I’ve gone to the Pitchfork Music Festival each year since its inception, including the first year when it wasn’t actually called the Pitchfork Music Festival. But I’d never requested a press pass because I didn’t feel like having to write about it. When you request free tickets, you’re obligated. And sometimes it’s nice to just hang out with some friends, listen to a some music, and observe Hipster Youth in their native habitat.
Plus, it’s fucking Pitchfork—who wants to ask those guys for anything?
This year, though, we needed that photo pass to get those nice, close shots. So I swallowed my pride and got hooked up with a media pass for myself and a photo pass for my man, AMP. But I still wanted to have a nice weekend and enjoy myself, so I made a conscious decision to follow Wayne Coyne’s advice and try not to be too uptight about it. I mostly succeeded.