Popped! at the Firefighters Lounge featuring Drums Like Machine Guns, Satanized, Birds of Maya, Total Fucking Destruction, Sharks With Wings, Pissed Jeans Writing about Making Time seems kinda strange, especially when you consider it's almost very likely that 75% of the insanely packed crowd didn't even know Popped! was happening, and that the MT gig was the supposed “afterparty” for it. But if I didn't write to tell you that Soulwax's set was probably the best thing I've witnessed all week, I'd be shortchanging someone here (me and my so-called journalism and/or my “readership”). It was relentless, churning cross-section of dance fed to a hungry audience — in short, everything you'd want out of a live electronic set. It made Klaxons seem downright puny — but oh wait, they totally are. Anyway, this was supposed to run until 6 a.m., however, we were all kicked out at 3:30 a.m. I heard through the hipster grapevine the afterparty went down in Sean Agnew's bedroom and it was “amazing” — a Diplo/Soulwax set, among other things.  It's a good thing I never wound up at that, because I managed to wake up at 3 p.m. and felt horrible. How is it that I woke up with a hangover, but didn't drink at all? It was the kind of feeling that made me not want to leave the house, only doing so because I was bound by duty to report on the final event of Popped! for you, dear reader. Also, I was really curious about checking out the Fireman's Lounge — I enjoy seeing shows in off-the-beaten track venues. When I rolled up to the place, which was emblazoned in “SUPPORT BOB BRADY” posters, I knew this was going to be worth dragging my ass out of bed during a nor'easter. Nothing like VFW-styled punk show to make a Sunday feel just right.  07:30 PM: Looks like I've missed Drums Like Machine Guns (I bet their name is an apt description) and Satanized (I saw Normal Love earlier this week, and they sound sort of like that, just a bit more loose). 08:15 PM: The less said about Sharks With Wings, the better. BTW are audiences supposed to politely clap for boring noise bands? 08:45 PM: I've been a fan of Birds of Maya member Jason Killinger's artwork for some time now (and his previous band the Trauma Queens), but oddly enough I've never check out BOM until tonight. Thank heavens Popped! was here to right the wrong — BOM are rifftastic. Nothing challenging or mindblowing here, but they've embraced the dumb but fun ethos of punk rock. In the last song, their sludgy metal riffs take a turn towards a massive loop that's positively drone-inducing.  09:15 PM: When Total Fucking Destruction screams “youth apocalypse right now!” I realize this is a statement about something, but I'm not quite sure what. Is it about us? The only person feeling their set is a young kid, the rest of the crowd just stands there, as dull as a sack full of sacks. It's a shame, since TFD are awesome. They've found this amazing central point between punk and grind, politics and comedy. They even indulge in growling Cookie Monster metal vocals! It makes you laugh, it reminds me of Fat Day — what's not to love? TFD's Rich Hoak dedicates “Proof” to Rick D, which is a nice thing to hear. 10:15 PM: Yes, it takes nearly an hour for Pissed Jeans to hit the stage. And when they do, it's a really short set. Criminally short. Was it time? Ego? Who knows. But the fleeting moments we had together were perfect — let it be noted that PJ always play with 100% of themselves into it. What's that form of therapy where they give you giant foam bats and let you wail away at the others? Watching Pissed Jeans is sort of like that. I could have been happy to watch another 20 minutes or another 20 hours. And there it is, the end. Looks like we made it!

Popped! festival at 1000 N. Hancock Street featuring Moveable Type, Public Record, Feather Mills, Phil Moore Browne, Hail Social

The sheer amount of dogs here will warm even the most canine-hating heart. Every few minutes, another puppy rolls past and I think "PUUUUPPPPIIIEEEESSSSS!!!!!" It's these little things that keep my energy going and keep me away from the energy drinks.

05:00 PM: I went to grab some pizza and missed Feather Mills. Given that I've watched every other band for this festival, I'm allowed to skip one.

05:30 PM: Muddy, snarling and visceral, Phil Moore Browne puts on one of the best shows of the day, closing much more than the 25 foot gap between audience and stage. The singer hi-fives the front row (including me), smooches women and jumps around like a lunatic. What's not to love? Adam Herndon (Barking Spiders) claims it's his favorite set of the festival. It's a dead heat between them and Public Record for me.

06:30 PM: Hail Social take to the stage — just in time too. It's fucking freezing out here!

06:45 PM: Hail Social apologize for all the technical difficulties, but I'm actually really excited to hear them. The band is notorious for creating über slick albums; all the little glitches and mistakes bring it to life in a performance setting. Embrace the flaws, dudes!

07:00 PM: At the end of HS's set, I'm pelted with a Y-Rock t-shirt. Aw, did I hurt someone's feelings with that whole "90's indie retread" comment?

OK, time to take a breather. More soon!

Popped! at the Starlight Ballroom featuring Illinois, Bardo Pond, the Spinto Band, Dr. Dog

The room is beginning to fill up, but it's nowhere near the capacity levels I've seen in the past. I'm sort of surprised — you'd think this triple-threat of blog rock would bring the kids out in droves. I thought the bands would be the faulty wiring in this machine, but so far they've delivered solid-to-great sets. It seems like the problem lies with attendance; the lackluster support is draining away at the festival's energy. I can't imagine the Popped! folks running into this problem if the festival was tightened up to one day of rock-solid bands.

11:00 PM: Ah, the Spinto Band. I feel like their mother whenever I talk about them — recalling the days of when half the band was too young to play Plain Parade's shows at Tritone. Watching them onstage they resonate with the same enormous, caffineated presence that made us fall in love with them in the first place. They're chatty with the audience, but avoid sucking up to them. Case in point:

Nick: Chicago has the worst mail system in the country.

Sam: That's nothing compared to Philly's murder rate.

Zing, gentlemen! Minus points for the kid that cheered "MURDERDELPHIA!" though. A couple of girls bumrushed the stage during the set, pogoing along quite happily. R5's baby-faced Steven Ward James had to police the scene, and tell them to get down. Boo! 

Nick: What does it take to get people together these days? A festival? 

11:45 PM: And now, the band of the night… Dr. Dog. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only person in this town who doesn't like them, but then Pitchfork goes and validates my feelings. Maybe I'm not as crazy as I think. They sound loud and anthemic, which is I guess how they're supposed to be, but all I hear is waves of empty sentiment.

12:00 AM: I slink to the back of the room, where Mike Guggino of This Radiant Boy/Barking Spiders says, "Don't you wish that bands you hated played songs by bands you like? Then you could like any band." He then lamented the fact that Dr. Dog would not be busting out Black Flag covers anytime soon. Killdozer's "Hamburger Martyr" sprung to life in my mind. Minutes later we start acting out Godspell, which ends abruptly due to slamming my knee into the ground from sliding across the floor.

Since I already had perfected the art of jazz hands, I knew there was only one other thing I could do: leave. 

Popped! at the Starlight Ballroom featuring Illinois, Bardo Pond, the Spinto Band, Dr. Dog

You might be thinking to yourself, "What? No pre-show report?" No, I opted for a nap, which means I'm feeling like my old self again — which is to say, a little punchy. Regardless of my sudden uptick in energy, I don't want to be at this show. Sure, it's the biggest event of the festival so far, and in a lot of ways, the most important show of them all. Tomorrow's block party will be OK, Sunday's noise dude extravaganza seems like a real weird note to close on. Does anyone remember the t-shirt from the late 90's which read, "I am your target demographic" or something like that? I'm feeling a lot like that t-shirt while waiting for the bands to start up. 

08:45 PM: Shortly before Illinois took the stage, some folks from Y-Rock on WXPN stepped up to the mic and proclaimed how tonight's show was the future of indie rock. Oh, really? If by "future", they really mean "revisiting popular indie rock bands from the 90's", then they're right. Anyway, given how much the dudes of Illinois swear, it's no surprise their primary source of hype comes from the FCC-free blogosphere. How else would this shit get played on the fucking radio? I think I have discovered the only thing I can bond over Illinois with — our capacity for swearing like truckdrivers.

09:00 PM: Who says the age of the telephone is dead? Indie rockers can save this once-flourishing industry by buying out the stock a thriftstore and incorporating it into their songs as vocal mics! It'll be the steel guitar of the new millennium!

09:13 PM: When the bass player takes off his hoodie, I fight the urge to yell, "SHOW ME YOUR TITS!!!" Otherwise, I can not decide if I want to heckle or bro down with these guys. Everyone else here is waaaay into it, however.

9:30 PM: I can't believe the TRB DJ's are breaking out the Kris Kross. Instant club hit — the kids will dance to anything. Now if they could figure out the whole 45/33.3 rpm thing…

10:00 PM: Bardo Pond. Minbending, amazing Bardo Pond. How did you get stuck on this bill? Das bloggerati won't get you and your lovely amorphous cascades of drone. It sounds terrifying in this huge space. Is that Jason Korkounis in your band now? Niiiice!

OK, someone has fries. I'm starving. See you in a sec!

Popped! at the Parlor featuring Fursaxa, Fan of Friends, the War on Drugs, King Kong Ding Dong, Golden Ball.

True story: I received a paycheck's worth of Girl Scout cookies from a former boss, resulting in me coming up with crazy ways to dispose of the product. Since then, I have never touched a Girl Scout cookie. I'm feeling the same way about energy drinks right about now, since I've been chugging them down basically non-stop to stay awake/alive/coherent. (From the looks of these entries, I doubt their effectiveness.) Why do I keep returning to energy drink jokes? I don't know. But no one can seem to stop talking about them! They're ubiquitous and chilled just enough to convince a person of their beverage worthiness. Basically everyone I've talked to tonight is alternating between one of these and a lager, which can only mean one thing: there are going to be a lot of folks with hangovers tomorrow, and it ain't going to be pretty.

Let it be known Philly loves its indie rock. I'm not here to debate whether this is a good or bad thing (that's for another time), I'm just saying it is what it is. 

10:45 PM: Badmintonstamp's Josh D. says, “This band needs a drummer to rock.” And even though he claims it's the energy drink talking, Josh is sort of right. The War on Drugs meander just a little too much when it's only a sampler backing him up. The drink must have made Josh psychic because within two songs, we're feeling the plausible pulse of someone behind a drumkit. It manages to reel the band in, though only slightly — structure doesn't really seem like their bag anyway.

11:30 PM: Whether they're the first or the eight hundredth Dragon City side project, King Kong Ding Dong manage to coax the audience into generating more than just a head bob. They dedicate their set to Kurt Vonnegut, their most radio-friendly track to Joey Sweeney. Or was it John Emory? I can't believe I'm saying this, but their names sound identical when uttered over swerving guitars and harmonicas.

12:30 PM: It's been awhile since I've seen Golden Ball, but I'm sort of glad they ditched the Sonic Youth-eqsue racks of guitars (it always seemed like they had a lot of equipment in the past); the stripped down sound makes their mind-expanding songs seem even bigger.

If I wasn't feeling so fried, I probably would have been into it just a tad more. On that note, you know what time it is? Bed time!

Popped! at the Parlor featuring Fursaxa, Fan of Friends, the War on Drugs, King Kong Ding Dong, Golden Ball.

I spent my afternoon attending memorial services, followed by an early evening program at work featuring Roseanne Cash. She talked and sang about death, about breaking down in tears while out shopping at a big-box retailer with her father. Now I'm in a coverted funeral parlor watching bands. There is a thread here, albeit one that's walking a fine line between the living and the dead; everything's leaving me a little wounded and raw today.

08:30 PM: Fursaxa was rad and haunting as usual. She tends to play her best sets in front of audiences that don't really get it — this is sort of like that. Many years ago Fursaxa played a much-maligned Sugar Town, opening up for Ari Up of the Slits. The audience talked through the set; glad to report this wasn't the case this time around.

09:00 PM: The audience seems to be afraid of Fan of Friends. I don't quite understand why they feel the need to give the "Fuck You Horseshoe" (you know, that odd u-shaped space between a band and audience) to these overwhelmingly polite folks. 

09:45 PM: As expected, half the room for FoF has trickled out, conversing in the other space. This band is great, but they don't project a persona strong enought to command an audience. I catch Kurt Vile, Josh from Dragon City and Jesse from HiSoft singing "The Unseen Power of the Picket Fence" in the background.

10:00 PM: [REDACTED] wants to know if Joey Sweeney will burn them copies of Trouble with Sweeney records, especially the one with the Wings cover. 

10:15 PM: DJ Mental Feelings (a.k.a. Chris of Espers and a good friend of mine) is apropos. Time for a breather — I need it!

THURSDAY EARLY EVENING PRE-GAME / POST-SHOW REPORT/WRAP-UP/HALF TIME EXTRAVAGANZA

Hey, Funvampires! I'm still having a hard time with why we park on a driveway and drive on a parkway — maybe your brand of  been-there-thought-that navel-gazing can help me with this? I guess if y'all had a blog four months ago, I could see how complaining about the formation of yet another local music festival might come off as vaguely critical. However, now that we're in the thick of it, you just sound like a bunch of pussies at a stitch'n'bitch. Or a bitter, jilted lover. Whatever. BTW, nice job on racking up a word count — that's gotta count for something, right?

Aaaanyway, like the Three O'Clock said, we're half the way there. And in the downtime, when I'm not giving my thumbs carpal tunnel, I do wonder why this thing is a week long. Really guys — lop 2-3 bands off each of these shows per night and I'd be pleased as punch.

In a strange twist of coincidence, our pals at Pitchfork (who indulge in a festival every now and then, too) have reviews of new records from Dr. Dog (who play Friday) and Golden Ball (who play tonight). When you factor in that Man Man are currently on tour opening for Modest Mouse, all the claims of Philly being "overlooked" and "underappreciated" seem, well, kinda bunk. Who keeps perpetuating this myth, anyway?

Popped! at the Millcreek Tavern featuring Bad News Bats, Northern Liberties, Mountain High (pictured above), Low Budgets, Notekillers

I think tonight is shaping up to be my favorite night so far — which is totally unexpected given all my previous whining. All the bands might be tranisent bursts of noisy punk, but each draw from different influences. This keeps things interesting and more importantly, the audience eager for more.

10:30 PM: Mountain High's rough'n'tumble approach to punk rock is so mean, that if I mention how much I think this band rules, they might come and beat me up or something. Yeah, I'm weird. How all that drum equipment fits on stage is a mystery/miracle; the guitarist in the band is squeezed off to the ground. Their set is criminally short.

11:00 PM: Dearest Low Budgets, I wrote some song lyrics for you — "No one is in my home / I am alone / Oh no! / A robber might come and rob my home." I'm not being facetious either. No lie. I wrote them when I was seven years old, but I think they're perfect for your brand of hyped up juvenile punk rock. They'll make every everyone smile — the same way you make me smile.

11:30 PM: Wow! Look at the time — it's flown. I must be having a good time. Even the DJ playlists have significantly improved. Win-win situation, folks!

11:45 PM: Notekillers were part of the final Plain Parade shows, so you should know by now that I love these guys. Honestly, how can you dislike a band that inspired Sonic Youth?! Their songs are ferocious, snarling; tonight's set is no different. The only crime is that there's hardly an audience to watch them.

Popped! at the Millcreek Tavern featuring Bad News Bats (pictured above), Northern Liberties, Mountain High, Low Budgets, Notekillers

08:30 PM: Looks like Bad News Bats have ditched the keyboard player (I think) and now perform a three-piece, which is a significant improvement. In this setup their sonic debt to Slant 6, Autoclave and Bush Tetras is obvious. Unfortunately, the Millcreek's sound system renders Liz's vocals too reedy, barely registering to make its way past the edge of the stage. Despite this setback, it's probably the most confident performance I've seen from this notoriously shaky band.

09:00 PM: Northern Liberties = Six Finger Satellite? This band operates on such a minimal setup, but totally understands the key ingredients to avoid sucking: an entertaining frontman (who manages to get the audience going), solid songs and gimmicks that don't overwhelm the senses. In the middle of their third song, the singer loses his mic and their stage lights lose power. Whoops? I appreciate that the bass player even keeps his attire locally themed with a Ruin t-shirt.

09:45 PM: I think the Millcreek needs to have more all-ages shows. There's something quite awesome about having teenagers in this space. Makes it almost cheery.

10:00 PM: You know, I wish I could be psyched about these DJ's 'cause I'm a ho for anything made between 1978 to 1985, but they are busting out the most obvious no-wave and post-punk tracks ever. Did these guys just discover the Simon Reynolds' book or what?

WEDNESDAY  PRE-GAME REPORT / POST-SHOW RECAP

There was a time in my life where I could party all night long and still manage to stay cognizant at work. As evidenced by my zombie-like state all day, those days are long gone. I was *this close* to pulling a George Costanza and curling up underneath my desk. I didn't want to play the energy drink card, but I have a strong feeling that tonight I will have to be all about chugging that crap.

And to think we're only two-thirds of the way through Popped!, folks. Uwishunu found yesterday's show thrilling , Phillyist's Jill thought it was a bit too loud. Erin from Phillyist proclaims her un-normal love for Normal Love. (Full disclosure: Erin and Jill are/were co-workers of mine.) Eva from Phawker chimes in on the crowd being a bit lame (that is, until Stinking Liz took the stage and rocked us awake). And yes, she's totally nerding out over Cheshire Augusta's inherent radness too.

Tonight, Popped! takes its act over to the Millcreek Tavern, which is booked by Ben Morgan, one-third of the brain trust behind this festival. I'm looking forward to tonight's show. Phawker's got more Band-Libs with Northern Liberties, Notekillers and Low Budgets, so go yuk it up over there.

And if you haven't been checking them out already, Katie L. Thompson is shooting the festival for the Popped! folks. I mean, who else is gonna document the documenters? And thumbs up to her, as I learned last night that she's photographing everything with a broken arm. Talk about dedication! Looks like Katie caught me in the act of blogging, too. Next to me is a student from UPenn covering the festival for a sociology class. If this is Nerdsville, I freaking love it.

POPPED! At the Avant Gentleman's Lodge featuring Stinking Lizaveta, Bear Is Driving, Normal Love, Grandchildren, Barking Spiders

Talk about shit that sucks: the screw holding my bike's front fender has disappeared. Now I have a large, rusty doorstop. It is taking every fiber of my being to not let this color my mood for the rest of the evening. BICYCLE WHAT UP THE FUUUUCK

10:45 PM: Normal Love are exactly what I needed right now; their songs are strung out like chunks of sinew. Tough to chew on. At this point in the night, they're totally owning this show.

11:00 PM: Nice to hear DJ Stumble (of Seculasis) tonight; it's a good contrast to the skronky metallic nature of the live acts.

11:30 PM: Remember that Teenbeat band Eggs? Yeah, me too. And I need to stop calling this band an aggressive, proggy version of them, even if that's accurate, because when I caught Eggs at the Teenbeat 20th anniversary, they were awful. (An Eggs reunion seemed like a good idea… on paper.) I don't want Grandchildren to be awful. Luckily, they're not — in fact, it's the best I've seen them yet — energetic and elastic. However, the audience reaction is tepid; they hoot and holler in between sets, but their bodies barely rustle during the songs. C'mon people! Look alive!

12:00 AM: I am feeling very, very sleepy. The cement floor is killing my feet. Not even the espresso-flavored chocolate bar I've brought along is perking me up. 

12:30 AM: Help arrives in the form of Stinking Lizaveta, West Philly's answer to Yo La Tengo. That is, if YLT quit being a bunch of indie rockers and opted to travel down a heavier path. I feel like I've seen this band so many times, but right now it almost feels like I've laid eyes and ears on them for the first time. It's mindblowing. I am no longer in a prog-induced coma. No offense to Alexi and Yanni, but watching the three together I realize they're like backup singers to Cheshire. Some drummers are metronomes, she is a conductor, and these songs live or die by the flick of her wrist. 

01:00 AM: Stinking Liz finishes up their stellar, mosh-inducing set with a bluesy, weeping tribute to Rick D, sending everyone home on a melancholy, weary note. Time to trudge home with my broken bike!