No, no, no, Sebadoh!

Sebadoh would not prove as charming. Lou Barlow and company hit the stage at 7:15, explaining to the now-packed-tight audience that he grew up listening to Vs., a comment that might be perceived as a casual shout-out to the previous band, but planted the seed for an evening full of unfortunate stage banter. While their timeslot was admittedly tough — sandwiched between MOB's stellar opening and what promised to be a pivotal set by Public Enemy — Sebadoh was in a position to deliver their classic indie rock and come out of the evening looking pretty good.

A slow and loose start brought the crowd's energy down, but once the boys finally pulled it together, they couldn't seem to stop tuning, taking altogether too long to play musical chairs with their instruments, and worst of all, they couldn't leave the microphones alone. When you're delivering a low-energy set and starting to lose the crowd, saying, "Why the fuck is Pitchfork having us play tonight? I don't fucking get it at all. Who the fuck are we?" does not help. Mostly because the audience has been asking themselves the same question. Likewise, when you're playing to 17,000 people waiting for Public Enemy to start, don't regale them with tales of your trip to Maine and gleefully proclaim that it's "the whitest state in America!" No, no, no, Sebadoh!

But while the discordant set, low energy, and horrifyingly inappropriate stage banter might have been the fault of the group, it seems apparent that the big mistake belonged to the bookers: yes, Sebadoh is influential (Bubble and Scrape may not have been the album I chose, but hey), but so is Dinosaur Jr. So is Spiritualized. So is Spoon. Any of these Pitchfork '08 acts would have done a better job in this slot. Sebadoh shouldn't have been booked on this Friday night, between two acts it couldn't possibly stand up against. Had this set, with all of its flaws, been performed later in the weekend, it would have been adequate. But on Friday night, with only three bands and the full attention of every attendee, Barlow's boys bombed.

No sooner than Barlow get off the stage than the bass beats began to pick up across the lawn. What everyone initially thought was an MC or hype man introducing the band actually turned out to be Keith and Hank Shocklee's "Bomb Squad," warming up the stage. The brothers Shocklee were the architect of Public Enemy's sound, the production masterminds behind It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, which was being performed in its entirety by the pioneering New York hip-hop group. When Shocklee finally announced that, "Public Enemy was in the fucking building," (this, despite the fact that we were all in a park, but no matter) the crowd — which was overwhelmingly composed of young, white hipsters — went predictably ape.

Chuck D. arrived onstage and renamed the album for us, declaring its new title is "It Takes a Deficit of Trillions to Hold Your Country Back," which set the aggravated political tone for the rest of the evening. Hearing "Don't Believe the Hype" pumped live from a stage was quite surreal, but when Flavor Flav — once the token comic sidekick to Chuck D's serious rapper, now a sad, aging, washed-out joke — finally arrived with his trademark oversized clock around his neck... well, that's when it got fucking weird. You see, I came prepared to loathe Flavor Flav's performance. I had no intention of being objective tonight, everyone hates a sell out and I'm no exception, and I personally feel as though this joker's missteps reflect poorly on all of Public Enemy, a group that has contributed and unbelievable intellectual wealth to the cultural sphere. I wanted to watch Flavor get booed, hissed, and forget the words.

And he did — he got booed, refrains of "sell out" drifted from the crowd as he shamelessly plugged his reality show only seconds after "Don't Believe the Hype." He even forgot the words a few times. But you know what? As much as I can't stand that man, he brought the A-game with him; Mr. Flav is a true veteran, a compelling performer, and no one can say he didn't give that performance his all. Save some childish behavior (throwing a hissy fit when it was time to go because he wanted to play the drums. Chuck D. let him have his way), and that unfortunate reality show plug, it seemed as if Flav knew he had a hell of a lot to prove to everyone on this set.

Public Enemy ended up performing tracks from Nation, along with about a half-dozen later hits. The set was rife with spectacle (the S1W military dancers/security guards); political commentary ("McCain's talking about the war going on forever, 'cause he's old, he don't give a fuck," from Chuck D. and a simple, "Fuck McCain!" from Flav); and showmanship (As in, holy fuck, Public Enemy has the best DJ on the planet). The groundbreaking group truly gave everything (Chuck D. even tossed his watch into the crowd; Flav, his shirt), ending with the incendiary "Fight the Power," an appropriate 30 minutes past curfew.