As a kid, I always hated writing those “What did you do on summer vacation?” essays. I absolutely hated it. If asked to put it on a chart of my vileness, I’d have put it somewhere between nuclear war and impossible-to-open ketchup packets. I hated those reckless writing assignments that much.
Thankfully, for me, for you and for my fourth-grade English teacher, my summers have progressed. Rhythm has cured my blues.
Somewhere along the line someone agreed with me that summers would be more lovely if we meshed together thousands of showerless frat boys along with a trove of longhaired urban gypsies in day-glo vans, then gave them all tents, a brigade of poop-piled porta-pots, a score of gyrating rockstars and, if the masses were so lucky, maybe a corporate sponsorship booth or two.
This year LEO is sending photogrpaher Alisha Eli and yours truly to Manchester, Tenn., to cover Bonnaroo, perhaps the crown jewel of such fests east of the Mississippi. Starting as primarily a jam-band phenomenon (glass blowing and yoga!), it is now in its eighth year. Today Bonnaroo is resemblant of a much wider spectrum of sound, sight and fandom (glass blowing, yoga and Starbucks!) and, along with it — what’s actually the true heart of such a fest — a much more thorough line up.
A fan can get rainsoaked, sunsoaked and, perhaps this year, swineflued within 24 hours — all while sampling African-breakbeat-folk-techno-improv Bluegrass as covered by an avant-Indie-thrashcore duet from Chiapas then catch Springsteen, Wilco and Nine Inch Nails.
Nonetheless, when all is said and done by Sunday, after the tent and hash is packed away, it’s still a mere summer festival and the weight of the world marches onward. But what a weekend it can be, for better or worse.
My first venture into such a musical micro-planet took place a decade ago this summer. It was Woodstock ‘99, and we burned that bastard down. For 150 bucks, they let us in the gate. For another $20, they gave us a hamburger and a Josta. Then some acid-addled and sunburned maniac with a depleted ATM card jacked a Mercedes from the parking area and drove it to the front of the West Lawn stage while Ice Cube performed, and the masses decided to ignite it and roast marshmallows. The rest is (rather embarrassing) history (including Limp Bizkit).
My group of friends and I, then fresh out of high school, left the fest before the raucous riots reached their crescendo, tending to the beat-up Accord that, after delivering us there, shedded an alternator on the freeway exit ramp leading to the concert.
By the time the fires and looting erupted, and the New York State Police had issued an APB and ordered brigades of cruisers, lights flashing and sirens screaming, to descend upon the venue from throughout the Empire State, we were resting in a hotel room, taking our first real showers in nearly 96 hours.
By no means do I expect Bonnaroo 2009 to evoke anything close to such a disaster (again, think Monterey rather than Altamont). It does, however, set up for a battle quite its own.
I don’t care who says the real story is the Boss, the Beasties or a reunited Phish; the true tale will be the battle of rock ‘n roll’s Triple-H: Hipsters versus Hip-Hop versus Hippies.
As early as Friday, as Trey and the boys flail through yet another a 20-minute solo, others will Bring the Noise with Public Enemy as yet another group will enjoy Phoenix, up-and-coming Indie rockers from France. That sort of sonic diversity will progress throughout the weekend, different bands performing different acts for different fanbases. Can they all get along? Where’s Beck when you need him to unite this madness?
Still, these diverse sort of stages set THE stage for Bonnaroo. From the hue of the fluorescent-green stage lights to the darkest corner of the most tie-dyed tent, Alisha and I will be there to document it and share it with you throughout the weekend via this blog. Already, a guest spot by Jimmy Buffett was added in the 11th hour. What other surprises await? We will be the first to let you know.
Consider it our summer vacation essay as we post the sights, the sayings and, if we’re lucky, links to the sounds from the time we hit the road Thursday until we return, tired and sunburned, at the festival’s close.
More to come tomorrow as our strange trip begins. Posts also will be linked on my Twitter account, http://twitter.com/the_coffman
– Joshua Coffman