Bonnaroo 2003 review
We arrived at the crossroads of the I-24 exit ramp and the Bonnaroo driveway at 8:15am. Six and a half hours later, our campsite was set up at Camp Daniel Boone. It was indeed out in the wilderness. Our spot came complete with a nice fat poison ivy patch. Nonetheless, we’d arrived. We went from being the poor saps in the car trying to get through the mob of people to more nameless faces in the mob.
While feeling sorry for one driver, I asked her how long she was in traffic. “Eight and a half hours,” she sighed. She was also on her way to Camp Daniel Boone. I consoled her by telling her that Bonnaroo ends at the tree-line, just a quarter mile away.
Later, I went walking toward Centeroo to check out the scene. I met Jeff from NYC who was at the event solo. He said solo is the only way to go, and if you want to catch the most shows, I would certainly agree. As I waited in line with Jeff to get into Centeroo, the crowd of people funneling in just stopped dead for about 5 minutes. I knew my best bet was to conserve for the rest of the long weekend.
I returned to the Boonies and realized that I needed a reasonable place to take a leak. The tree-line was only about 100 yards from my tent, so I knew there was a nice tree with my name on it. I hit up one spot and was welcomed by Jason, Jake, and Tana. Later that night, I went to a different spot and overheard some dude cracking jokes to his buddy as he was annoyed that people were pissing on the trees just 20 yards from his campsite. He said something along the lines of “We are family… don’t come to my tent to take a pee.” I overheard it and on my way back apologized, telling him that I wouldn’t be back. He was obviously embarrassed (which was the reason I apologized), and I headed back to the tent.
Within the first 24 hours of being at Bonnaroo, I had already begin to see differences from last year. First and foremost were the attendees. I found last year to be almost entirely large groups of people travelling together. At my campsite last year, the folks around me seemed only interested int their clique. My site this year included many friendly neighbors. Most notable were two guys from Michigan, Dave and Corkey. Next to them were Dylan and Laura. Behind us was Patrick, Aaron, and J. However, once inside the shows, just like last year, the people were as friendly as ever. So many people, so many places, so many names...
Even before the shows started, it was clear that the long spring rains of 2003 had definitely taken the Bonnaroo staff by surprise. Through the first couple of days, they were way too busy dealing with the mud to worry about many of the little things that made the original Bonnaroo so special. The weather was almost as hot and sunny, yet I heard “Don’t wait…Hydrate!” only once all weekend.
The most interesting side effect of the weather was without question the “squishy ground.” The first 4 or 5 inches of the ground was solid from the baking sun. However, underneath this layer ran a river of mud. The result was that when you walked on the ground, it would give under your feet and then bounce back. This is the first reason why hallucinogens were not a requirement to enjoy Bonnaroo.
The other reason is obviously the music, which at times, certainly resulted in taking my mind and body out into the farthest reaches of consciousness (not that the greatest buds on the planet next to Amsterdam didn’t help out a bit). This year’s lineup looked even better than 2002.
For me, it all started with the last ½ hour or so of Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra. They put out a really fat and funky sound, and the horn players were going to be sticking around for the Medeski, Martin, & Wood show the following night.
Our next destination was the afternoon of tunes at the main stage. We entered the grounds with the rest of the sprinters and set up a tarp to the left of the tapers section. I would HIGHLY recommend a tarp if you have personal space issues, or if you simply want to lie down for a while between shows. People are surprisingly cool about it. Another recommendation for the hot sun is a water spray bottle. It was a lifesaver, once I finally convinced myself to carry it around.
We had a nice spot on our orange tarp for Jack Johnson who started by saying something along the lines of “Welcome to the greatest music festival in the world.” Indeed. Jack pretty much went through almost all of his songs. The beauty of Jack Johnson is that the songs on his albums are all very short but packed with great riffs and lyrics. The live setting allows him to stretch the songs and explore new ground. As Jack started to run out of material, he brought out G Love for a couple of rocking tunes.
We burned in the sun and listened to DJ Spooky for a while until Ben Harper’s band hit the stage. At that point, the crowd shifted a bit, and next to us some folks pulled up with a blanket to attach to our tarp. It was then that I met Brock and Jamie from Nashville. Sometimes, when you meet people, you just know they are good people.
Ben Harper took off from the start and just kept going up up and away. Jack Johnson was solid, but Ben Harper was moving, to say the least. You could tell that Ben had been looking forward to Bonnaroo. He began to talk about “roots music” and that it was people like the Bonnaroo festival-goers that kept roots music moving forward—evolving, but still strong with its roots.
After getting blown away by Ben and his Innocent Criminals (Rodney King, Dr. King, please help us!!), I walked around for a bit and checked out the first few songs from Neil Young. In my youth, we had this crazy neighbor that would spend his unemployed summer days blaring “Keep on Rockin in the Free World” and Black Sabbath’s “Ironman” over and over and over, every single day. When I return to visit my parents in Pittsburgh, I still hear him playing the same songs. I was scarred for life. I decided to return to camp to rest for the funky Meters. Back at camp, I could hear Neil clearly as he yelled “bonna-ROOOO!!!” and the campsite cheered with vigor.
I walked back to catch the much anticipated funky Meters. It was clear from the covers, grooves, and in-between-set-music that the Meters were definitely one of the founding influences of this music scene. At the show, I met Ben & Kristen from New Hampshire, along with Josh & Drew, from bourbon-drinking parts of Kentucky. We chilled out and listened to the Floyd cover band that was also at the festival.
The band hit the stage about 30 minutes late, as expected. Old Art Neville was clearly taken aback by the crowd. He had to light up a cigarette before even considering getting started. As they kicked into Cissy Strut, it was clear that the bassist had not lost his stuff, and to some extent, the band seemed to evolve some of their tunes into the new era of funk.
Nevertheless, after about the first 45 minutes, the new guitar player’s “white boy blues guitar” got a little on my nerves. I would think that a band with such long-standing status as one of the premier funk bands of the last 30 years, they could find a guitar player that could jam outside the box of the 12-bar, 7-note blues scale. I missed Warren Haynes, but I’d imagine that he probably took the Meters even more outside of their element.
Sadly, I was asleep for the late night hijinks of Galacitc & the Meters, but I knew coming into it that I would not get to see everything I wanted, the biggest downside to a 3-day, 24-hour-per-day festival like Bonnaroo (a good downside, of course).
After 2 nights, more differences between Bonnaroo 2002 and 2003 became evident. First of all was the drinking. Last year, while people were certainly having a few beers, this year seemed a bit more alcoholic. As a result, I caught a few more people stumbling and bickering. I smiled because I knew they wouldn’t be able to hang for the marathon of great shows at the festival—leaving more room for me.
I returned to my tent for a few hours of sleep. One thing that was an improvement over last year was the late mornings. I was able to stay in my tent until about 10am before getting baked out by the sun. This was a good 2 hour improvement over last year.
Saturday was a rough day for me. My top priority was rest for the Medeski, Martin, & Wood late night show. There were no bands that I was dying to see on Saturday. The plan was to walk from one to another until returning to my tent in the early evening to sleep.
I began by watching some of the Wailers and caught the many hits they played as I walked around. It seemed to me that the Wailers, while still from Kingston, Jamaica, were quite Americanized. The accents were kinda weak, and I never once heard “irie.” Movement of Ja People was just the plain old movement of the people.
After the Wailers, I headed over to Centeroo for a bit to check out the wookies bathing in the fountain that was now spewing brown water. At times, the stench got to me. I sat a few rows behind a moat the formed at the 2nd stage before Robert Randolph. I watched mosquitoes breed and unsuspecting people step in the pool. One guy was hopelessly trying to “clean” his foot in it. Each time it was disturbed, it gave off the smell that can usually be found at most places where stagnant water sat. In this case, the humidity, heat, and large numbers of people emphasized it. The last straw was when a beach ball landed in the West Nile pool, and a girl fished it out and threw it into the crows. I’m not a big fan of beach balls at shows (it distracts me from the music), but I would especially not like to be boinked in the head with one that came out of “the moat.”
I caught a little of Robert Randolph, who seemed to still be playing many of the same songs from last year (though revamped). I then checked out Cyro Baptista. Those guys were really out there. The beat was prevalent and intense, as you would expect from a band of mostly percussionists. Besides Cyril, the other highlight of the afternoon was CD tent. I found an out-of-print Karl Denson CD there that I couldn’t find on the net.
I then watched the exciting climax of Polyphonic Spree, one that would be talked about for the rest of the weekend. The raw power of the large orchestral choir was amazing.
On my way over to check out the Allman Brothers, I stopped to say hi to Skerik (saxomaniac) and ran into Stanton Moore (Galactic drummer extraordinaire) on a golf cart with who I assume was his woman. They were on their way to play the Garage a Trois show. I watched a few Allman Brothers songs, a few Garage a Trois songs, and then headed back. The heat, humidity, and exhaustion was getting to me. I needed rest if I were to make it through the MMW show.
I lied in my tent for about 3 1/2 hours through much of the Allmans and Widespread Panic. I’m not sure if I ever fell asleep, but by 10:15, I was ready to roll to what I knew would be the highlight of the weekend.
I arrived at This Tent at about 10:45 to a really sweet spot front and center. My anticipation grew as did the excitement of everyone else in the tent at that early hour. Shockingly, MMW started promptly at midnight, as sweet surprise, indeed. An hour and 20 minutes later, I stood with my mouth open amazed at how fast the first set passed by. It was riddled with a few trippy space jams as well as the requisite funk explosions punctuated by the guest appearances of Luther Dickenson and Cyril Baptista. At one point, Medeski was vigorously patting his head telling Luther to take it “from the top.” It was the first of many amusing gestures provided by the madman behind the wall of keyboards.
At one point, MMW stopped playing and let Cyril’s band of percussionists take the beat for a while. They almost lost it for a measure but managed to pull it back together (after chagrin from Billy Martin and a dopey look from Medeski).
In between sets, I met an English Lit major from Washington DC; her name, I didn’t catch. The second set was even better than the first. Again, Luther came out for a couple of songs. Cyril did too; this time without his entourage of percussionists. I am sure he scolded them between sets for almost dropping the ball.
Toward the end, they brought out the Afrobeat horns. At first, I was a bit disappointed. Medeski threw his hands up to them at one point, giving them the green light to jam out. The best they could do was one note. Man, I would give anything to have the opportunity to jam over that funky ass beat with my sax. These guys were blowing a golden shot.
Later, they picked it up as MMW played some standards with them where they could read their sheet music. There were some decent improv moments that they did eventually provide though.
Quickly, 4:20 rolled around, and with it came the end to the show that I knew would provide me with my money’s worth. They ended with a lullaby that included the full compliment of guests, minus the Cyril Baptista interns. I languidly walked past the Particle tent on the way back to my own.
Sunday was the icing on the cake. I walked up to basically the same spot I was at for MMW five minutes before the Slip took the stage. They seemed a little rusty with their interplay (and the sound guy was having problems with the drummer’s mic), but their talent was still quite evident. After that, I walked toward O.A.R., but since they had already started, there was no hope in getting close, so I went on a walkabout.
The overnight rain actually seemed to help the stagnant stench that prevailed the day before. I was on my way to Galactic, the band that last year jammed hard in the climactic timeslot this year played by MMW & the Flaming Lips. I grabbed a spot behind a dude with a tarp. This dude was a taper, and I know tapers hate beach balls even more than me. Each time someone would stand on his tarp, he would kick them off cuz “it was gonna get crowded with all his friends.” He was also worried that the mist from my spray bottle would ruin his precious equipment. He would grab the flying beach balls as they approached his microphone and try to hoard them, but people would give him dirty looks so he would give in and throw it as far away as he could get it.
The night before, I told the taper next to me at MMW to pop a glowstick ball with his joint to get rid of it. He was concerned that there would be a large noise. He kept it under his shirt, and I used it as a seat in between sets. At the end of the break, I deflated it with my ass.
In the second set, an even bigger glowstick ball was floating about for a while until it got annoying (as they always eventually do). It got popped by what I assume was a cigarette to a huge POP! MMW checked it out, the crowd went silent, then everyone SCREAMED. It was fucking unreal!
Anyway…this taper on the tarp in front of my Sunday afternoon; besides the entertainment value of him chasing beach balls from his shit, I ended up directly behind the tarp because of the “stuff value.” It is key to stand near stuff, but never possess it (unless it is a donation, like a tarp). Last year at late-night Galactic jubilee, I stood directly behind some dude with a standard Coleman camping chair. As the room filled and we packed in like sardines, the chair was a good boundary to keep people walking around instead of through me. At MMW, I was behind a taper. Tapers always have a few big piles of communal stuff to hide behind.
So, this dude ready to tape Galactic on his big blue tarp was getting pissed for people waling through it and standing on it, so I had all this space in front of me, and I was DAMN close to the stage. When Ben Ellman (sax & harmonica) came out and asked if we were having a good time, I know he saw me nodding my head in eager anticipation of what was still to come from one of my favorite bands.
Galactic rocked out, as expected. They played revamped older material and some new stuff. The highlight was unquestionably Little Miss Lover with Warren Haynes. I’m not a Gov’t Mule fan, but I dig the Allmans, and Warren does a pretty good Duane Allman/Dickey Betts. Galactic definitely got off on having him on stage and the show was kicked up a notch. The spearhead dude was cool too. Rap doesn’t always have to be done over electronic backbeats.
I would say that the overall electricity was higher at Bonnaroo 2002 without question. However, nobody was expecting it to be the same. For those that didn’t go because they knew the electricity wouldn’t be there, they were only half right.
All of the bands at Bonnaroo 2003 AT LEAST put on a solid show. Many were GREAT shows. It is not to say that there weren’t many moments of musical and spiritual revelation through the weekend, but the newness of it to everyone (including the musicians) added another dimension that wasn’t there this year. Another difference was the bounce. As Les Claypool said last summer, everyone was “feeling the bounce.” It was constant. I don’t know if it was the bands or the fans, but many people seemed too self conscious to give into the bounce… poor folks.
After Galactic, I walked over to G Love. My buddy is a big G Love fan and he was a bit taken back by the mellowness of the set. The highlight for me was getting a freshly squeezed lemonade, listening to I-76.
I then walked over to check out the Godfather of Soul. About 5 minutes before the show is about to start, these dudes walk up to where I am chilling with a tarp. I really dig the tarp idea. On Friday, we pulled out the orange tarp and stuck it in the wet sand. These people were walking by and the chick says to her friend, “That is a good idea.” I said to her, “Have a seat!” Of course, the three of them (so many names... Darlynn?) had one foot in the “blanket club.”
I am keen on the blanket club. I think that you should definitely have rights to sit or (heaven forbid) lie down at any point. What is uncool are the “you can’t sit here because some time in the next 3 hours my buddy will be here.” Fuck you. Nobody should have to sit in the mud while you have 80 square feet of tarp around you.
So, these dudes come up with the tarp. Boo, from St Louis announces to everyone, “Tell these people to help us put this tarp up, then we can all stand on it.” I chip in and the damn thing is 10’ by 20’! It gave Boo plenty of room to get down, and a mother & child found a corner to chill out. It was great. Boo had a pretty cool head item I’d seen at the festival throughout the weekend for the first time. You put your nugs in the top and close it. Then, you spin it. When you’re done, you open the next layer and it has the shake for your joint. Under that is a keff screen. Far out, man!
The Godfather of Soul’s conglomerate hit the stage about 20 minutes late and proceeded to stall for 20 more minutes proclaiming that the Godfather of Soul was going to be showing up any minute, and we needed to get crazy to conjure him up.
The man himself, James Brown, hit the stage and proceeded to rock the house with the tightest funk band I’d seen all weekend. As for musicianship, it was definitely at Bonnaroo. While watching Chris Wood get down on the upright bass the night before, one guy summed it up when he shouted, “That’s fuckin sick!”
James Brown’s band (and the dancing US flag girls) definitely had the show going. The highlight I witnessed was “Living in America.” However, as I headed back toward the van, I heard the rest of the show. They continued to pour out the funky stew of old and new tunes. At times, they sounded dated, but at others, completely fresh.
The plan for the entire weekend was a departure at the conclusion of the Godfather. 2 of the 3 people that journeyed from Cleveland in our Rental Van were not deadheads. I am sure that the heads had their moment of glory when the Dead hit the stage. I am certain that Jerry himself even made an appearance.
Looking back as I rode up I-71 through Columbus, it was definitely worth it. I’m not sure that I’ll ever return, but hopefully, the memories will be indelible.
One thing that I’d imagine they are doing right about now is picking up garbage. It seemed like there was a lot more of it this year. Last year emphasized greenness. This year, the staff was too engaged with fighting the quicksand that they didn’t get a chance to promote recycling. It will be interesting to see the numbers, but Its gonna be a lot of work to separate all that garbage. The recycling and the garbage was very intermixed. People ought to be ashamed of themselves. I heard the SAD excuse that people don’t recycle at home so they don’t feel compelled to do it at the festival. These folks should be doubly ashamed. A festival (with all the beer & bottled water that people drink) presents a perfect opportunity to make a difference. If all 80,000 took one can off the ground and put it in the recycler at some point each day throughout the weekend, it would surely make a difference.
I am guessing that next year will present even more fantastic bands. Bonnaroo presents everyone (fans and musicians alike) with a chance to expand their musical horizons. If you didn’t get inspired by at least one band you’ve never heard before the weekend, you missed something. When you throw this many fantastic musicians together for a long weekend and they intermix, you’ve not only got explosive music, but you know that the musicians have just grown from the experience, so the next time you see them, they will be even better.
So, after two Bonnaroo festivals, if you plan on going next year, remember these tips:
While feeling sorry for one driver, I asked her how long she was in traffic. “Eight and a half hours,” she sighed. She was also on her way to Camp Daniel Boone. I consoled her by telling her that Bonnaroo ends at the tree-line, just a quarter mile away.
Later, I went walking toward Centeroo to check out the scene. I met Jeff from NYC who was at the event solo. He said solo is the only way to go, and if you want to catch the most shows, I would certainly agree. As I waited in line with Jeff to get into Centeroo, the crowd of people funneling in just stopped dead for about 5 minutes. I knew my best bet was to conserve for the rest of the long weekend.
I returned to the Boonies and realized that I needed a reasonable place to take a leak. The tree-line was only about 100 yards from my tent, so I knew there was a nice tree with my name on it. I hit up one spot and was welcomed by Jason, Jake, and Tana. Later that night, I went to a different spot and overheard some dude cracking jokes to his buddy as he was annoyed that people were pissing on the trees just 20 yards from his campsite. He said something along the lines of “We are family… don’t come to my tent to take a pee.” I overheard it and on my way back apologized, telling him that I wouldn’t be back. He was obviously embarrassed (which was the reason I apologized), and I headed back to the tent.
Within the first 24 hours of being at Bonnaroo, I had already begin to see differences from last year. First and foremost were the attendees. I found last year to be almost entirely large groups of people travelling together. At my campsite last year, the folks around me seemed only interested int their clique. My site this year included many friendly neighbors. Most notable were two guys from Michigan, Dave and Corkey. Next to them were Dylan and Laura. Behind us was Patrick, Aaron, and J. However, once inside the shows, just like last year, the people were as friendly as ever. So many people, so many places, so many names...
Even before the shows started, it was clear that the long spring rains of 2003 had definitely taken the Bonnaroo staff by surprise. Through the first couple of days, they were way too busy dealing with the mud to worry about many of the little things that made the original Bonnaroo so special. The weather was almost as hot and sunny, yet I heard “Don’t wait…Hydrate!” only once all weekend.
The most interesting side effect of the weather was without question the “squishy ground.” The first 4 or 5 inches of the ground was solid from the baking sun. However, underneath this layer ran a river of mud. The result was that when you walked on the ground, it would give under your feet and then bounce back. This is the first reason why hallucinogens were not a requirement to enjoy Bonnaroo.
The other reason is obviously the music, which at times, certainly resulted in taking my mind and body out into the farthest reaches of consciousness (not that the greatest buds on the planet next to Amsterdam didn’t help out a bit). This year’s lineup looked even better than 2002.
For me, it all started with the last ½ hour or so of Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra. They put out a really fat and funky sound, and the horn players were going to be sticking around for the Medeski, Martin, & Wood show the following night.
Our next destination was the afternoon of tunes at the main stage. We entered the grounds with the rest of the sprinters and set up a tarp to the left of the tapers section. I would HIGHLY recommend a tarp if you have personal space issues, or if you simply want to lie down for a while between shows. People are surprisingly cool about it. Another recommendation for the hot sun is a water spray bottle. It was a lifesaver, once I finally convinced myself to carry it around.
We had a nice spot on our orange tarp for Jack Johnson who started by saying something along the lines of “Welcome to the greatest music festival in the world.” Indeed. Jack pretty much went through almost all of his songs. The beauty of Jack Johnson is that the songs on his albums are all very short but packed with great riffs and lyrics. The live setting allows him to stretch the songs and explore new ground. As Jack started to run out of material, he brought out G Love for a couple of rocking tunes.
We burned in the sun and listened to DJ Spooky for a while until Ben Harper’s band hit the stage. At that point, the crowd shifted a bit, and next to us some folks pulled up with a blanket to attach to our tarp. It was then that I met Brock and Jamie from Nashville. Sometimes, when you meet people, you just know they are good people.
Ben Harper took off from the start and just kept going up up and away. Jack Johnson was solid, but Ben Harper was moving, to say the least. You could tell that Ben had been looking forward to Bonnaroo. He began to talk about “roots music” and that it was people like the Bonnaroo festival-goers that kept roots music moving forward—evolving, but still strong with its roots.
After getting blown away by Ben and his Innocent Criminals (Rodney King, Dr. King, please help us!!), I walked around for a bit and checked out the first few songs from Neil Young. In my youth, we had this crazy neighbor that would spend his unemployed summer days blaring “Keep on Rockin in the Free World” and Black Sabbath’s “Ironman” over and over and over, every single day. When I return to visit my parents in Pittsburgh, I still hear him playing the same songs. I was scarred for life. I decided to return to camp to rest for the funky Meters. Back at camp, I could hear Neil clearly as he yelled “bonna-ROOOO!!!” and the campsite cheered with vigor.
I walked back to catch the much anticipated funky Meters. It was clear from the covers, grooves, and in-between-set-music that the Meters were definitely one of the founding influences of this music scene. At the show, I met Ben & Kristen from New Hampshire, along with Josh & Drew, from bourbon-drinking parts of Kentucky. We chilled out and listened to the Floyd cover band that was also at the festival.
The band hit the stage about 30 minutes late, as expected. Old Art Neville was clearly taken aback by the crowd. He had to light up a cigarette before even considering getting started. As they kicked into Cissy Strut, it was clear that the bassist had not lost his stuff, and to some extent, the band seemed to evolve some of their tunes into the new era of funk.
Nevertheless, after about the first 45 minutes, the new guitar player’s “white boy blues guitar” got a little on my nerves. I would think that a band with such long-standing status as one of the premier funk bands of the last 30 years, they could find a guitar player that could jam outside the box of the 12-bar, 7-note blues scale. I missed Warren Haynes, but I’d imagine that he probably took the Meters even more outside of their element.
Sadly, I was asleep for the late night hijinks of Galacitc & the Meters, but I knew coming into it that I would not get to see everything I wanted, the biggest downside to a 3-day, 24-hour-per-day festival like Bonnaroo (a good downside, of course).
After 2 nights, more differences between Bonnaroo 2002 and 2003 became evident. First of all was the drinking. Last year, while people were certainly having a few beers, this year seemed a bit more alcoholic. As a result, I caught a few more people stumbling and bickering. I smiled because I knew they wouldn’t be able to hang for the marathon of great shows at the festival—leaving more room for me.
I returned to my tent for a few hours of sleep. One thing that was an improvement over last year was the late mornings. I was able to stay in my tent until about 10am before getting baked out by the sun. This was a good 2 hour improvement over last year.
Saturday was a rough day for me. My top priority was rest for the Medeski, Martin, & Wood late night show. There were no bands that I was dying to see on Saturday. The plan was to walk from one to another until returning to my tent in the early evening to sleep.
I began by watching some of the Wailers and caught the many hits they played as I walked around. It seemed to me that the Wailers, while still from Kingston, Jamaica, were quite Americanized. The accents were kinda weak, and I never once heard “irie.” Movement of Ja People was just the plain old movement of the people.
After the Wailers, I headed over to Centeroo for a bit to check out the wookies bathing in the fountain that was now spewing brown water. At times, the stench got to me. I sat a few rows behind a moat the formed at the 2nd stage before Robert Randolph. I watched mosquitoes breed and unsuspecting people step in the pool. One guy was hopelessly trying to “clean” his foot in it. Each time it was disturbed, it gave off the smell that can usually be found at most places where stagnant water sat. In this case, the humidity, heat, and large numbers of people emphasized it. The last straw was when a beach ball landed in the West Nile pool, and a girl fished it out and threw it into the crows. I’m not a big fan of beach balls at shows (it distracts me from the music), but I would especially not like to be boinked in the head with one that came out of “the moat.”
I caught a little of Robert Randolph, who seemed to still be playing many of the same songs from last year (though revamped). I then checked out Cyro Baptista. Those guys were really out there. The beat was prevalent and intense, as you would expect from a band of mostly percussionists. Besides Cyril, the other highlight of the afternoon was CD tent. I found an out-of-print Karl Denson CD there that I couldn’t find on the net.
I then watched the exciting climax of Polyphonic Spree, one that would be talked about for the rest of the weekend. The raw power of the large orchestral choir was amazing.
On my way over to check out the Allman Brothers, I stopped to say hi to Skerik (saxomaniac) and ran into Stanton Moore (Galactic drummer extraordinaire) on a golf cart with who I assume was his woman. They were on their way to play the Garage a Trois show. I watched a few Allman Brothers songs, a few Garage a Trois songs, and then headed back. The heat, humidity, and exhaustion was getting to me. I needed rest if I were to make it through the MMW show.
I lied in my tent for about 3 1/2 hours through much of the Allmans and Widespread Panic. I’m not sure if I ever fell asleep, but by 10:15, I was ready to roll to what I knew would be the highlight of the weekend.
I arrived at This Tent at about 10:45 to a really sweet spot front and center. My anticipation grew as did the excitement of everyone else in the tent at that early hour. Shockingly, MMW started promptly at midnight, as sweet surprise, indeed. An hour and 20 minutes later, I stood with my mouth open amazed at how fast the first set passed by. It was riddled with a few trippy space jams as well as the requisite funk explosions punctuated by the guest appearances of Luther Dickenson and Cyril Baptista. At one point, Medeski was vigorously patting his head telling Luther to take it “from the top.” It was the first of many amusing gestures provided by the madman behind the wall of keyboards.
At one point, MMW stopped playing and let Cyril’s band of percussionists take the beat for a while. They almost lost it for a measure but managed to pull it back together (after chagrin from Billy Martin and a dopey look from Medeski).
In between sets, I met an English Lit major from Washington DC; her name, I didn’t catch. The second set was even better than the first. Again, Luther came out for a couple of songs. Cyril did too; this time without his entourage of percussionists. I am sure he scolded them between sets for almost dropping the ball.
Toward the end, they brought out the Afrobeat horns. At first, I was a bit disappointed. Medeski threw his hands up to them at one point, giving them the green light to jam out. The best they could do was one note. Man, I would give anything to have the opportunity to jam over that funky ass beat with my sax. These guys were blowing a golden shot.
Later, they picked it up as MMW played some standards with them where they could read their sheet music. There were some decent improv moments that they did eventually provide though.
Quickly, 4:20 rolled around, and with it came the end to the show that I knew would provide me with my money’s worth. They ended with a lullaby that included the full compliment of guests, minus the Cyril Baptista interns. I languidly walked past the Particle tent on the way back to my own.
Sunday was the icing on the cake. I walked up to basically the same spot I was at for MMW five minutes before the Slip took the stage. They seemed a little rusty with their interplay (and the sound guy was having problems with the drummer’s mic), but their talent was still quite evident. After that, I walked toward O.A.R., but since they had already started, there was no hope in getting close, so I went on a walkabout.
The overnight rain actually seemed to help the stagnant stench that prevailed the day before. I was on my way to Galactic, the band that last year jammed hard in the climactic timeslot this year played by MMW & the Flaming Lips. I grabbed a spot behind a dude with a tarp. This dude was a taper, and I know tapers hate beach balls even more than me. Each time someone would stand on his tarp, he would kick them off cuz “it was gonna get crowded with all his friends.” He was also worried that the mist from my spray bottle would ruin his precious equipment. He would grab the flying beach balls as they approached his microphone and try to hoard them, but people would give him dirty looks so he would give in and throw it as far away as he could get it.
The night before, I told the taper next to me at MMW to pop a glowstick ball with his joint to get rid of it. He was concerned that there would be a large noise. He kept it under his shirt, and I used it as a seat in between sets. At the end of the break, I deflated it with my ass.
In the second set, an even bigger glowstick ball was floating about for a while until it got annoying (as they always eventually do). It got popped by what I assume was a cigarette to a huge POP! MMW checked it out, the crowd went silent, then everyone SCREAMED. It was fucking unreal!
Anyway…this taper on the tarp in front of my Sunday afternoon; besides the entertainment value of him chasing beach balls from his shit, I ended up directly behind the tarp because of the “stuff value.” It is key to stand near stuff, but never possess it (unless it is a donation, like a tarp). Last year at late-night Galactic jubilee, I stood directly behind some dude with a standard Coleman camping chair. As the room filled and we packed in like sardines, the chair was a good boundary to keep people walking around instead of through me. At MMW, I was behind a taper. Tapers always have a few big piles of communal stuff to hide behind.
So, this dude ready to tape Galactic on his big blue tarp was getting pissed for people waling through it and standing on it, so I had all this space in front of me, and I was DAMN close to the stage. When Ben Ellman (sax & harmonica) came out and asked if we were having a good time, I know he saw me nodding my head in eager anticipation of what was still to come from one of my favorite bands.
Galactic rocked out, as expected. They played revamped older material and some new stuff. The highlight was unquestionably Little Miss Lover with Warren Haynes. I’m not a Gov’t Mule fan, but I dig the Allmans, and Warren does a pretty good Duane Allman/Dickey Betts. Galactic definitely got off on having him on stage and the show was kicked up a notch. The spearhead dude was cool too. Rap doesn’t always have to be done over electronic backbeats.
I would say that the overall electricity was higher at Bonnaroo 2002 without question. However, nobody was expecting it to be the same. For those that didn’t go because they knew the electricity wouldn’t be there, they were only half right.
All of the bands at Bonnaroo 2003 AT LEAST put on a solid show. Many were GREAT shows. It is not to say that there weren’t many moments of musical and spiritual revelation through the weekend, but the newness of it to everyone (including the musicians) added another dimension that wasn’t there this year. Another difference was the bounce. As Les Claypool said last summer, everyone was “feeling the bounce.” It was constant. I don’t know if it was the bands or the fans, but many people seemed too self conscious to give into the bounce… poor folks.
After Galactic, I walked over to G Love. My buddy is a big G Love fan and he was a bit taken back by the mellowness of the set. The highlight for me was getting a freshly squeezed lemonade, listening to I-76.
I then walked over to check out the Godfather of Soul. About 5 minutes before the show is about to start, these dudes walk up to where I am chilling with a tarp. I really dig the tarp idea. On Friday, we pulled out the orange tarp and stuck it in the wet sand. These people were walking by and the chick says to her friend, “That is a good idea.” I said to her, “Have a seat!” Of course, the three of them (so many names... Darlynn?) had one foot in the “blanket club.”
I am keen on the blanket club. I think that you should definitely have rights to sit or (heaven forbid) lie down at any point. What is uncool are the “you can’t sit here because some time in the next 3 hours my buddy will be here.” Fuck you. Nobody should have to sit in the mud while you have 80 square feet of tarp around you.
So, these dudes come up with the tarp. Boo, from St Louis announces to everyone, “Tell these people to help us put this tarp up, then we can all stand on it.” I chip in and the damn thing is 10’ by 20’! It gave Boo plenty of room to get down, and a mother & child found a corner to chill out. It was great. Boo had a pretty cool head item I’d seen at the festival throughout the weekend for the first time. You put your nugs in the top and close it. Then, you spin it. When you’re done, you open the next layer and it has the shake for your joint. Under that is a keff screen. Far out, man!
The Godfather of Soul’s conglomerate hit the stage about 20 minutes late and proceeded to stall for 20 more minutes proclaiming that the Godfather of Soul was going to be showing up any minute, and we needed to get crazy to conjure him up.
The man himself, James Brown, hit the stage and proceeded to rock the house with the tightest funk band I’d seen all weekend. As for musicianship, it was definitely at Bonnaroo. While watching Chris Wood get down on the upright bass the night before, one guy summed it up when he shouted, “That’s fuckin sick!”
James Brown’s band (and the dancing US flag girls) definitely had the show going. The highlight I witnessed was “Living in America.” However, as I headed back toward the van, I heard the rest of the show. They continued to pour out the funky stew of old and new tunes. At times, they sounded dated, but at others, completely fresh.
The plan for the entire weekend was a departure at the conclusion of the Godfather. 2 of the 3 people that journeyed from Cleveland in our Rental Van were not deadheads. I am sure that the heads had their moment of glory when the Dead hit the stage. I am certain that Jerry himself even made an appearance.
Looking back as I rode up I-71 through Columbus, it was definitely worth it. I’m not sure that I’ll ever return, but hopefully, the memories will be indelible.
One thing that I’d imagine they are doing right about now is picking up garbage. It seemed like there was a lot more of it this year. Last year emphasized greenness. This year, the staff was too engaged with fighting the quicksand that they didn’t get a chance to promote recycling. It will be interesting to see the numbers, but Its gonna be a lot of work to separate all that garbage. The recycling and the garbage was very intermixed. People ought to be ashamed of themselves. I heard the SAD excuse that people don’t recycle at home so they don’t feel compelled to do it at the festival. These folks should be doubly ashamed. A festival (with all the beer & bottled water that people drink) presents a perfect opportunity to make a difference. If all 80,000 took one can off the ground and put it in the recycler at some point each day throughout the weekend, it would surely make a difference.
I am guessing that next year will present even more fantastic bands. Bonnaroo presents everyone (fans and musicians alike) with a chance to expand their musical horizons. If you didn’t get inspired by at least one band you’ve never heard before the weekend, you missed something. When you throw this many fantastic musicians together for a long weekend and they intermix, you’ve not only got explosive music, but you know that the musicians have just grown from the experience, so the next time you see them, they will be even better.
So, after two Bonnaroo festivals, if you plan on going next year, remember these tips:
- Bring a tarp to sit on if it is wet, but don’t be selfish.
- Don’t wait, hydrate.
- Take only pictures, leave only footprints (pick up after your self)
- Spray bottles eliminate the need for mist tents
- MREs are cool.
- Pace yourself (as Aristotle once stated, happiness is the greatest good. Pleasure is not happiness. Moderation is the best way to achieve happiness.) Don’t even try to see all of the shows, and by the way, the effects of hallucinogens are greatly diminished when you take them constantly.
- Bring plenty of shade for your campsite
- Earplugs and eye covers help you sleep anytime
- Don’t try following a group of speeding cars as you depart. We saw a caravan pulled over by multiple cops working as a team on the way home.
- Wear deodorant or wash your pits, for Christ’s sake!
- Don’t end up in the ATM line
Copyright © 2013 RED
