans.  The close quarters made the event feel like the perfect house show.  Such proximity compels you to feel the energy, the raw power.  You merge into something intimate, yet larger than yourself.

That this happened at a secret Cornerstone show only took the feeling to the next level.  The festival draws those who possess a true passion for music.  The covert nature of the episode meant that only the most dedicated and the most curious of that group stood at that spot.  This was pure, concentrated house show.

Chicago’s Beggars followed.  I overheard someone connected to the band mention that they had only played two or three shows before this one.  I certainly couldn’t tell.  The hardcore/post-hardcore band compares favorably to Fugazi.  They offered all of the chaotic energy of punk but with the attention to melody developed by those ’90s post-hardcore bands.  They currently have a four song 7″ out on Chorus of One records.

I wouldn’t typically go for Call to Preserve‘s more metalcore stylings, but they won me over by playing two Minor Threat covers at the beginning of their set.  Without any regard for the crowd or my own safety I charged to the front and got in the face of the band as we roared “I Don’t Wanna Hear It” and “Straight Edge.”  My voice never recovered.  Those two great songs left me hoarse for the rest of the weekend but I have a great memory for far longer than that.

The Beggars

Minor Threat Covers (Check out the crazy guy in the black fedora)

- Thursday kicked off the official start of the festival and the official start of Cornerstone’s always enlightening seminars.  In addition to the long list of bands invited to the festival, Cornerstone welcomes a number of professors, theologians, and other experts.  Like an educator teaching his pet speciality to eager grad students, these speakers embrace the chance to share their intellectual passions wherever they intersect with the Festival’s open discussion of the divine.

Over the last two or three years, I have found seminars exploring the relationship between science and theology of special interest.  I attended all three sessions (six total) of Dr Stephen Matheson‘s two seminars and all three session of Dr James Stump‘s science seminar.  Dr Matheson, until recently a professor at Calvin College, specializes in biology and neuroscience.  ”Alien Worlds” explored the potentiality of life on other planets and the strange creatures that exist in our own world’s dark places and its diverse past.  ”Zombies on Jeopardy” – which would make a great band name – asked how we define our humanity, especially within the context of such controversial topics as artificial intelligence, gene therapy and manipulation, stem cell research, and human cybernetics.

Dr Stump teaches at Bethel College and specializes in the philosophy and history of science.  Expanding on a one session seminar he taught last year, “Science and Religion” advocated for studying the Bible within the context of its authors and original readers.  He also looked at the divisions topics like evolution and cosmology cause between certain scientific and theological communities.

Both professors taught with the expertise granted by their trade and deftly answered all questions.  Enjoying the shade of their tent, I found their seminars completely engaging.  It also didn’t hurt that they both hold a view that Cornerstone has helped me arrive at in recent years: evolution and Christianity can coexist in the same worldview.  They do not have to contradict one another.

- Man Made Hell have established themselves as one of the better Cornerstone punk bands over the last couple years.  They possess a raw, aggressive energy, something vaguely violent, that even the metalcore bands can’t claim in their overwrought posturing.  Man Made Hell represent the genuine article.  This is what pure, unsinful rage looks like.  It simmers just beneath the surface like a steaming bull barely restrained.

- The Last Hope brought back their original lead singer for their Underground set.  He instantly reminded me why I didn’t start liking the band until after he left.  His stage presence emits something completely self-absorbed, something downright arrogant.  I sense an insecurity that requires constant attention.  I felt no cohesion between the vocalist and the rest of the band.  I wonder why they parted ways in the first place and why they decided to play this set together after that separation.  Despite great music from the rest of the band, I just couldn’t enjoy the set through the singer’s poisonous atmosphere.

- Paper Route delivered one of the two best sets of the Festival, a truly transcendent moment.  Like Eisley last year, Paper Route benefitted from an after dark slot at the Gallery Stage.  Cornerstone seems dedicated to making the Gallery the festival’s best listening experience year in and year out.  Whether audio equipment, a superior sound guy, or both, the Gallery always provides excellent sound.  Throw in their attention to stage design and maybe even a wisp of smoke and the stage transports you somewhere else entirely.  Despite the heat, it felt more like a cool fall evening with a full moon shining down. I sensed a hint of fog across an open field.

Paper Route rose to the occaision.  They traded in the dirty t-shirt of last year’s afternoon set for a sharp button-up shirt.  They looked more the part of a classy, intelligent band.  More importantly, they sounded like a great band.  The music, the vocals, everything felt perfect.  The sound gave me chills in the way that only true art can.  Last year I downplayed Paper Route drummer Gavin McDonald in comparison to Mute Math’s Darren King, but I believe both represent the finest skill in modern rock drumming.  If King is the 1A of active drummers, then McDonald is certainly 1B.  Despite the talent of the rest of band and the diversity of their instruments, I kept returning to the front-staged McDonald.  He captivated my attention.  I only felt disappointed when Paper Route finished; I wanted to live in that vibe forever.

- I admit that punk night came too early in the week for me this year.  Still reeling from the sleep deprivation brought on by the 15-hour journey to Illinois, I just didn’t have the energy to jump into the pit like I wanted to, especially for the sets later in the night.

The down attendance hurt as well.  The punk scene didn’t possess the same camaraderie, especially without a dedicated Fat Calf tent for the second straight year.  I even missed the youth groups.  While they sometimes present a small annoyance, especially at main stage, I found their presence lacking at the Flatfoot 56 set.  The youth leaders and their charges always take special pleasure in carrying Flatfoot’s call for costumes, banners, and props to the extreme.

Still, the punk scene felt a little stale this year.  Lust Control, Officer Negative, and Headnoise all reunited for this Cornerstone Festival.  With members in their thirties and forties, they represent the punk of the nineties, the scene of yesteryear, not an exciting future (not that I wouldn’t lose my mind if MxPx or Five Iron Frenzy played Cornerstone again).

Flatfoot 56 and Children 18:3 both offered solid performance again this year.  Angelica giddily jumped for the latter while I once again stood on the front line of the Braveheart charge for the former, but at this point I have seen both play at least half a dozen sets each.  The Cornerstone punk scene needs fresh blood, especially if we ever plan to eradicate this metalcore annoyance.

My girlfriend Angelica, my good friend Brian, and I – my usual concert amigos – dove into this year’s Cornerstone “jet lagged” and sleep deprived.  The jet lag likely affected me more than the other two.  It comes as an unfortunate side affect of working nights when everybody else parties it up on days.  The sleep deprivation resulted from not arriving in Bushnell until around 4 AM.  When we planned our departure from Richmond, I seemed to forget that moving two hours east adds two more hours to the Cornerstone journey.  In spite of bleary eyes, the torturous heat, and obvious lack of attendance, we found ourselves happily back at the Festival, my favorite place on this spinning rock.  We embraced the community with enthusiasm.

- After discovering The Scurvies at the end of last year’s festival, I really enjoyed the two sets I caught this year.  The band lineup has gone through a drastic transformation over the last few years – only the lead singer remains from the original band – but that doesn’t seem to affect their chemistry and momentum.  They really take punk back to its wild, garage rock roots.  They flow effortlessly between the two related styles.  Vocalist Chris Meurlott seems as comfortable in the more left-coast punk get-up he sported this year as the leather jacket he donned last year.

The Scurvies really won me over.  They possess an energetic, infectious stage presence that even got these (relatively) old bones moshing, they impressed me with a solid Descendents cover, and Lucas Christiansen played the best bass of the entire festival.  I even appreciated their cohesive appearance.  The singer and four guitars intentionally sport similar thick, black-framed glasses in the Buddy Holly style.  And whether they intended to or not, both guitars and the bass provide variations of the same color theme: one yellow, one gold, and one light wood grain.

- Michigan’s The Skies Revolt didn’t overwhelm me, but they did enough things right to warrant mention.  They first grabbed my attention with their fun promotional skills.  We ran into one of their guitarists sporting gold, poster-board plate armor and a really big plastic sword near the main stage.  He gladly posed for a photo.  Sometimes a band just needs a fun gimmick and a friendly presence to garner interest.  Musically, the hard rock/electronic band had their highs and lows.  I loved when they would just shut up and play.  When The Skies Revolt descended into one of their crunchy, bluesy breakdowns, it sounded like a wave of guitars crashing against my beach.  They also played to the crowd with a solid rendition of Weezer’s “Say It Ain’t So.”  Unfortunately, most of the time they just felt rather bland and mediocre.

- Unlike many of their metalcore fans, I still like Showbread, but their set this year just left me unsatisfied.  I understand Josh Dies wants to use the band as a ministry first and foremost and, really, he says all the right things, but I need more music.  When I arrived, Showbread has already begun playing, so they may have started early, but Josh spent as much time proselytizing as singing.  If they want to spend 15 minutes preaching, then the Come and Live! tent needs to give them more total airtime.

- Blaster the Rocket Man’s “Otto Bot” Petersen, sans band this year, offered a late night spoken word set.  He ebbed and flowed through original poetry and song lyrics with his trademark enthusiasm and love of science fiction.  He even thrilled the crowd with a few Blaster lyrics.  Petersen came backed by his elementary aged son.  Like his father, he offered two original pieces of poetry, including one that won a young writers contest.  Like the many other dedicated Blaster fans seated in the tent, and in spite of my encroaching drowsiness, I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of the display.

The Skies Revolt Warrior.  Photo by Angelica Schmitt.

The venue, Strange Matter, possesses a certain charm.  A number of old-school arcade games line the back of the bar including favorites like Street Fighter and Lethal Enforcer.  The polished concrete floors provide a gritty platform for punk moshing.  However, Strange Matter lacks good sound.  Everything seems to pulse as one loud, muffled car crash.  I imagine part of that has to do with the nature of the bands playing, but I doubt an acoustic set would sound much better.  The builders didn’t have music in mind when they crafted the acoustics in this downtown location.  Still, you cannot fault that location.  Only one block from VCU, Strange Matter certainly sees its fair share of college students during the school year.

The first band I saw, Richmond’s own The Haverchucks, stole the show.  I didn’t know good left-coast punk could reach our humble burg this far east.  Yet, The Haverchucks played fast, fun, harmonic punk in the vein of the Descendants.  They play again June 25th at Sprout across the street from the VCU Crossroads.  Check them out for yourself.

The Shards followed with a less than impressive set.  Their lead singer lacked any personal charisma.  With punk, you don’t need charm or beauty, often the opposite.  Yet, you need a certain edge, a certain wildness that compels the audience to watch.  The Shards singer lacked either.  I found their drummer much more interesting.  He had the charisma that the singer lacked.  A band can do quite well if multiple members possess that energy, but with the lacking vocalist, the drummer just made the whole scene feel unbalanced.

The Libyans played a solid, if not extraordinary, set.  They possessed a good stage presence, but nothing particularly exciting.  They played well, but nothing that would blow your mind.  They inspired me to buy their newest full length, but I felt disappointed that they played nothing from either the “Crash Course” vinyl single or the aforementioned “Welcome to the Neighborhood” vinyl single.  I just found them largely forgettable.

Rather than crowding into a basement or a small bar, the open-air Innsbrook Pavilion sits nestled away in the Richmond suburbs.  Don’t expect charming architecture or high quality amenities at such an establishment.  Get there early unless you want to risk parking on the private property of an Elk’s Lodge.  Prepare yourself for long ticket lines and port-a-johns.  Miller-Coors sponsors the venue, so even the beer remains intensely mediocre.  Still, the music matters most.  Innsbrook provides good sight lines to the stage and quality sound.  I would not discourage seeing a show there.  I plan to see another nostalgia act at Innsbrook in August: Sublime with Rome.

You could never accuse the fans of a nostalgia act of living on the cutting edge.  Most ranged from frat boys – “Hey, brah, I’ve heard of these guys!” –  to middle aged  - “I loved these guys back in ’94!”   I fear I’m slowly slipping into the latter group, but I’ll spare you my whining about feeling too old to effectively mosh at the ripe age of 27.  My slightly elitist views of rock culture aside, I showed up for the music.

While younger bands certainly provide more energy and imagery, I doubt that Stone Temple Pilots have ever sounded better.  The aural purist should seek bands at just this stage in their career.  Seek a band that has stayed together and played together for at least ten years.  Excluding their hiatus, STP has performed for twenty years.  For a cohesive sound, a band needs time to work out the kinks, to jettison unstable members, and to develop their chemistry.  Younger bands especially just need time to practice their instruments and their stage presence.  They must develop their talent through repetition.

At the same time, you don’t want to go too far the other way.  Age has a habit of eroding our skills.  Can anyone honestly say that the Rolling Stones, Ozzy Osbourne, or Paul McCartney sound sound as good as they did twenty or thirty years ago?  I question any band where more than one member exceeds fifty.  While Stone Temple Pilots have begun to creep up on that number, the elder of the band checks in at 49 and the average age of the four members sits at 45.  That doesn’t exactly sound trendy, but at that age musicians still have the physical ability to provide great performances.

This seems especially true with a band like STP that had talent to begin with.  Scott Weiland still possesses that low, rich moan.  You can’t mistake that voice for anyone else.  A great rhythm section backs Weiland.  I left particularly impressed with the beautiful and complex thrumbings of bassist Robert DeLeo.  You can sometimes fail to notice his contribution while listening at home, but live you realize that he provides the beat constantly pounding in your head.

The aural aficionado will also enjoy the lack of filler in a nostalgia act’s set.  A successful band can generate a concert’s worth of great material over a career even if they never release a single great album.  In their ninety minute set, Stone Temple Pilots played all of the crowd favorites – “Plush,” “Big Empty,” “Trippin’ on a Hole in a Paper Heart,” “Sex Type Thing,” “Creep,” “Vasoline,” “Interstate Love Song,” “Dead and Bloated,” “Dancing Days” – and then some.  They easily carried the entire show even without an opening act.

So go catch a nostalgia act.  It might not blow your mind or set the world aflame with a new revolution, but it’s certainly a good time and money well spent.