Although this year's line-up was not up to its usual standard, the DC-Baltimore area still came out in droves for the annual Virgin Mobile Free Festival at Merriweather Post Pavilion.
After twiddling my thumbs in a police-infested parking lot, traffic and hiking a significant stretch to the press entrance, I arrived just in time for Patti Smith's set.
The so-called "godmother of punk" and her band, including her longtime friend and guitarist Lenny Kaye and her reserved pianist daughter Jesse, opened with the reggae influenced "Redondo Beach."
It seems Ms. Smith hasn't changed much after all her decades as a performer; she still manages to emote her lyrics through every movement and offer her fair share of political beliefs, or diatribes depending on who you ask. (A select few in the audience did not appreciate her musings and took to screaming and flicking her off. If you don't like what she stands for, why are you here?)
She still loves us as she loves freedom. Her set was well-balanced, perhaps too short given the length of most of her spoken word infused songs, including the seminal closer of "Horses."
I've especially admired Ms. Smith as a person and a songwriter since reading her flawless memoir, Just Kids, and it was exciting to see her perform in the flesh.
One of the downsides to multi-stage festivals is the overlap in scheduling. Luckily, I withstood any grave conflicts throughout the day.
I considered heading to the West Stage on the other side of the grounds to see Cee-Lo, when I heard a few bars of "Crazy" on the speaker system. Not good.
Instead, I moved from the main Pavilion stage over into the Dance Forest to catch a newly single James Murphy, who was without the backing of his defunct LCD Soundsystem.
Not that it mattered much; his DJ set was possibly the best I have ever attended. Using actual records - a rarity in this DJ age - Murphy blended oldies with bossa nova beats.
His transitions were smooth, especially considering the variety of the tracks, which again, is unusual for most DJs who stick to a generic genre comfort zone.
No one seemed to be listening per sé but rather dancing to the point of doing so subconsciously.
You can always tell by how weird the moves get. Murphy was in a trance himself, slipping records in and out of their sleeves, rarely looking up at his audience.
He made no spectacles, uttering one sentence during the whole set: "It's going to be sundown in two minutes."
And so it was. I explored some of the eclectic offerings on the ground, including the meditation tent and giant trampoline, which was in its dismantling stages.
I returned to the Pavilion stage - though this time I hung back on the exceedingly crowded lawn - for the Brooklyn collective TV on the Radio.
The vocal range of Tunde Adebimpe is incredible; he can go from rapping to swinging an octave in a matter of seconds.
Unfortunately, given their textured sound and multitude of instruments, the band sounds a bit cacophonous live. They almost needed a producer on hand to get the mixing right. Still, they were energized and enjoyable.
I then made the move of returning to the Dance Forest to see Teddybears, a Swedish trio.
The members appeared in matching black suits and Teddy bear heads - much like Deadmau5 and his Mickey Mouse one - and positioned themselves behind their laptops.
At first, standard dub step flooded the speakers, which was followed by a smattering of sirens and a baritone repeating "Devil's Music." Devil's music indeed. I did not last long.
Back on the lawn at the Pavilion stage I caught the Ohio duo, The Black Keys.
Blues-rock in its barest form of drums, guitar and a fantastic voice, The Black Keys are an exceptionally talented pair of musicians.
I own a couple of their albums, and, though they do not rank amongst my favorites due to lack of inventiveness, it is impossible not to admire Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney for their showmanship.
The last stop was under the Ferris wheel at the West Stage for the DJ styling of Deadmau5.
The music was fun to dance to for a bit but much better suited for a cramped club environment than an outdoor festival, where his sounds were swallowed by the open air.
After a while, it all just blended together, and I turned my heels in the mud and headed for the parking lot.
It was nice to see the Black Keys, but if we're being honest, I could have left after James Murphy ushered in sundown. Better luck to the curators next year.
