When you live in Los Angeles, work in music and your colleagues have dubbed you the #henchhipster, there is undoubtedly one summer obligation you must fulfill. Your love for the underground may combat your disdain for sunlight, but a pretentious lover of obscurity’s gotta do what a pretentious lover of obscurity’s gotta do. That’s right; I’m talking about me—the pretentious lover of obscurity (exemplified by my vinyl collection and stick-and-poke tattoos)—and Fuck Yeah Fest, aka FYF.

FYF is an indie staple, an alternative go-to, hosted in downtown, because they’re too punk for trees. Most festivals nowadays have become hippie-dippie destination events defined by the “experience” and an excess of flower crowns. FYF knows that hot asphalt matches the soul of a mosher much more closely than moist grass does, and I appreciate them for that.

Saturday, I slithered out of my cave and set my sights on Exposition Park. There was a rough start, but three aspirin, two bottles of water, a hefty dose of Vitamin B-12, a veggie burger and a subway ride later and I was feeling at least 70%.

Who did I see? Mikal Cronin, Alvvays, The Drums, Dinosaur Jr. and Run the Jewels. Yes, I missed Kanye, but I had tickets to Taylor Swift at Staples down the street, so sue me. I mean what sounds more pleasant than a day dominated by guitar riffs and punk aesthetic, cushioned by a night of Tay Tay? Nothing, so take your upturned nose elsewhere. I must note, for those unaware, that my spirit animal, Bad Gal RiRi (formally known as Rihanna), did make a surprise appearance during Yeezy’s show and that’s pretty fucking awesome.

Anyways, in a tragic turn of events, I was forced to miss JUNK, Broncho, Bloc Party, Savages and the Jesus and Mary Chain. Unfortunately, there are only so many places and stages one girl can be at once, and as my elementary school P.E. instructor can inform you, I do not run.

Highlights included The Drums' performance of "I Can't Pretend," off 2014's Encyclopedia, and Run the Jewels' general badassness. Props to them for
cruising out to Queen's "We Are the Champions." And major props to them for bringing out Zack de la Rocha and Travis Barker; how could you get more punk that? Quite frankly, you don't.

Jay Mascis (right), the Dinosaur Jr. brainchild, sounded lovely. He happens to walk on stage, play completely straight-faced and barely say a word before exiting, though. Some might find that abrasive. I just think it's honest. He loves music and doesn't care so much for the scene, and I can dig that. It also paints him as a rock n' roll Walter White, so he's got that goin' for him.

Sunday was a treat thanks to Tobias Jesso Jr., Neon Indian, Toro Y Moi, Mac Demarco, Solange (left), Belle & Sebastian and King of Cool, Morrissey.

I’m actually devastated that I missed D’Angelo & the Vanguard, but when you’ve listened to Meat Is Murder as many times as I have and D’Angelo’s set is pushed right into the former Smiths frontman’s, sacrifices are made.

A smiling Demarco reminded us all to stop taking ourselves so fucking seriously, busting out some hooky goodness on "Cooking Up Something Good" and "Salad Days."Later, Solange proved to be an avant-garde angel, who put the crowd under her spell with ease. And it was pretty amazing to see her play three songs with Dev Hynes (Blood Orange), including a cover of Nina Simone's "Young, Gifted and Black."

As for my favorite vegan, he did in fact play the title track from Meat Is Murder, which was simply swoon-worthy. Other standouts included "Everyday Is Like Sunday" and The Smiths' "What She Said."

All in all, FYF is like a high school party at your best friend's place when their parents are out of town. It's comfortable yet high-energy, casual but loud; it knows how to lift you up, and it's not afraid to smack you down.

And there are actual toilets in actual bathrooms for your weaker friends to yack in, which is a huge plus. There's truly nothing like that lingering smell of accumulated festival puke in a porta potty.

xx,
Samantha Hissong