Chris L hitting up Siren Music Festival at Coney Island!

The Village Voice's Siren Music Festival has been going strong for nine years, and although each of the past three years has been deemed the potential "Last Siren Fest Ever" because of the impending luxury condominium takeover, the third Saturday of July has remained a reliable day of free music, awful (but free) juice, and every type of fried food in existence. The dedicated reader will know that I live in the Bronx. The extremely dedicated, possibly obsessed reader will know that I stayed over in Tribeca the night before this year's Siren Fest. The unhealthily dedicated reader who is also my stalker will know that I had to go back to the Bronx for a change of clothes and also to drop off a big old bag of clothes, and only then take the D train to its final destination. What would compel a man to travel so far? Dedication, friends. To the festival, to the music ... and also to you, dear reader. By the time I got to Coney Island, the festival was half over and I had missed many of the bands I had wanted to see. I headed over to the Main Stage to try to catch the end Frightened Rabbit's set, but as I arrived the band was just finishing their last song. This caused me no small sadness, and I sought succor in swag. I browsed the tents set up along 10th Street, vendors hawking wares free and costly. Games of chance to win logo-splattered sundries. New brands of juice proffered on unwitting passers-by. Each year, Siren seems to play host to a new juice company giving away obscene amounts of its product in the hopes of raising brand awareness. Beverage giveaways are a dangerous thing, though. Parched after my long journey and looking to make my water bottle last, I accepted this years offering, a vile specimen called Vio. This juice, though, was a most unpleasant draught. Let's just say that if I were a hare, I would belong onstage, because I was frightened of this potion (which would make me a frightened rabbit -- hilarious). I will go to great lengths to avoid this carbonated concoction in the future. Speaking of future, the next band I saw was called Future of the Left ! Wow! I didn't even plan that. Talk about synchronicity. These guys are an energetic punk trio from Cardiff, England, and they held nothing back. I arrived about halfway through their set, and though their style does not quite align with my own, they played well, and I can always enjoy frenetic drumming for at least a while. It was too hot for me to get in the center of the crowd, but those who dared were treated to a visit from bassist Kelson Louis Tregurtha Mathias, who made his way past the press pit and barrier and into the crowd during the last song. And that's always fun. I stuck around the Stillwell Stage for A Place to Bury Strangers [http://www.aplacetoburystrangers.com/, http://www.myspace.com/aplacetoburystrangers], whom I had planned, but failed, to see at least a couple of times before. APTBS are another trio, fronted by Oliver Ackerman, the founder of effects pedal company Death By Audio, which has been patronized the likes of U2, Wilco and TV on the Radio. Unsurprisingly, Ackerman makes ample use of his own creations, getting his beat-up Fender to wail, scream, and any other anthropomorphic verb you might imagine. Think Sonic Youth at their most tuneful, or My Bloody Valentine at their fastest tempos. If you dig nasty effects, you'll probably dig APTBS; if you don't, then maybe don't waste your time. Interestingly, their hard-charging rhythm section often sounded a lot like Future of the Left's; the two bands' divergent guitar styles made all the difference, though. The next band, Israeli wildmen Monotonix , http://www.myspace.com/monotonix] are not exactly notable for their guitar style, or even anything much related to their music. They've built a reputation as one of the most outrageous live acts in rock and roll, and on Saturday I witnessed why. They set up their drums within the crowd as a palpable buzz arose from the spectators. The set began slowly, with guitarist Yonatan Gat and drummer Haggai Fershtman playing a dramatic introduction. Suddenly, the band launched into a song, as water flew in the air (usually it's beer, but $5 Bud Light is hard to part with, I guess). Singer Ami Shalev (another trio! wow) was not wearing pants, and after about a minute had no shirt on, either. He spent most of the show held aloft by the crowd, who were, amazingly, unfazed by lifting this man's extremely hirsute and sweaty body. Gat and Fershtman also eventually found themselves playing in the air, as dozens of sweaty arms Iwo Jima'd the drum set and the band members in an impressively cooperative group effort. As I found myself on the outside of the crowd surrounding the band, I noticed the foreign sensation of a breeze against my back. I turned around and realized that many people were observing the madness from a distance. This is the luxury of seeing Monotonix in an outdoor space; at a small, packed club there would be no such respite for the weak-hearted. I have to admit, though, that I myself was somewhat yellow, slipping out just before they finished to make my way back to the Main Stage and try to secure a decent position for headliners Built to Spill . I got as far as the sound tent, a solid spot made possible by what seemed to me to be a rather smaller than usual crowd. Built to Spill had some sound trouble early on, but they played beautifully. The day was coming to an end, and the sun was sinking slowly, bathing crowd and band and park in gorgeous golden light. Airplanes passed silently by in the west, where the sky paled from gold to blue in a sweeping gradient. I felt then that there could be no better place than Coney Island, no better sound than a Doug Martsch solo and a rickety Cyclone roar. Four hours on the subway was a pittance for such a moment.