ps. Bonnaroo
Today's the fourth of July (no it's not, but it was when I started writing this). It's time to dust off the Skynyrd tapes, fire up the pit, and sling back a few dozen of your favorite American brews. In some parts of the country (almost all of it) people are waving their flags with their families and rejoicing in the freedoms bestowed upon them by our forefathers. The rest of us just use it as an excuse to drink and blow shit up. And we don't even need to wear the Pro-Palin t-shirts to do it. I mean, really, does this day really mean anything to anyone except that they get a day off from work? I'd like to celebrate the way the founders of our country probably did. Smoke some of their marijuana cash crop, have sex with one of their "housekeepers", and call it a day. Actually, I wouldn't mind throwing around a pigskin right now. If only it wasn't 100,000,000 degrees outside. Speaking of hot weather, I shall digress from my Independunce Day rant and travel back in time to three, nay, four weeks ago. A time of endless dirt, buckets of sweat, hippies, good food, and even better bands. I am speaking of Bonnaroo 2011. We came. We saw. We conquered.
Four friends and I packed a car with enough booze to quench the thirst of Jimmy McNulty and made our way to Manchester, Tennessee - A small little community past the Blue Ridge Mountains that's home to one of the biggest music festivals that is now in their eleventh year running. Every second week in June thousands of people converge onto a farm to hear some of the biggest names in music, new and old. The name Bonnaroo comes from a Dr. John album (he was there this past year) and is Cajun for "good time." Well, it certainly was a good time. So much in fact that I was sick for two weeks afterwards. Shut up, you'd be sick too if your amount of sleep over the course of 4 days didn't come close to double digits.
So for this 5SIAR I have the stories accompanied by some music to prove that everyone should try Bonnaroo at least once. There are naysayers out there, I know. To which I say to you- deal with wearing a layer of dirt for a few days. It's worth it.
Chosen by Rachel Crump
So I asked my fellow travelers to give me a song that summed up their experience at 'Roo. I'm currently having a little trouble coming up with mine so I'll start with the picks they made. I have never heard this band Freelance Whales until now as I write this. And since I obviously hadn't heard them when Bonnaroo was going on I wasn't going to fill my time with seeing them lest I miss something else important. Like, going down a giant inflatable waterslide. That thing saved our lives from the Tennessee sun which is remarkably very similar to the Florida sun. There was no relief from being north of my home state where hell's heat gets vented. No, the Tennessee heat was just as miserable so any respite from it received a very warm welcome. PUN INTENDED!
It cost a person $10 for a wristband to ride the waterslide an unlimited amount of times throughout the entire weekend of Bonnaroo, and I must say that that was the best $10 I spent while I was there. My friends and I must've went down that thing at least 5 times a day and we probably would've been on it even more were it not for the bands that we wanted to see. In fact, I think I might've skipped out on a few bands just to be in close contact with either a) water, b) shade, or c) water and shade. Both of those things were necessary if you were to survive there. I still don't know how the masses were getting drunk at 2 in the afternoon. Two people died during Bonnaroo this year, and by the looks of all the people carrying around booze cups between the times of noon and 6pm there should've been more. Maybe I'm just old fashioned in the I like being hydrated and alive kind of way.
Blogger keeps telling me that waterslide should be two words or have a hyphen between water and slide. It's one word. It's one word because it deserves to be held together on its own with no other punctuation. It's earned that right. Studies have even shown that it's impossible not to smile while riding a waterslide. It's even more impossible not to smile while riding a waterslide at Bonnaroo. We went down the thing backwards, forwards, sideways, and any other which way to get the maximum amount of pleasure we could squeeze out of it. A tip of the hat goes to the organizers of Bonnaroo for including this masterpiece of aquatic entertainment. Bring it back next year or there could be riots.
Chosen by Mark Nixon
So there's this band called My Morning Jacket. Maybe you've heard of them, maybe you haven't. They make for good driving music. They also make for a good band to play before Arcade Fire after waiting for hours in dry summer heat. The sun was our enemy for the entire trip. That unrelenting, unforgiving orange ball of suck that cast its rays down on the tired masses. It was Day 2, and having already learned that I cannot beat Apollo at his own game from Day 1, I wasn't about to take my chances outdoors without the proper amount of H20 that was needed. However, my comrades and I were determined to have a front row for Arcade Fire. It was part of the reason why we even bought tickets to the festival in the first place and we weren't about to concede to a defeat. Well, at least my comrades weren't. I pussed out...sorta.
It was around 4:00ish, I think, when Grace Potter & The Nocturnals were done with their set. The Decemberists were the next band up at 5:00...I think. I don't know to be honest, it's all hazy now. I should've written this right after I got back from Tennessee, but you know, I'm fucking lazy. You're just gonna have to deal with half memories or in some cases quarter memories. Hell, I might even just start making shit up.
So in between The Decemberists and the pterodactyl invasion I decided to seek shade and acquire more water before the dehydration got the best of me again. Day 1 was brutal, man. I ALMOST DIED! I was lucky to have friends there who didn't just want to kick dirt on me and give me snarky looks for wearing a fanny pack. I was brought back to life. More accurately, I was fanned back to life. But back to Day 2. It was Friday and we were sick of the sun and ready to get to the "punched out Deebo" part of our day. I was out of water and my two friends (we'll call them Mark and Tina, because those are their real names) were rationing what little water they had left for the rest of the evening, which wasn't much at all. Begrudgingly, I admitted an early defeat and trekked back to Centeroo for my punch and pie. I sat inside an air conditioned makeshift sports bar (because America can't go four days without sports) and chugged two bottles of water while watching the Decemberists' set on giant flat screen TVs. This was more like it, I thought, but then I also didn't want to miss My Morning Jacket or Arcade Fire. I also didn't want Mark and Tina to die from hyperthermia.
Hyperthermia [hahy-per-thur-mee-uh] - Elevated body temperature due to failed thermoregulation. Hyperthermia occurs when the body produces or absorbs more heat than it can dissipate. The more you know, people.
I tightened my suspenders (fanny pack belt), dusted myself off (pointless and futile), and set back out to join back up with my parched partners in crime and give them the sweet relief of fresh, non-backwashed, water. I know what you're wondering though. "But Nick, how did you manage to get through a sea of people to return to the front row? Surely your path must have been blocked by hundreds, literally hundreds of hippies." And you would be correct, but here's the catch. The hundreds of other hippies who were watching The Decemberists were leaving as I was coming back. There were holes in which to fit through, I just had to dodge a few hacky sacks to make use of them, and make use of them I did. I also had to pretend there was an emergency and tell me people to get the fuck out of my way. Finally though, there was victory.
I made it back to the front where Mark and Tina still were and their eyes lit up at the sight of me holding two extra bottled of water for them. I have no analogy to equate and compare this scene to so just use your imagination. They were fucking happy and I was the hero they deserved and needed. So, yeah, the rest of the night (and the trip) was indeed wonderful. Well, except for Tina getting pelted in the face with a beach ball. That kinda sucked. Oh, and she also ran over a squirrel with her car. So there's that too... But the rest of it was great!
Chosen by Tina Jones
Tina stated on my Facebook page, "The Decemberists did not play this song, nor did we drive to Cali. But I feel this choice embodies what we all shared." Cue the studio audience awwwwww. She's right though, the song sums up the camaraderie the five of us had while on this trip. No one fought with each other. No one got on anyone else's nerves. We all wanted the same thing. Which was to share one of the best experiences possible from Day 1 to Day 4. From driving up to Tennessee and driving back down home to Florida. Part one of this song is all about driving, specifically on California's coastal highway, Route 1. And while our car may not have traveled that famous shoreline road we did travel quite a distance to get somewhere we all needed to be.
Packed into a compact sedan for 8-9 hours with four other people may make a certain person go insane or feel claustrophobic. I luckily did not experience either of those things. It was uncomfortable, yes, but never torturous. Torturous is spending just one hour in the car with my parents without headphones at my disposal. Everyone should know what this is like because everyone has some kind of "my parents are so annoying" story to tell. I can't imagine being cooped up in a small space with my parents for 8 hours straight. I'd need some serious downers. Thankfully my parents were not involved so I didn't need that bar of Xanax after all.
The five of us were troopers. Especially Tina considering she drove the entire way to Tennessee. Her secret of course was lots of caffeine. There was a 5 Hour Energy Drink, a Red Bull, and a large cup of coffee involved all at one time. I'm still unsure to this day how her heart managed not to explode. The human body is a resilient thing. However, three of us got sick upon returning. It took two weeks to get over the hippie flu and that was with antibiotics. It was miserable. All I wanted to do was throw a frisbee around and make bongs out of random household objects.
Chosen by Chris Mitchell
I've never listened to this song before. To be honest I've never been a fan of The Black Keys. Their mix of blues and rock just never really appealed to me, but I can understand why people would like them. They're catchy, I'll give them that. I look for one of two things when I listen to a band. Does it cause an emotional response or does it make me want to move? All the artists I enjoy have either one or both qualities. The Black Keys unfortunately have neither. There must've been some reason Chris picked this band and their song to represent his time at Bonnaroo. Or he could just be lazy like me and pulled a song out of his ass just to give me one. I mean, he's a funny guy. The tantrum to get an Aqua Teen hat at the Adult Swim carnie games was proof enough.
Again, my memory does not serve me correctly. I can't remember what the hell I was doing when The Black Keys were performing. Does anyone remember? It was Saturday night, correct? Because they played before Eminem went on. Right? Fuck it. The only thing that really mattered on Saturday night was Scissor Sisters and Girl Talk. In fact that was more like Sunday morning considering we didn't get back to the hotel room till 6:00AM. Then we were back up at 8:00 to do it all over again. Then we were up fairly late Sunday night trying to put a dent in our cache of beer by playing Circle Of Death.
Chosen by me
"Your part of town against mine so you're standing on the opposite shore."
That line sums it all up for me. I don't know why, but it does. Could be the way I felt the first time I heard it played live last August in Atlanta seeping into how I felt when they played it at Bonnaroo. Two separate occasions, two very different meanings. The duality of the song and the duality of how all of our lives have those black and white moments even though it's still cradled by all of the grey that's in between. It always seems like there's a war going on between nouns. People, places, things. That constant struggle everyone calls life. I've taken the more cynical approach by just saying "whatever." But even cynicism has failed.
"No matter how cynical you become, it's never enough to keep up." - Jane Wagner
And she's right. It's not enough. Which is why I miss being a kid. Cynicism had no meaning yet.
This is why we spend a night or a day or a few days and nights forgetting about all of the bullshit that we have to worry about that happens on the other days. We need our release from the front lines. We need fucking concerts and Four Loko that has 12% alcohol. We need to try to set up a tent without the directions. We need a dude Jazzercising to School Of Seven Bells. We need to sing at the top of our lungs when our favorite song comes on. We need to eat Taco Bus everyday because it's fucking delicious. We need to push Gumby out of the way while trying to find the room to dance to whatever Greg Gillis is playing at the time. We need to get closer to the stage when Sleigh Bells is on so our ears bleed from the high decibel level. We need to take care of someone when the heat gets to them. We need to go down the waterslide one more time. We need to just forget about the war every now and then.
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