For a certain type of fan, the migration of All Tomorrow’s Parties westward over the Atlantic has been a revelation. Unaccustomed to the small charm of a focused, boutique-style festival, American audiences have become inundated with sprawling monstrosities with 17 stages where every band that put out a record that year plays. In that sense, ATP New York is nothing if not deliberate. With the lineups cherry picked by various luminaries (this year, the Flaming Lips have the honors), the festival is outside the city limits nestled within the mountainous landscape and bygone glory of the Catskills, a vacation spot whose sheen has worn off considerably since Jackie Gleason last worked the rooms. Where else but New York could the resort hosting the festival, the charmingly decrepit Kutshers Country Club, seem chosen due to a vague sense of irony? It is with a brave face and incorruptible journalistic integrity that I will be delivering daily reports for MAGNET, acting as your eyes and ears on the ground in between what I hope to be an endless supply of bloody marys, bocce and my desperate attempts to befriend Jim Jarmusch. Also, I’m pretty sure bands are playing. I’ll be writing about them, too.
—Matt Siblo
