The stars (and in some cases, robots)were out at Summerfest Friday night, from singer turned reality-show judge Blake Shelton in the American Family Insurance Amphitheater to genre-bending singer Janelle Monae at the BMO Harris Pavilion.
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Here are some of the best shows we saw Friday.
Janelle Monáe
Some 800 performances come to Summerfest, year after year. Only a few can truly be called milestones, the kind of shows that will be remembered, and talked about, for ages. The Rolling Stones. Prince.
In time, I strongly believe, R&B sensation Janelle Monáe's will join that short and elite list.
You could shower her BMO Harris Pavilion concert Friday with the most grandiose adjectives imaginable: phenomenal, breathtaking, revolutionary, groundbreaking.
Yet even those words fail to capture the sheer power and exuberance of the night. She channeled the greats — the supernatural aura of Prince, the unstoppable showmanship of James Brown, the unbridled confidence of Beyoncé— and took a massive step toward becomingan icon herself.
The show felt both timeless, and incredibly timely. In April, Monáe came out as pansexual, ahead of the release of her most personal, and most passionate, album, “Dirty Computer.” And this show was liberation incarnate, and it was beyond infectious.
“I’m not the American nightmare, I am the American dream,” she sang triumphantly, dancing in lockstep with four remarkable dancers, for early set highlight “Crazy, Classic, Life,” proudly rapping about how her “black was poppin’ out like a bra-strap on you.”
During “Django Jane,” she sat upon a throne, footage of black panthers leaping behind her, as she rapped about “black girl magic” and the power of women (“We gave you life, we gave you birth/We gave you God/We gave you Earth”).
During the self-love celebration “I Like That,” she emotionally sang about overcoming insecurities as a child, and urged others to love themselves, no matter their differences or how they look, praising the stage and praising a fan’s bald head, and another fan’s dreadlocks. She made passionate speeches about LGBTQ rights, and in a fighting speech fit for a presidential pulpit, stressed that the fight for equal rights — for women, for black people, for immigrants — will not end.
But above all of this, Monáe put on a jaw-dropping show. Her largely female band, including a trombone and trumpet player, came together for synchronized struts for the horn-blasting “Q.U.E.E.N.” Five fans were invited on stage to perform spontaneous, crowd-thrilling dances near the end of “I Got the Juice.” “Make Me Feel” was preceded by simmering, backlit dance breaks — recalling the drama and command of Michael Jackson — as the tongue-clicking, bass-thumping intro to “Make Me Feel” continued on a seemingly endless loop.
And for “Tightrope,” Monáe did her mightiest James Brown, with dazzling stage struts, shoe slides, mic dips and knee drops. She even rolled over backwardon the stage.
“Life is about balance, about the highs and the lows,” she said near the end of the show. Life may be that way. This concert, though, was all highs — some of the greatest highs I’ve ever had at a show.
— Piet Levy,
plevy@journalsentinel.com
The Flaming Lips
The Flaming Lips became infamous in the mid-aughts for their larger-than-life live performances. Fans who showed up to the Harley-Davidson Roadhouse expecting a memorable show certainly were not disappointed.
Wayne Coyne and company drenched the audience in an ocean of multicolored confetti while smoke machines spat artificial clouds into the air. Massive balloons bounced from head to head as bright lights illuminated the eyes of the delighted crowd. Psychedelic graphics danced behind the band while Coyne held up a giant silver Mylar balloon that spelled out“(EXPLETIVE)YEAH SUMMERFEST.”
Oh, and did we mention all of this insanity was during the set’s opening track?
Eccentric props could easily distract audiences from a band’s performance, but not in the Flaming Lips’ case. Fans kept their eyes and ears fixated on Coyne as he carried the set with his transfixing, elusive energy.
Unsurprisingly, the madness didn’t stop after the first song. Blow-up eyeballs, a human bubble suit and strobe lights were all part of the band’s performance. The music wasn’t too shabby either, especially their loving tribute to the king of rock ’n’ roll excess, David Bowie.
— Lauren Keene,
Special to the Journal Sentinel
BØRNS
Indie crooner BØRNS drew a crowd of Milwaukee’s hippest teenagers to the Miller Lite Oasis Friday night. The lanky rocker performed “American Money” and “Electric Love” alongside plenty of his deeper cuts, sheepishly attempting to prove that he’s more than a two-hit wonder.
As soon as his set began, BØRNS appeared glamorously apathetic. His rigid dance moves were sometimes hard to watch, and he was visibly uncomfortable performing in front of his huge Summerfest audience. His stage banter was reminiscent of a 16-year-old Michael Cera:terribly awkwardbut adorably endearing. Midway through the set, he apologized for being “awkward with the talkin’ and stuff,”admitting he’d never played a festival headlining time slot before.
Thankfully, his stiff movements did not mirror his musical abilities. BØRNS’ androgynous falsetto tone is one of the most unique male voices in rock music today, reminiscent of Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon and even early Prince. His lesser-known tracks boasted lush instrumentation and surprisingly high production value.
BØRNS certainly has the potential to become a cherished teen idol. To get there, though, he’ll need to become a little less idle.
— Lauren Keene
Becca Mancari
Summerfest, like just about every festival on the planet, has a gender imbalance when it comes to its lineup, with about 75 percent of this year’s headliners being male-only acts.
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But one area where that was painfully clear was Summerfest’s country slate, with no noted female artists closing out any of the stages for any of the 11 days.
Fortunately, the festival did book several interesting newcomers, like alternative-country singer-songwriter Becca Mancari. Unfortunately, she’s not a well-known entity, so the Johnson Controls World Sound Stage was largely empty for her set Friday night.
What a shame. While Judah & the Lion and Jukebox the Ghost were using gimmicks to entertain their crowds (see below), Mancari trusted her warm songwriting and rich voice to carry the way through originals like “Golden” and “Summertime Mama.” And, on the bright side, there was plenty of room for one beaming couple to slow dance.
— Piet Levy
But Friday night also had some disappointments.
Judah & the Lion
When it comes to making idiots of themselves, Judah & the Lion showed no fear at the Miller Lite Oasis Friday night.
During “Reputation,” a bland anthemic rocker with a cheap singalong hook, frontman Judah Akers danced like an electrocuted Pee-Wee Herman and slapped his bare belly.
There was a cover of “Lose Yourself” that probably would make Eminem hurl mom’s spaghetti, with Nate Zuercher strumming on the banjo and Brian Macdonald delivering an awkward freestyle about being back in the Midwest and feeling it in his chest.
And there was another cover, of the Killers’ “Mr. Brightside,” with Akers sounding like a wasted Fred Schneider from the B-52s trying to sing karaoke at bar-closing time.
The band is so eager to please it jumped off the Mumford & Sons bandwagon and blended elements of that campfire folk sound with hip-hop and alternative rock for last year’s “Folk Hop N’ Roll” album.
And Friday night, even for all the missteps, it pleased this large and carefree crowd sticking around for BØRNS. Sometimes cold beer, nice weather and courage are all you need to win the day.
— Piet Levy
Jukebox the Ghost
Piano pop band Jukebox the Ghost embraced boring like it was a badge of honor Friday night at the Harley-Davidson Roadhouse.
It was, in fact, the title of the second song in its set, taken from new album “Off to the Races,” with longing lyrics about getting “old and lame” at a house in the suburbs.
It’s a cute concept for a song, and “Races” can be a fun album, recalling the bombast of Queen and fun. at its most frivolous. But live, Jukebox couldn’t match up the energy of the album live, and cutesy deadpan banter about getting a song placedon Rob Schneider’s Netflix show became less a distinguishing trait than the only reason worth sticking around.
— Piet Levy
