Between Sept. 26 and 27, 42 bands played across five stages in the relatively secluded West Potomac Park along the banks of the Potomac River. Ten percent of the event’s proceeds benefited the Trust for the National Mall, the nonprofit set up to preserve and restore the federal land called America’s front lawn. With more than $750 million in backlogged repair work needed — and 39 years since the park’s last major renovation — the National Mall could use the help.

But the festival didn’t escape criticism in the lead-up to last weekend: a Washington Post article raised questions about whether public land should be given over to a private commercial event, particularly one with VIP tickets in the thousands of dollars. Not that the controversy appeared to dampen the spirits of 20-somethings who forked over their wages to see headliner Drake and the fireworks he brought with him Saturday night. (The Canadian emcee was one act Bandwidth didn’t get a chance to photograph; he only approved a handful of media outlets. See images at the Post or Fuse.)

Those with plebeian-level tickets (from $105 to $175) experienced a smoothly running festival — notable for any major concert’s inaugural year — with bands running largely on schedule both days. Attendees wandered freely between the stages to catch their favorite acts, with conflicts seemingly kept to a minimum, with only two or three bands playing at any given time.

But the vending operation was another matter. If Landmark returns for another year, it will need to get its food and beverage service in line. Food stands from local restaurants offered tasty variety, and there was plenty of beer to go around — but lines became unbearable Saturday as the day went on. Other reviews mention difficult parking, scarce toilet paper and sound bleed between stages.

Below, what Bandwidth spotted at Landmark Music Festival — in alphabetical order, and without the long lines.

All photos by Matt Condon

Ace Cosgrove

Albert Hammond Jr.

alt-J

Avers

Ben Howard

Chromeo

Chvrches

Empresarios

Ex Hex

Hiss Golden Messenger

Manchester Orchestra

Miguel

Rhiannon Giddens

The Joy Formidable

The London Souls

The Strokes

The War On Drugs

Twin Shadow

U.S. Royalty

Vandaveer

Wale

Even before Lauren Mayberry first took a stand against misogynist trolls, Chvrches‘ synth-pop already felt like realist emotional armor, forged in the glint of a shield. Where the band’s fellow ’80s pop scholars use the decade’s velveteen tones to play up the decadence of isolation, the Glaswegian trio’s debut The Bones Of What You Believe mined starker British sounds — the brittle strafe of Depeche Mode, Pet Shop Boys‘ airy erudition — to underscore the cold truth of failing relationships. “With teeth we’ve come this far / I’ll take this thing by the throat and walk away,” Mayberry sang, her piercing accent conveying equal parts defiance and vulnerability. She offered second chances, but when her trust turned out to be misplaced, she plotted bloody retribution.

Chvrches’ second record, Every Open Eye, occupies similar emotional terrain, but this time, Mayberry isn’t interested in the spoils of revenge. Instead, she’s trying to live fully, without regret. “Hold up my demands with my heart uncrossed,” she sings in “Keep You On My Side.” Chvrches’ members often describe themselves as a band made on the Internet, and their online fans are unusually fervent, looking to the trio as guiding lights. Whether or not they play to that, there are any number of powerful affirmations here, not least in “Playing Dead”: “I am chasing the skyline much more than you ever will,” Mayberry sings coolly, undaunted by her own ambition. Whatever strength she’s summoning, she shares, too: “We are made of our longest days / We are falling but not alone,” she sings in the glitzy empowerment anthem “Make Them Gold,” which underlines the way knowing yourself is crucial to strong partnerships.

Iain Cook and Martin Docherty follow suit, and the band’s combined directness is thrilling. Every Open Eye sounds very much like a sister record to Bones, though it forsakes the debut’s twilit atmosphere in favor of a diamond-lathed sound to match Mayberry’s negotiation of these sharp edges. It fizzes with the jolting electricity that it takes to jump-start a lifeless situation, and wields more razzle-dazzle than Chvrches’ debut dared to attempt — delicious camp and Cyndi Lauper brass pops up alongside quieter moments that only make the stakes seem higher. The band has always played around expertly with the drama of post-EDM pop, queering the genre’s rote drop dynamic, and “Clearest Blue” drops its biggest confetti bomb yet: Mayberry sings about a panic attack’s insidious encroach, but as she reaches the peak of anxiety, the song bursts into a sugary arcade riot. It makes a mockery of fear, and of any notion that, as Glaswegian indie-rock lifers, Mayberry and company should for some reason resist populism. Every Open Eye offers no apologies, no caveats, no halfway measures. Chvrches’ disco ball is tiled with galvanized steel.

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