I slogged through the first half of last night’s main-stage-closing set by Roger Waters–which was billed as “Roger Waters Dark Side Of The Moon“–partially out of masochism, partially in the interest of sociological research, and partially because I didn’t feel like dragging my ass over to the stuffed-to-capacity-all-weekend dance tent to see Modeselektor, who were the only other act playing for the first portion of Waters’ set. While it was interesting in a “so this is who he lured out to the desert” sort of way, it was also infuriating, and at one point a friend said to me, “I can hear your eyes rolling back from here.” But no portion of the evening filled me with more rage than the pre-show, which had as its visual an old-timey radio, a model airplane, and a tumbler of whiskey; every so often, a hand would reach into frame to change the station and/or refill the glass, and the stations that the hand hit on, for the most part, had a playlist that lulled the classic-rock fans in attendance into a state of self-righteousness: Bob Dylan, “Hound Dog,” and “My Funny Valentine.” There was also a “humorous” bit when the radio somehow was all-ABBA, all the time, and hand man couldn’t escape from the tyranny of radio! ABBA! I mean, could you believe the nerve!

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