Haymarket Riot's Mike Bennet. DCFC's Chris Walla plays with his effects pedals. D-Plan's Morrison. Sweep the Leg Johnny. Milemarker even scare themselves. More from the Milemarker reel. The only non-threatening Isis photo we had. Rye Coalition's lessons in rock-bringing, part 34. More Rye Coalition action. Few and Far Between. Justin VanDerVolgen of !!! We're not sure what's going on here. We just know it's going on during !!!'s set. We don't know what's happening here either, but it looks a little too Marky Mark for our tastes.

Presented by Makoto Recordings, Michigan Fest was billed as three days, thirty plus bands. It was a good spread of bands, although you'd be hard pressed to find an act on the bill that didn't feature lots of guitar action.

As with any large show, I arrived with a mental list of performances I wanted to see -- but fortunately, I didn't stop with just what was on my list (Uhh, yeah. Since you're reviewing the whole event, that's a good idea. -- Ed.). I came away with a new appreciation for several bands, and a stack of CDs to prove it. Aside from some qualms about the structure of the lineup (Arab on Radar sandwiched between Milemarker and Death Cab For Cutie, or Isis going on before !!!), I didn't have a problem with Michigan Fest itself. A few of the bands were annoying at best, but the fest as a whole was well put together and presented. I especially have to compliment Makoto for the sound system and crew they used. The Wayne Tree Manor, Michigan Fest's venue of choice, is essentially a giant box made out of cinder blocks. Despite this architectural drawback, the sound was wonderful -- not too bass heavy or all high end, nor too loud. I was pleasantly surprised to have gone two days with my hearing still intact, despite having heard every vocal and guitar tweak well.

Friday: Zelda Strikes Back

We arrived at the venue three acts into the evening, missing out on Keleton DMD. This was a disappointment, as I've been impressed with the band's DC-style stuttering rock; hopefully they'll cruise through Chicago soon. We walked in a couple songs into Vaz's set. Vaz is the music industry's favorite thing right now: a duo. Playing instruments that looked like they had been dragged behind a van rather than hauled in one, Vaz put on a good feedback fest of three minute songs. They picked up their tempo with each song, reaching a nice crescendo of noise by time their set ended. At the end, I was indifferent; Vaz were good enough not to start my weekend of music on a bad note, but not horribly memorable.

This was the first time I've seen Haymarket Riot in person. The band plays around Chicago all the time, but I've never made the effort to catch them. They were the first of many Chicago bands holding a space on Michigan Fest's bill.

From the time the band began to set up through the end of their second song, I wondered why drummer Billy Smith looked so damn familiar. It finally hit me that he used to be (still is?) a clerk at Reckless Records. With that important piece of nonsense out of the way, I opened myself up to really liking Haymarket Riot live. Their CDs have never done much for me, but live they are a different story entirely. These guys apparently don't take themselves too seriously, but they care about bringing the rock. Jumping around the stage like a four year old, bassist Fred Popolo set the tone for the whole band: fun at all costs. It's always more of a pleasure to watch a band laugh and smile through their set (even someone like Damien Jurado, playing sad bastard music) than to watch guys scowl for forty-five minutes. Guitarists Kevin Frank and Mike Bennet, manning matching Gibson SGs, blasted out riff after riff as Popolo damn near broke the bass drum by jumping on it. From the crowd that had gathered around the stage by set's end, I obviously wasn't the only one amused by Haymarket Riot.

The Liars were up next. Taking note of the singer's 15-year-old-sodomizer's mustache, we decided to move to the back of the room to listen to them, and spent most of their set checking out the merch. I couldn't help but notice the fashion trend of the evening -- girls with Zelda hair. Picture the video game character's coif: a black bell that swoops out in a curl at the end. Literally every third girl was wearing the hairstyle.

There are two things that stuck out about The Liars: 1) they must have gotten a deal on effects and samplers as they made ample use of both, and 2) they must like to fight, as the singer was doing his best to egg on the crowd. Toward the end of their set, I found two LeShok split 7"s in a box at one of the tables, and by the time I'd decided not to pay $4.00 apiece for two thirty second songs, The Liars were done.

The first of the bands that I had specifically come for were up next: Milemarker (Yeah, he drove up to Michigan to see them, but that didn't stop him calling them MileMAKER throughout this article -- Ed.). After a few listens, I was pleased with Milemarker's Frigid Forms Sell. I finally picked up my own copy of the album when Jade Tree re-released it in February. Since then, Milemarker haven't played Chicago, so this was my first time seeing the band. Milemarker is a blur on stage.

Singer/guitarist Dave Laney is like Efrim from godspeed you black emperor! on speed. With an identical thick black beard, dark hair and eerily quiet attitude, Laney is a definite presence on stage, much like Efrim. Kicking around in his boots while he played, he looked like he wanted to pummel someone with them. Bassist/keyboardist Al Burian was a little less threatening in look, but he had attitude to spare. Stalking the stage between his keyboard and his giant amp, which was emblazoned with a huge "M", Burian, as far as I could tell, directed the band though their set for the night. Each song was like a full frontal attack on the audience, and the audience couldn't get enough of it. Wisely, the band ratcheted down the action on their closer. Solo, keyboardist Roby Newton sang a rough and ragged blues number that segued into a full band shimmer. I think the stage sighed when Milemarker was finished, having just taken its first real hit of the festival.

We stayed in the main room long enough to hear the first twenty seconds of Arab on Radar's set. We wanted nothing to do with Arab on Radar, because honestly, both of us think they suck. This brings to light the one real problem with Michigan Fest, or any single-venue festival: you have limited options. You can either watch the act on the single stage or cool your heels in the lobby. A second stage would be nice. That said, unlike a South By Southwest or a Noise Pop, we didn't have to walk all over town to catch the different bands.

I make no effort to hide how much I like Death Cab For Cutie. I think they write some wonderful songs, and Benjamin Gibbard's voice is absolutely beautiful. My friend Derek, on the other hand, was less than thrilled with the band (Go Derek! -- Ed.). In Death Cab's defense, they had a short set that didn't really allow them to spend any time opening up to the members of the audience who weren't already rabid for them. Someone like me, or any of the people smashing together in the front ten rows, might think hearing "Champagne from a Paper Cup" is great, but I don't know how well it plays in the back of the room, especially not long after an act like Milemarker, that takes names. Additionally, Death Cab seemed bemused to be playing, but maybe not committed to going all out. In a different setting, Death Cab's set might have been the highlight of the evening, but in the context of the night, they warranted just a high average grade.

Fellow Death and Dismemberment Tour act The Dismemberment Plan closed out the night. I don't follow The Dismemberment Plan that closely, but I can't help but think that singer Travis Morrison probably has the most stalkers of any man in indie rock. The guy has swagger to spare and he has the balls to play a pink guitar. Go figure. More relevant to this review, I happen to think Morrison's voice sounds a lot better live than on record. On the band's CDs, Morrison sounds whiny, but freed from 24 tracks, his voice gets a pleasant lift under it. The Dismemberment Plan started their set off right by creating a good times vibe that picked the crowd up. After an opening salvo of songs from their new album, the band created a minor pandemonium by playing "The Ice of Boston" and inviting people from the audience up on stage with them. After hearing "Time Bomb", the one song from Change that I really enjoy, we called it a night.

Saturday: Smells like (the) Humane Society

The first act of Saturday's bill, Planes Mistaken for Stars, was due on stage at 1:30 in the afternoon. Our original plan was to wake up, make pancakes and then kill time before the show began by seeing Blade 2. What actually happened was we completely missed Planes Mistaken for Stars. Detroit's own Few and Far Between was the first act we managed to take in on Saturday. I wanted to like these guys, as Derek has told me good things about them. One of their songs, "The Rocker", has been on steady rotation in my iTunes. With a title like that, you can't go wrong, right? Thankfully, the band proved me right. More dynamic than their EP would have you believe, Few and Far Between are becoming an act to be reckoned with. If you like Shiner, you should like Few and Far Between. The band comes off less depressed than Shiner does, at least to me.

We regrouped in the lobby to sort out a ride situation, and therefore missed the Arrivals. The Casket Lottery lured me back into the main room. I was mildly impressed with them. The Casket Lottery managed to be earnest without being pretentious. It was also a treat to see a trio -- something you don't encounter a lot nowadays. From the way half of the room cleared out after The Casket Lottery left the stage, other people must have thought more highly of the band than I did.

I have a theory that you can tell how good or bad a drummer is by listening to him at the sound check. All sound checks are pretty much the same: hit the snare repeatedly till the sound is adjusted, then hit the rack tom, and so on. The part that's different at every sound check, though, is when the drummer is told to go nuts and play the whole kit. If the drummer channels his inner Clyde Stubblefield, you are usually in for a good drummer. If, on the other hand, he just smacks the skins, you might want to duck and cover. The Honor System's drummer had me looking for a place to rest. Not to pin the blame solely on him, the rest of the band, especially the Greg Gaffin-sounding lead singer, seemed to be trying too hard. I walked back out into the lobby to wait for Inside Five Minutes.

After reading a review in, of all places, Splendid, I checked out Inside Five Minutes. These guys play '70s style rock, filtered through every other genre that has appeared since 1972. It is a dirty, hungry sound that avoids being dated. At least on record. In a rare turn of events, I was more impressed with their full-length than their performance. Playing more traditional rock-n-roll, the band could reasonably be expected to have some measure of swagger and charisma. Unfortunately, Inside Five Minutes wasn't displaying what I had heard in their recordings. I kept thinking, where's the raw power? I got my answer soon enough though. The Rye Coalition had it all.

As I thought the Rye Coalition's new album, On Top, was just so-so, I was not prepared for the band's on-stage excellence. Opening with a Grand Funk Railroad cover ("Because who else here can?"), they hooked me. My mom's youngest brother, my uncle Steve, would fucking love the Rye Coalition in concert. Steve, who was the first person to take me to a record store and to see bands live, is old enough to have bought Deguello and If You Want Blood You've Got It when they were originally released. Rock-n-roll is what he likes, and this is what the Rye Coalition deliver live. Guitarists Jon Gonnelli and Herb Wiley bounded and duck-walked back and forth across the stage as singer Ralph Cuseglio made excellent time with the audience. Song after song, the energy did not let up. When Cuseglio gave the introduction to the band's second cover of the set, "Whole Lotta Rosie", I think he could have asked the audience to jump off of a building. By time the song was over, I'm sure a couple people were ready to be set on fire and jump off a building. Having avoided all hair metal shows when I was in junior high, I have never before seen so many "metal salutes" in one place.

After the laugh-my-ass-off-goodness of Rye Coalition, I had to sit out Small Brown Bike's set. I was also hungry. All I can say is, if you are going to eat at Hungry Howie's, don't get the turkey sub.

Sweep the Leg Johnny began what I considered the evening's climb towards greatness. I've never been a fan, but they are an interesting act to catch live. I think their set was made even better by the constraints of a short set length. Sweep the Leg Johnny play long, multipart songs that can easily go on beyond a reasonable end point if the band feels the need. In short blasts, the songs are good -- even lyrical in a disjointed way -- but if I had to sit through more than an hour of them, I might have had to find an exit. Progressing through their set, Sweep the Leg Johnny built up a throttling, rattling sound. The crowd was feeding off of it, getting wilder. Taking their cues from the crowd, the band got even more amped up, which is what led to guitarist Christopher Daly quite literally raising the roof. The Wayne Tree Manor has the typical tiled drop ceiling, popular in offices and suburban homes nationwide. Climbing atop the speaker stack at stage right, Daly played from on high as the band went into a full-on vamp. In order to stand up straight, Daly decided to stick his head up through the tiles in the ceiling above the speakers. Everything would have remained intact if he had stopped here...but in seeking to go where no man had played guitar before at the Wayne Tree Manor, Daly climbed up into the rafters above the drop ceiling. And he promptly fell. Cardboard chunks and the guitarist himself spilled from the ceiling. A florescent light bank and a ceiling fan swung wildly, hanging by their cords. It was a great rock star moment to witness, especially since I had moved out of the way about two minutes before Daly started his climb. Needless to say, Sweep the Leg Johnny's set was over. (I ran into bassist John Brady later in the night and asked if Daly was alright. He was.)

I was never a Braid fan, so I made my way to the back of the room to watch Hey Mercedes. The band put on a respectable act, but it didn't do a lot for me. Compared with Sweep the Leg Johnny, Hey Mercedes seemed staid. The upward climb started by Sweep the Leg Johnny made base camp for a while during Hey's set.

At the back of the hall, and not completely involved with the band, I also had occasion to notice the smell of the place. If Friday night was attack of the Zelda haircuts, then Saturday night was a gathering of the great unwashed. As Michele so eloquently put it, the hall smelled like the humane society. I blame the kids waiting to see Coalesce.

Imagine a sound check again. The singer or a roadie stands in front of the microphone and says something along the lines of "mic check" or "check one, two, three, four". It's like watching paint dry. Aaron Turner, singer of Isis, has forever altered my experience of what a sound check should be. I think he sung the line "mic check", but I can't be exactly sure as it sounded like what I imagine a lion would sound like as you cut open its stomach. It was loud, and it put the crowd on notice.

I don't think I'm insulting either band when I say Isis has a sound similar to Neurosis. I get the impression from both bands that they are dead serious about what they do, but avoid being pricks about it. Isis were like no other band at Michigan Fest -- even Milemarker -- in their ability to remain slightly aloof, yet still hand the audience their collective ass on a tray. Isis, a wall of sound and texture produced by twin guitars, a keyboard, bass and drums, are brilliant. The band's set saps your spirit, leaving you drained. There was no tighter band at Michigan Fest.

James Brown used to fine his backup band for mistakes they made during a show. These sorts of penalties helped keep the band on their toes. I doubt the members of Isis fine one another, but they apparently don't truck with mistakes. Isis were searing.

I still can't believe that !!! were scheduled to follow Isis. If there was ever an oil and water set of acts, !!! and Isis were it. If you haven't heard !!!, consider yourself unlucky. Appropriately, the band is still called the "Funk Band" in their home town of Sacramento. Loping bass lines, echoey guitars, a steady four on the floor beat, horn blasts and a sly vocal are the standard components of a !!! song; their tunes sound the same, but remain independent entities. !!! exist on the planet to make people move. Or, as was printed on a sign held up by the people from Hit it or Quit it at their merch table, !!! roam the globe to make "Asses Shake". Opening with a request to the sound man -- "Can you take some of the punch out of the kick drum? We don't want to hear it as much as feel it." -- !!! slithered into an opening jam. It was hard to tell how many songs they played, as each dovetailed into the next; it was a fifty-minute block of danceable goodness. American Bandstand and Soul Train never got as many people dancing as !!! does. I and three other photographers on the side of the stage pretty much gave up on taking photos, as we became impromptu go-go dancers for the band (There's an image I don't want to dwell on. -- Ed.). We were soon supplanted by audience members who rushed on stage. The roadies made a valiant attempt to clear the stage, but as soon as one person was thrown off, another took his/her place. It quickly became a surging swarm of sweaty people. Then the clothes came off. I counted at least four people who ditched their wardrobe. Throughout the festivities, !!! played what was billed as a new song from their next album that they are recording, but I don't think very many people noticed what Nic Offer, the vocalist, said. The band did throw in a bit of the "Footloose", though, and I'm told that they also worked in a chunk of some booty music song. By time set closer "Intensify" came around, the stage was ready to fall. There were too many people on it, aside from the seven members of !!!, and the boards were bowing under the pressure. Like everyone else, I was too busy dancing my ass off to notice, but the roadies sure did. Once again, people were pulled of the stage. This was the pinnacle of the night. There was no doubt in my mind that !!! put on the best show. The band might not have been as technically inspiring as Isis or even as show stopping as Milemarker the night before, but no band was as exhilarating.

The Dillinger Four had the misfortune of following a !!! set that should have closed the night. I was expecting a major letdown, as anything less than spectacular would have been anticlimactic after !!!. The Dillinger Four delivered. Not so much with their music, which is old school, good time punk, but with their between-song banter. It was like watching a four man stand up act with punk songs thrown in for good measure. The bits escalated in humor as the set went on. Singer Erik Funk took random shots at zines ("They don't talk about us, we have bar codes"), his fellow band members' urge to stage dive ("How would you like me to throw a 275lb bag of potatoes on you?") and a resolution for all the tension in the punk scene. Funk's solution: "We need to fuck more. Look at the ravers. They are always fucking. Punk rock kids need to love one another more and just get laid." I was expecting to be brought down with a thud, but The Dillinger Four slowly set me down with a bed of laughter.

Despite The Dillinger Four's efforts to keep spirits up, I knew I would not want to stick around for Coalesce. My clothes were soaked in sweat and I wanted to take shower. I left Derek and Michele to review the band for me. In a word, it was male. Testosterone levels peaked and the smell of the room grew nigh-intolerable.

Sunday: Smells Like a Wuss

I would like to tell you that I was geared up for a full day of action on Sunday, but I was spent. Maybe I'm getting old, but two days of rock was enough for me. I was tired and wanted to go home. I arrived at the Wayne Tree Manor on Sunday with the intent of staying till early evening. After a lackluster set by Detroit's Leaving Rouge, I made up my mind to leave. Perhaps the band wasn't that lackluster, but I could tell that I just wasn't up for even more bands. In their defence, Leaving Rouge had some nice vocal arrangements that undergirded their version of louder mope rock. All in all, Makoto organized a fine festival, light on fluff and deep in good bands. I'm looking forward to next year.

Article and photos by Jason Broccardo. Additional material by Derek Swanson.