After frantically googling the location of the first stop on Brother and Sister's all-day scavenger hunt tour, I hop on my bike and head for St. Louis Park via the greenway. Passing under Lyndale Avenue, I encounter my first pack of summer school cyclists wearing the day's uniform: an assortment of colorful tops, tights, skinny jeans, and hair mussed from the bed lied in mere minutes earlier.
Several more miles finds us locking our rides to a chain-link fence or skinny tree trunks before a sprawling brown brick school -- the Park Spanish Immersion Elementary School. Just past 10 a.m., a crowd is already spilling down the entry's stairway and onto the sidewalk, while a petite girl in polka-dot tights hands out "permission slips" that waive away the right to sue Michael Gaughan, members of Brother and Sister, and everyone else participating in the event, should we tumble head-first into oncoming traffic, become crushed under falling speakers during a show, or suffer a fly-ball to the head during electro-rock baseball.
But I'm getting ahead of myself - let's get back to school. No educational experience is complete without an Ed Rooney-esque principal to admonish slacker pupils for arriving late. Dressed in khakis, a white button up, and cheap sunglasses, (the kind you buy for five bucks at your county fair), our principal for the day orders us to form two lines by gender and pay a $15 fee ("due to the higher cost of education"). Once inside, we were awarded neon-green leopard print strips of fabric to tie on as our "uniforms" and treated to three performances in the school's basement cafeteria, amidst folded-up lunch tables.
A train whistle alerts concertgoers to the first act - rappers Toki Wright and FranzDiego.com. "Wake up class!" yells Wright, before Diego growls into his mic and later dances with an umbrella. After a short set of hopping back and forth, jumping, and lots of hearty attempts to rile up the crowd, Cognitive Dissonance takes center stage before a pull down silver door that blocks what can only be a hot-lunch window.
The lead singer roars like a demon from Buffy the Vampire Slayer after its been shot with a cross bow, while the drummer pounds away like Animal, the chaos-prone member of the Muppet Babies clan. By the end of the set a wide circle has formed, to the delight of a scraggly-haired man rocking an ammo belt plus a wide, menacing wristband decked in silver spikes.
Next up in the school of rock line-up is Knifeworld. Rapid-fire guitar riffs propel the lead singer into the air before leading the crowd in a lack-luster rendition of The Ramone's "Rock 'n Roll High School." "We don't know how to play it, so everyone has to sing it," the band explained. Unfortunately, the crowd could have used some pointers as well.
Study hall commences, and we're released for recess. Hidden among jungle gyms, plastic slides and rows of swings are six puzzle pieces. Together, they form the directions "Take a R on WLKR St. 9 blocks --> Take a R on QBEC Ave. Only 2."
"Oak Hill! That's it!" exclaims a boy with a skull and crossbones stitched into the back of his black hoodie as we ride toward a park. Past a family of bewildered picnickers is a pavilion reserved for the next acts. After a break for eating our bag lunches, Mute Era announces their presence with an evil "Mwahahaha" chuckle. I jump on a large brown picnic table to watch lead singer Sho Nikaido utter indistinguishable lyrics and drummer Jessica Driscoll kick out beats on a sparkly red drum set, while behind me a group of two-and-a-half foot tall kids swing giant plastic golf clubs at equally large plastic golf balls on a makeshift mini-golf course.
"Stay off the grass where the little kids are playing," warns an authoritative man before it's Synchrocyclotron's turn to take the stage. The threesome dazzles the crowd with their sequin encrusted ensembles and frequent instrument swapping. At one point the drummer straps on a guitar, places a keyboard on his drums, and proceeds to move the cymbal with his foot while pressing keys and occasionally singing and strumming.
"You thought you could run but you couldn't hide," declares the huffing principal as he trudges into the shelter at the set's end. "Find three things in the woods," he commands, and a swarm of music-lovers swoop towards the clump of trees across the street in eager obedience.
Clomping through the brush I meet an MCAD student who's immune to poison ivy -- but this super-hero trait doesn't help him find one of the three sheets of printer paper covered in collages that point us towards the next venue -- a park across town.
While we wait for the band to arrive I chat with Viceburgh's lead singer, Sean Keith, in front of a porta-potty. Suddenly a game of capture the flag springs up, and two teams are standing on opposite sides of the site's grassy expanse. A Braveheart-like battle cry whoops through the air as the team nearest us charges down a small hollow and into the battleground in search of a t-shirt cum flag. "Let the blood games begin!" yells their opponents in response, before descending to meet their foes.
Several games later, a motley of musicians arrive and settles onto a bridge over a waterless indent of land. With one performer in a black and white striped shirt and another in a three-piece suit, the group conjures the essence of a Parisian folk band strumming tunes above the Seine.
"We all just learned all these instruments. Don't be shy to play with us," the female vocalist says. Heeding their invitation, several experimentalists amble onto the bridge to join the mix of an Omnichord, triangle, ukulele, two banjos, and a viola.
After songs titled "Who'll be the new Swamprat?" and "Ramblin Man" cease, a riddle is put forth. Climb the hill, follow the path, and take a right at the diamonds. After several minutes of wandering around the park, a trail of cyclists winds past the capture the flag hill, turns right at baseball diamonds where little leaguers are thick in the midst of a game, and onto a bike path headed towards the Minneapolis skyline towering in the distance.
A sudden detour across railroad tracks puts us in the dank underbelly of an expressway where The Blackthorns are already playing. Teens climb the graffiti-laden walls or stand in the dirt beneath the overpass, transfixed by the five-person band's haunting melodies. The guitar player, channeling his inner rock-star artist, spontaneously beats against a pipe, tin tray, and piece of scrap hanging from a large bar, and the steady rumble of a train roaring past only compliments the atmospheric quality of the moment.
Stepping out from the shadows and onto the baseball diamond a mere 200 feet away is like leaving the melancholy depths of hell to embrace the lush landscape of heaven. Before two-man group The Gamut can begin, an impromptu game of baseball springs into play. Punk-rock bowling's got nothing on what could only be dubbed "electro-rock baseball." When not in the field running down pop flies and grounders, batters on deck but up against the bobbing crowd and watch the show.
The next act had a lot to live up to -- and miraculously, they did just that. Further down the trail, under the expressway once more, are two giant mounds of dirt. Between them stands metal-punk-rockers Faggot, who are backed by a bevy of scandalously clad dancers in construction worker-meets-Daisy Duke-meets-country hick gear, plus Gotham city's last line of defense against thieves in the night: Batman. Before blasting into action, the lead singer poses with the shaft of a shovel between his legs and dumps scoops of dirt down his miniscule construction vest -- a family friendly image compared to what happens next.
"The bassist has the shortest shorts ever. His ball sack is hanging out," says a girl nearby, before whipping out her digital camera, zooming in on the offending parts, and thrusting the picture forward.
It's 6 p.m., over eight-hours into the spectacle, and the next clue -- a Sioux headdress on a vacuum cleaner -- sends the group to the SOOVAC on Lyndale Avenue. As we hit the Walker sculpture garden I duck out for the night, careening toward a soft couch, jug of water, and a much-needed meal before meandering back to the same spot for the Walker's 200-person capture the flag game at dusk.
www.brother-and-sister.com
From rumors to reminiscing, talk through the day was as eclectic as the groups wailing onstage. Here's what I overheard:
"I heard Brother and Sister are gonna play in a helicopter."
"Do you have any of the heroin left?"
"I taught the Ecuadorian guys at my work to say 'I'll cut you.'"
"I've been craving pancakes all week."
"I bought my bike when my hair was green."
Person 1: "My feet are cold." Person 2: "Do you want to wear my sweatshirt?"
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