Back From Bonnaroo!

A poster child for the new Anti-war movement.

I spent the morning looking at quotes regarding action and inspiration on the internet. (Instead of actually doing something). Here's a few samples:

"We should be taught not to wait for inspiration to start a thing. Action always generates inspiration. Inspiriation seldom generates action." -Frank Tibolt

"Nothing diminishes anxiety faster than action." - Walter Anderson

"Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living." - Anais Nin

"Nature knows no pause in progress and development, and attaches her curse on all inaction." -Goethe

and inexplicably mixed in with these luminaries,

"If ifs were gifts, every day would be Christmas." ~Charles Barkley

I'm still trying to figure that last one out.

So it was with those high-minded intentions that I persuaded a few friends to undertake an adventure with me down to Tennessee and give our world a little karmic aenama.

Bonnaroo is Cajun slang for, "a really good time." If you pretend to be a cajun and say it with gusto, it kind of makes sense. This I finally learned from some website, which contradicts the many rumors I heard that "Bonnaroo" was the name of the person who owned the farm. I knew that was just stupid.

We piled in a 30 ft. RV at about 3:30pm Wed. afternoon. I looked forward to the trip and thought that it would be half the fun. Almost immediately, we were headed in the wrong direction. I allowed myself to be talked out of driving duties because that little inner psychologist was saying, "delegate, don't be a control freak" even though my instincts were saying, "don't trust them, they're young and stupid." Turns out my instincts were right. So as I lounged in the back and tried not to be a backseat driver I felt my blood start to boil as our young female driver, drove a 30 ft RV like it was a 2-door honda and promptly took the NJ Turnpike North. (Wrong direction 5 mins into the trip). From there the anxiety didn't really dissipate until about 5 hours later when I took over.

By then, it was getting dark and started to rain heavily. This I had not envisioned. Driving one of these freaking behemoths is not easy at night in the rain surrounded by 18-wheelers. Oh, I forgot to mention, we were loaded to the brim with contraband. I personally brought nothing and made several proclamations to the rest of our party to have anything illegal at hand so that it could be shoved, swallowed, or flushed at a moment's notice. They all said, "yeah, yeah, yeah" and did nothing. Fucking potheads. Not only did they fail to understand that six kids in an RV driving through, Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, and Tennessee on the way to a four day concert would undoubtedly be searched, but they continually berated me for driving the speed limit (70mph), which to them was too slow. Yes, driving an aircraft carrier full of drugs and kids wearing no seatbelts 70mph at night in the rain was just too damn slow.

I drove all through the hair-raising night. Finally at 4:58 am I pulled into a McDonald's parking lot and relinquished my duties. I knew it was 4:58 because they wouldn't let us in until 5:00am.

At about 8:30 am we stopped to gas up and buy ice about a half hour from the concert. There was a DEA car parked next to us. "Great," I thought. It took us another two-and-a-half hours or so of waiting in line before we finally reached the gate. One thing I learned by the end of this trip is that hippies are very compliant. If you tell them to wait in line for an indefinite period of time they will simply wait there. I recommend skipping the entire line and going right up to the front for anyone going next year.

Waiting on line we were harrassed by the usual hippie detritus. Reaking of patchouli and eau-de-naturale they bugged us for spare change, tickets, beer, pot, cigarettes, and just plain nonsense. We fashioned signs that read "Snausages?" and held them up in response to their various requests. We found that this worked very well as a repellent. It's not hard to confound hippie dirtbags.

I finally cracked my first beer around 11:30am on Thursday, roughly 20 hours after our departure.

The Bonnaroo people must have had a very generous deal worked out with the county. Something along the lines of "you have no other income, here's a million dollars, leave us alone," because there were about 5 cops in total who were all but invisible. Drug transactions and usage were open and common. Actually that's an understatement, they were everywhere. This festival was really about drugs. Music just happens to be a really cool thing to do when you're on them.

Each day of the festival I found my own little routine which evolved as the events took on a life of their own. On the first day I generally walked back and forth between the fountain (shaped like a mushroom and painted like an 8th grade doodle) and the Broower's Village where all the good beer was. At night we walked to the comedy tent and discovered an ungodly long line. We jumped it and got to see David Cross, Lewis Black, and two other hilarious comedians in one night. Not too fuckin' bad. The comedian's put downs of the audience were definitely the best part. I honestly don't remember what bands I saw.

The second day was a big day. Tool was headlining that night so I wanted to save myself. We bought some ecstasy from a guy walking around. He sat down and chilled for a little while. Noticing the extremely high demand his product was in I asked him how much he thought he would make for the weekend. "Hundred grand," he said matter of factly. God damn, I thought. I might have to change careers.

I walked up to Centeroo (the area where all the stages were -yeah I know it sounds gay as hell) and checked out Manu Chao. I had heard great things about him/them but was pretty disappointed. If he'd just stayed with the reggae vibe it would've been great, but everything turned into ska/punk crap. I popped the e-pill and walked over to Tool with my friend. He was way more into it than I was and we got seperated walking towards the stage. Whatever, I didn't care, everyone was very friendly. I talked to some guy from Dallas and some girl from Pittsburgh. She offered me a bump of special k, and I was like "what fucking drugs aren't here? No thanks," I told her. Probably the only thing I turned down all weekend. As the music started I noticed this little channel open where I thought I could get real close to the stage. I hopped a barrier and proceeded right through every security checkpoint unmolested until I found myself in a VIP area about 50 feet from the (huge) stage and with enough elbow room to do cartwheels if I wanted to. It was the best vantage point I've ever had for a concert. Better than the front row. I turned around and looked out at the ocean of 80,000 sweaty faces mashed together, many of whom had waited for hours for their spot, and thought to myself, "suckers!"

Tool began just as my e-pill was peaking and their show was absolute perfection. Maynard started the show by saying, "I smell patchouli" with mocking derision. I loved it. He peppered the crowd with other zingers at various points throughout the show such as, "Are any of you here on the Marijuana, on the LSD? Well you're all under arrest!" I'm not even really a Tool fan and I was completely blown away. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better Tom Morello walked out and jammed with them for like 15 minutes. I didn't know Tool jammed but in honor of the Bonnaroo crowd they did that night. Even Maynard appeared to be at least partially won over by the enthusiasm of the Bonnarroo crowd when he thanked them for "enduring our cynical attitudes."

Filing out of the show was like a scene from Dawn of the Dead. Just about everyone was tripping on something (including staff, security, bands, fans etc...) and the dust kicked up by the disorganized egress of 80,000 psychedelic zombies was a strange sight to behold. People were passing out all over the place. I was glad to make it out of there.

We rallied at the Ferris Wheel and walked back to camp. Hanging out at our trailer after the show was a parade of the surreal. One heavily dosed kid walked up to us with pupils as big as saucers and asked,

"Do you know where the church is? By the opening?"

"Uh... what?" we asked, mouths agape.

"The Church, by the opening?" he reiterated.

We had no response.

"I'm supposed to meet some people there." he stated.

"Why don't you have them meet you somewhere?" I suggested feeling that this kid was never going to get anywhere.

I don't know if my suggestion registed but we wandered off anyway, only to be followed a few minutes later by, "The Guy With One Sock." In other words, some guy walked by at 3:00 am wearing one sock, and nothing else. Someone who hadn't seen him asked if he was wearing it on his foot. (He was).

The rest were just a garden variety assortment of weirdos and druggies. Matt almost beat the shit out of some Meth addict named Tornado. One guy in our group liked to break the ice with new people by asking, "So, you guys ever shot a dog?" Also, I had to remind the girls not to tell guys wearing confederate flag T-shirts to go fuck themselves which they continually did. I think they failed to realize that guys wearing confederate flag T-shirts generally like three things, guns, drinkin' beer, and kickin' ass. Especially snot-nosed yankee ass.

Saturday was the best day for me. The ecstasy guy came around again and this time I bought a lot more. We did the usual routine with the fountain and the beer tent. Tried to get in to see Dave Attel but missed it. Luckily he happened to be standing outside and chatted with us for a few minutes. I told him I was bummed that we missed him and he said, "you didn't miss anything, I tanked. The hippies won this round." He was drinking a cup of black coffee, "to wash out all the bad drugs from last night," in his words.

We went back to the beer tent for another hour or so. Then back to the comedy tent for Demetri Martin and Flight of the Conchords. We got in for them and it was great. Very refreshing to sit comfortably in air-conditioning for awhile. When it was over it had cooled off a lot outside and we walked over to see the Police. This time I took everybody to my secret spot and they couldn't believe it. Oh, I forgot to mention, I popped one e-pill waiting in line for the Comedy Tent (yeah this one we waited on) and another right after. So by the time the police rolled out I was feeling mighty fine. I won't incriminate others by describing their drug use but I'll just say that no one was innocent. Also, I should mention that this was very "clean" ecstasy in the words of the dealer. Which is another way of saying it was pretty weak. So you had to take a lot. It was nothing like the shit we used to take in High School which was very powerful.

I must say I was a little disappointed by the Police. Almost all of their songs have keyboards and they decided not to use a keyboard player. Consequently, everything felt a little weak and missing something. However, I knew every song they played backwards and forwards so it was still very entertaining.

Filing out again it was Dawn of the Dead. This time we stumbled over to the Flaming Lips. Kings of Leon we're standing right next to us. I don't really know much about them. The Flaming Lips had an amazing show but I wasn't really digging the music so we split.

We wandered around for awhile and ended up at Sasha and Digweed who were playing from 2am till whenever. I can't tell you how absolutely perfect this was. All weekend long I'd has ants in my pants (x makes you want to dance) and here I was about to witness perhaps the top dance music act in the world on two e-pills outside in the summer. Everyone else split but Dan stayed with me. I didn't give a fuck how gay I looked, I literally couldn't help but start dancing. No one could.

I don't think I've ever had such a cathartic experience with music. It was like something Alduous Huxley would've imagined, a tribal ritual from a technologically dominated utopian future. On special occasions everyone congregates, takes a special pill, and gets out of their heads, throwing off the shackles of a complex world. The DJ booth was up on a pedestal and had some quasi-religious looking lighting around it. It looked like a chuch organ on the planet Xaxon or something. All the people, an overflow crowd of many thousands, danced and jumped for joy and whooped and hollered and bumped and grinded literally like there was no tomorrow. The music pulsed, thumped, throbbed and mesmerized. My body was so busy my mind felt completely free. When I noticed that it was dawn I decided to call it a day and head back to the RV.

The next day we left at 11:30 in the morning. I hadn't slept at all. It was a long drive.