Photos by Alexis O'Connor
"I have a question for the audience," said Luis Calderin last Friday morning, looking out onto a sea of Northwestern students. They seemed prepared for his predictable refrain: "Are you feeling the Bern?!" About 100 young voices cried out in affirmation. Just then, I looked up to the third floor of the building behind Calderin and noticed a twenty-something smoking a bowl outside his window. It seemed all too appropriate: Calderin, the Arts, Culture, and Youth Vote Manager for the Sanders campaign, was standing in front of the Phi Gamma Delta (a.k.a. FIJI) fraternity house to introduce Vampire Weekend’s Ezra Koenig and Chris Tomson. On any given day, the affable brothers of FIJI can be found wearing a little too much tie-dye and smoking spliffs on their porch using custom lighters that read: "FIJI: We've been going 'green' for years."
When I saw a FIJI member post a Facebook status about the rally just one day in advance, I was certain he was kidding. It was strange enough that Vampire Weekend would make a campaign stop at any of Northwestern’s questionably maintained Greek facilities, but FIJI? FIJI is the stoner frat, where they barely have enough brothers to fill a house. One popular Northwestern rumor is that FIJI alum Seth Meyers, upon returning to the house for the first time since graduating, remarked in horror, "What happened?"
As one might imagine of a rally-cum-concert held in the backyard of a frat, the whole event felt surreal. When I questioned the event's student organizer, sophomore FIJI brother Kyle Durango, before Koenig and Tomson took the stoop of a stage, Durango seemed just short of stunned that he was responsible for bringing, in his words, "super famous rock stars" to campus. The planning was apparently minimal: Durango offered his time and Northwestern connections at Sanders’ new Evanston office. When a local organizer asked if Durango could find a place on campus for a rally, his own frat was the only space he could book on such short notice. "This all came up very last minute," he noted repeatedly.
This confession rang true, as the event seemed a little disorganized. It involved multiple last-minute cancelations (including Jerry Greenfield of Ben & Jerry's and Chicago musician and activist Ja'Mal D Green), self-deprecating jokes as the bulk of Koenig's stage banter ("At this point, we're basically a Vampire Weekend cover band"), and plenty of generalities about a "political revolution." The event was hardly pro-Sanders, to be honest. A significant percentage of the crowd remained silent when asked if they "felt the Bern," confirming what may be obvious to some regarding these kinds of campaign shows: While they can provide a small bit of star power in a candidate's favor, vague niceties from an indie-rock frontman perhaps best known socially for his wry Twitter presence probably won't inspire young people to vote for Bernie Sanders.
It's hard to forget the panickedarticles about the impending drop in millennial voter turnout during Obama's 2012 re-election campaign, despite the fact that the youth vote has increased substantially overall and proven decisive in the last two elections. This has made it so that every young person's vote is perceived as precious, with the savviest campaigns utilizing the power of celebrity — indie or otherwise — to bolster their numbers in the age bloc. Obama recruited the likes of Arcade Fire, Jay Z, and The National for his campaign efforts, and our current election cycle has seen its fair share of youth-oriented celebrity endorsements as well. Katy Perry and Sia are courting millennials for Hillary Clinton, while Sanders has the support of Killer Mike and Lil B in addition to Vampire Weekend. The former folkie even joined Koenig on stage in Iowa recently for a charming cover of Woody Guthrie's socialist folk anthem, "This Land Is Your Land."
However, the Northwestern event was dizzyingly brief and almost completely devoid of any talk of specific political issues. Koenig lamented that he registered as an independent in New York, Tomson added that it was important for young people to vote, and the duo performed an acoustic rendition of “A-Punk.” When the crowd realized that would be the event's sole performance, I shared in their disappointment — but not simply because we had heard just one song. I had hoped for more enthusiasm, a concrete reason from the musicians to be sold on Sanders. It was hard not to contrast Vampire Weekend's nondescript Bernie support that morning with Killer Mike's highly specific and repeated discussions of Sanders' support for causes like Black Lives Matter.
After the rally ended, Koenig and Tomson led a march to the Evanston Civic Center. In between filling endless requests for selfies, Koenig admitted to me that he had not known the event would be at a fraternity until he arrived that morning. He did observe, accurately, that there was an even gender split among the crowd, perhaps a visual argument against the proliferation of the dreaded, frat-y support bloc known as "Bernie Bros." When I asked if Sanders liked Vampire Weekend's music, Koenig replied dryly: "I know for a fact that until we performed in Iowa, Bernie had no idea who Vampire Weekend was. And that's what I want from a president." Although he did mention Sanders' legislative experience, the most specific reason Koenig cited for his Sanders support was the vague notion that Bernie is a "once-in-a-lifetime candidate."
The fact that Sanders had never heard of Vampire Weekend before they were united on stage in Iowa made me consider whether I cared at all if my ideal presidential candidate was a fan of the musicians I love. Ultimately, this strategy of garnering the support of entertainers to mobilize the youth vote feels somewhat disingenuous, even to those who clearly reap the benefits of free concerts on college campuses. Consider it simply a consolation prize of this maddening, never-ending election season.