The OnMilwaukee.com Summer Festivals Guide is presented by Pick 'n Save, Where Wisconsin Saves on Groceries. Pick 'n Save is Wisconsin proud, and excited to help promote and feed the great Milwaukee summer that includes festivals and fun nearly every day. Click to save here!

All of the tech guys completed their last minute tinkerings and slight audio adjustments. A big Bastille sign was officially plastered to the back of the stage, and the Big Bang fireworks show had just finished wowing the crowd. Everything was set; the only thing left to do was for the breakout indie rockers from across the pond to hit the stage and start plugging away on their instruments.

Unfortunately somebody didn’t completely make it to the Miller Lite Oasis stage late Wednesday evening. Or, rather, something.

As the band rather non-chalantly stepped out onto the moodily-lit misty stage and launched into their opening song "Things We Lost In The Fire," the catchily stomping tune itself sounded great … but something seemed off about lead singer Dan Smith’s vocals. They sounded splotchy, fading somewhat in and out. Was it the mic? Or was it Smith, unable to keep his mouth focused on the mic? Or was it simply his voice?

Smith would quickly settle that after the band finished up their opening jam: Yes, the charmingly mumbly Brit lost his voice a noticeable bit, leaving him with "croaky old man voice" for the night (with all apologies to the old men in the crowd). While you’d think that would put a damper on the evening, Smith and the rest of Bastille ably fought through the fried vocal chords, still putting on a strong show. In a way, the set was much like one of the "Grindhouse" movies showcased on Smith’s shirt: grainy, rough and all scratchy, but still solidly entertaining through it all.

Bastille quickly fired up into the chipper little hit "Laura Palmer," fueled by some nice harmonies and a few pounds on some on-stage drums that reflected the band’s diploma from the Top 40 Earworm School of Beating The Everloving Hell Out Of A Snare (fellow recent alumni namely include Imagine Dragons), as well as the almost reggae jam band influenced "Hangin’" – a new song coming out on the band’s upcoming sophomore album.

Throughout the two songs, Smith’s struggle was very real and very apparent. On the former, the singer’s big "ooohs" sounded tired and scratchy, while the high notes on the latter came out as a raspy whisper. Still, he sold the songs with bouncy on-stage energy, and while a notable portion of the notes sounded scraped up from the few remaining healthy areas of his throat, for more then half of the verses and choruses, you actually wouldn’t have been able to really tell too bad.

That continued on into the glitchy ’80s techno fervor of "Weight of Living, Part II" and the playful, somewhat calypso-esque "These Streets" – aided with some cool, fun in-rhythm spotlights. In both, Smith cranked up the charisma during the songs with bouncy encouragements to the crowd to throw their arms in the air and jump about, as well as a nice little happy birthday nod between songs to guitarist Kyle Simmons.

As Smith himself noted, Bastille has "quite a few depressing songs," and unfortunately they decided to play one them – "Oblivion" – next. The tender piano ballad was perhaps not the best choice considering the tattered state of Smith’s vocal chords, as the high notes came out as just a raw wisp – and Kaskade had a loud and bright strobe-and-confetti filled DJ party distractingly going at the stage next door. Luckily, the song seemed to die a swift death and quickly led into "Flaws," which sent the ailing singer deep into the crowd – out to the sound tower, then into the wheelchair access area, then even a little further into the picnic tables (no word on if anybody slipped Smith a Halls amidst the chaos).

The transition from the tinklingly playful "Flaws" to yet another new track of an upcoming album, the loud heavy rocking "Blame" – keyed up with some stark red and blue lighting – highlighted an odd aspect of the band. Despite forming almost five years ago, Bastille still somewhat seems to be figuring out what kind of band they are on some level, resulting in a not all that bad, but often really bizarre mix of moody pretensions and hooky playfulness.

Near the middle of the hour-long set, Bastille busted out a cover of TLC’s "No Scrubs," but amplified the moodiness of the poppy ’90s R&B – and introduced it with an eerie audio clip of Anthony Perkins from "Psycho." Later, "Icarus" was opened with an audio clip of drugged up Ellen Burstyn from the all-time feel-bad movie hall of famer "Requiem For a Dream." Add in the ‘80s dance mashup "Of the Night" – a weird but propulsive mix of "The Rhythm of the Night" and "Rhythm Is a Dancer" – a little later and these little musical detours weren’t bad moments persay; they were just kind of odd, kind of fun and amusing but not really seeming to hit or fit. And as for the soundbites, if and when the band returns, I either expect them to be either incorporated better or most likely just left behind.

Still, there were plenty of moments that did happily hit. Landing between "No Scrubs" and "Icarus," "The Draw" erupted into a fun and unexpectedly vigorous rock fury, showcasing the birthday boy Simmons on guitar and getting the crowd to throw up the band’s triangle sign. "Bad Blood," the title track off their debut record, found Smith’s "oooohs" at their cleanest and best all night. And, of course, the night came predictably to a close with their chant-fueled radio hit "Pompeii," which was just as silly catchy in person. Mercifully, for the sake of Smith’s voice, there was no encore afterward.

Even with Smith’s vocal struggles, however (of which he was very charmingly and sincerely apologetic about), Bastille put on a strong show. Sure, it would’ve been nice to hear the group at 100 percent (Smith also seemed to mumble something about being down a member while introducing yet one more new song, "Snakes"). But all things considered, the performance was far more Pompeii the catchy radio hit than Pompeii the infamous disaster.