Yesterday, I wrote that Sleater-Kinney's Saturday night headlining set was the best Pitchfork Festival performance I'd ever seen in the eight years I've been to this thing. I'm not sure that's the case anymore. Sleater-Kinney is the best rock band in the world, and I turned into a human hearts-for-eyes emoji when they were on. But for Sleater-Kinney, this was, more or less, another show in a string of them. For Chance The Rapper, it was a Life Event. More than once, Chance looked out across this crowd, the crowd that had assembled for him, and breathed deep, taking it all in. And this crowd was alive for him. Chance was learning how to rap in after-school programs in Chicago just a few years ago. His move from that to the headlining spot on the last day at the Pitchfork Music Festival was a quick one, but he hasn’t taken it for granted. Early on, he announced that they’d killed Pitchfork’s live streaming feed of the show “because we don’t want nobody that’s not here.” And for the people who were there, Chance put on a show. Chance sang. He danced. He rapped like an absolute motherfucker. He led a vast crowd in big, big shout-alongs. (A whole lot of that crowd was absolutely there for him and nobody else.) He told the crowd that this would be his last Chicago show for a while, that "I want to grow up." And he ended it memorably, bringing out gospel rabble-rouser Kirk Franklin and a full gospel choir for a euphoric run through the great Surf single "Sunday Candy" before finally ending things with his Acid Rap we-can-probably-call-it-a-classic-now "Chain Smoker." It was a beautiful end to a beautiful weekend.

At Coachella a few months ago, Jamie xx drew a pretty big crowd to one of the side tents, but his album wasn't out yet, and the mass of kids mostly just danced politely. Things done changed. Those pretty architectural house tracks have become anthems, especially the Young Thug/Popcaan track that's one of the year's best singles. The crowd went absolutely bugshit when they heard the song's Persuasions sample, and Jamie xx kept delaying the gratification, playing all of the Persuasions song before letting his own track drop. And when it kicked in, the earth moved. It's weird to see Jamie xx on a festival stage, since he doesn't really do anything other than play the records. But if he comes off more as DJ than performer, he's learned to do the thing every great DJ has to know how to do. He can now move the crowd.

Chance wasn't the only hometown rapper on Sunday's bill. Freddie Gibbs is from Gary, Indiana, right across the state line, and it was great to see him leading his entire extended family throughout the backstage area. His set at Pitchfork united him with his Piñata partner, the great underground rap producer Madlib, but Madlib didn't do anything that any other DJ couldn't have done. Instead, this was very much a Gibbs show, with Gibbs alternating between nastily funny stage patter and absolute gruff authority when he was actually rapping. Gibbs is a hard and precise live rapper. He's a street-rapper who would probably prefer a street-rap context rather than a rock-festival one. But given that rock festivals are basically where he lives now, I'm happy to report that he just beasts the fuck out of them.

The Julie Ruin were supposed to play last year's Pitchfork Festival, but they had to drop out at the last minute when Hanna's Lyme disease flared up. So it was immensely gratifying to see her back at it, bringing the same ferocious stage presence that she's had for decades. Hanna is one of the greatest punk singers of all time, and she was in peak form, switching back and forth between snotty playground nyah-nyah and full-throated bellow, doing these amazing hopscotch-looking dances the whole time. She seemed absolutely in control of her body and her voice. And while I think her new band's songs are hit-and-miss, when they hit, they hit hard.