Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Posted at
04:22
by
Shaula Clark
Photos by Dave Barker
Bursting out of the T station last Saturday, a kid in front of me stops
dead in his tracks. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, clearly unprepared for
the mob of canvas-waving artists, wheeled-canoe pedalers, lime-rickey
vendors, and hula-hooping mimes swarming Davis Square. Welcome to
ArtBeat 2009.
The theme of the eighth annual ArtBeat fest is “Somerville of the
Future” — which means a way higher robot quotient than usual. In the
center plaza, robot sculptor (and member of the chopper gang
SCUL)
Skunk
flaunts an especially impressive bot throng, all built from junk and
scrap metal, while his disco-ball-topped tall bike blasts funk from its
speakers.
After a lot of gawking, my friend and I tear ourselves away from the droids to catch ArtBeat’s grand finale: a
You Can Be a Wesley concert. The band, a pack of recent BU grads, don’t exactly exemplify “futuristic” — their first full-length release,
Heard Like Us (which dropped July 20), was recorded on
1960s studio equipment and pressed exclusively on vinyl. But the buzz surrounding them suggests they’re poised to be a Big Deal any day now. That’s future-y, right?
On our way to the Seven Hills Park stage, we pass a black-frocked girl
toting a hula hoop. “So many humans!” she exclaims in mock
exasperation. Yes, the lawn is littered with ’em — adult humans
immobilized by heat and food coma, even as squirrelly mini-humans
scamper in the grass. Guitarist/lead vocalist Saara Untracht-Oakner is
adjusting her equipment with bare feet. Chill vibes abound.
The MC offers a brief intro/clarification: “The band’s name is not a reference to
Star Trek’s Wesley Crusher but to Wesley of
The Princess Bride.” Now that we’ve cleared
that up, YCBAW launches into
“Balloon Head,”
and from their first “Ba-ba-ba-ba-da-da-daaaah” onward, their
much-swooned-over Breeders/Joanna Newsom/Broken Social Scene sound
(which they’ve dubbed “dance lounge”) charms. The hype is well
deserved.
About the time YCBAW play their final song, I turn around to see a guy
hoisting a chubby-cheeked baby in a Ramones T-shirt. The baby’s
clutching a tiny guitar. “One day, you’ll get up there,” dad says. In
the Somerville of the Future, perhaps?
