Ryn Weaver's Hair-Whipping Masterclass

As Ryn Weaver strutted onstage in what looked like a wedding-dress jumpsuit and a black shawl, a fan shouted "Lorde!" and smiled at his buddies. He knew he was wrong. He might've shouted "Florence!" and been a bit more correct. Weaver's classic rock-inspired howls make for great hair-whipping moments, and she uses the trick to add emphasis when her keys player/programmer adds some digitized vocal effects, like on the awesome hook for "The Fool." She ran through highlights from her new album and some old EP cuts, but nothing set the crowd off more than "OctaHate," the spindly dance tune that blew up on SoundCloud last year. Phones up, arms up, shoulders twisting, hair whipping -- Weaver is a cherry bomb about to explode.

Twin Peaks Scuzzing Up Space And Time

By 9PM Thursday, Firefly needed something edgy. We'd heard enough inoffensive mall-pop and stylish car-commercial rock. We needed noise, and the blistering slop punk of Twin Peaks arrived like a spinning twister. And the crowd dug it! This band's greatest prank is convincing you their songs aren’t hooky when they're actually catchy as hell. Hearing the jangly garage mess of "Got Your Money" live made the song's whiny chorus sound enthralling, as did added headbands from singer Cadien Lake James. Just as on last year's scorching Wild Onion LP, Twin Peaks bury their sneaky melodies with big guitar noise and pounding drums. Chicago punks though they may be, Twin Peaks' target demo aligns well with Firefly's, making their songs about smoking pot and killing time all the more potent. Some acts buzzed louder. Some acts entertained harder. But Twin Peaks were just plain better.

Sylvan Esso's Electro-Folk Celebration

Listening to Sylvan Esso on record, it's easy to forget there are only two people involved in the music. Onstage, however, that fact is strikingly clear the minute their set begins. Amelia Meath and Nick Sanborn walk out and assume their positions -- he at his computer and she at the microphone -- and that's where it becomes clear that Sylvan Esso have no trouble filling the visual space. As the chiming groove of "Coffee" pinged around the scene, Meath took to graceful, fluid dancing, embracing the rhythms and even posing like a kung-fu warrior. Sanborn, meanwhile, twisted his lanky arms around his body and bobbed like a buoy. Their hits ("Hey Mami" and "Play It Right") still sounded fresh after a more than a year, and a new tune was maybe even better than those. That's all proof that while a Sylvan Esso record is an intimate session with yourself, a Sylvan Esso show feels like a celebration, because it is.

Morrissey's Classy Preaching, Or Was It Trolling?

Given Firefly's strong college-party vibes, a live act like Morrissey brings with him some uncertainty. How would the young. muddy masses take to a dry, older crooner tackling heartbreak and institutionalized racism in the same set? Pretty well, actually -- but not that well. When Moz paused halfway through to ask, "Do you want us to leave?" it seemed prickly, though he was probably just fishing for a compliment. The crowd, bless their hearts, might've just been exhausted (long day in the sun), and to be fair, "I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris" is a little gray in tone. Moz sensed that a wake-up called was needed, so naturally, he dove headfirst into "Meat Is Murder" as scenes from slaughterhouses played on the massive screen behind him. People filed out, older dudes made defensive jokes, and one girl even started crying. But Moz wasn't done! After the seven-minute ordeal, he led the band through "What She Said" as a reward, or a thank you, or likely because it's what he wants. And Moz always gets what he wants.

Run The Jewels Is An Art Project

For reasons likely logistical but still headache-inducing, the scheduling overlords placed Modest Mouse and Run The Jewels up against each other in the same time slot at opposite ends of the festival. Still, it was ultimately an easy decision. Run The Jewels put out the best album of 2014, and it would've felt wrong to retreat to Seattle escapist indie rock given this week’s racially motivated horrors in Charleston. I wanted to hear Killer Mike’s take; I wanted to hear El-P's biting sarcasm. I also wanted to experience the powerhouse live show that the two can muster from both a deep affection for what they do and also for their fans -- two things El touched on near the beginning of the set. Run The Jewels, as it turns out, is an art project, he said before shouting out the blown-up Kanye and Oprah heads on sticks in the crowd. Then, RTJ muscled their way through highlights from their two albums, and only once, before "Lie, Cheat, Steal," did they dip into politics. "We will always bring with us the ridiculous tragic arrogance America has provided us," El said before a crowd-initiated "USA!" chant filled the pavilion. Irony has never sounded more fun.

Sir Paul Triumphant!

Paul McCartney turned 73 on Wednesday. On Friday night, he played for two full hours in front of thousands of people at Firefly, switching between guitar, bass, and piano, and keeping his charming demeanor the entire time. He flattered us, for crying out loud, and paused at every guitar change to wave and smile like the royalty he is. While his preserverance and charismatic showmanship are certainly draws, the biggest reason to see Sir Paul is that every song is one you actually want to hear. Like other classic rock icons, he's assembled a set of greatest hits, sequenced perfectly to hit highs and lows, and with plenty of opportunities for singalong moments. Paul's greatest hits just happen to be the greatest on the planet. Hearing that throng of several thousand voices rise up in unison for the na-na-na coda of "Hey Jude" is enough to bring chills and maybe even a few tears. Or if the Abbey Road medley is more your thing, he'll do that, too. He'll literally do it all, and he does, even at 73. It's perfect.