So after four days, six dozen bottles of water, nine applications of sunscreen, two major foot injuries, four excellent hot dogs, several lost hours pursuing wireless in a field, one wrecked Saturn Ion, and probably one free VIP beer too many, my 2007 Bonnaroo Music Festival has finally come to an end. And though it's been a full day and a half since my flip-flops last touched Tennessee dirt, I can still hear the echoes of the best music this planet has to offer, ringing in my head. (Yes, Mom, I will buy those earplugs someday.)
It was my first trip to what I'd been calling "east-coast Coachella," but I had such a good time, I'm inclined to flip that around. Coachella should be this pleasant an experience, a magical wonderland where the kids are sweet, the food terrific, and my press pass gets me out the back gate and to my hotel in a little under half an hour-- the length of time it generally takes to move 100 yards in the gen-pop crush of the Indio desert. I tip my hat to the organizers at AC Entertainment and Superfly, as well as the frighteningly cheerful Ken Weinstein and his crackerjack staff at Big Hassle, especially Kate and Chris. I wish my job was always this easy, and this fun.
During my layover in Chicago last night, I was sitting behind a kid in a 'Roo t-shirt that listed this year's lineup on the back. According to my calcutions, I saw 43 of the close to 150 acts on the schedule, which is not bad, considering. After the jump, I winnow that down into my top 10 whatevers. [I tried to put pictures directly into this post, but a text-wrapping nightmare occurred, and after spending an hour trying to fix it, I've given up. Click the links. I'm sorry.]
And hey, PopWatchers: Were you in Manchester? How about posting your own favorites (or links to pics/vid) in the comments?
Coming up on the end of our Bonnaroo coverage here, PopWatchers, but first, the long-awaited Hold Steady post. Am I setting this band apart because they took 5 minutes out of their busy 'Roo schedule to chat with me, or because they are, hands down, my favorite group of the moment? A little of both, frankly. But had you been at their Saturday afternoon show (pictured)-- which kicked off with my current indie-rock boyfriend Craig Finn informing the crowd that "fist-pumping is always cooler than that dance the hippies do"-- you might very well love them, too. As guitarist Tad Kubler laid into the classic opening chords to "Stuck Between Stations," I could feel the dusty farm transforming into an east coast bar, the camera in my hand becoming a bottle of Bud, and the words to every song about the Mississippi River exploding out of my throat. I jumped, I screamed, I played air piano like a tool. (TOOL!) That's the power of rock n' roll, kids. And that's the power of the Hold Steady.
I'm not the only one: Traveling through the last two days of the festival, more strangers told me the Hold Steady were their favorite new discovery of the weekend than any other band. Is it the group hug that lives in the "whoa-oh"s of songs like "Massive Nights"? The dramatic mustache of keyboardist Franz Nicolay? Craig's adorably odd habit of pulling away from the mic between lines and mouthing nonsense into the front rows? The lyrics that create worlds in your imagination? Maybe it was all of the above, plus the fact that "Your Little Hoodrat Friend" is still the best song of the last 2 years (put that on your list and smoke it, Kirschling), and after a slew of preciously-constructed 'Roo performances, the band's utter lack of pretension was like an ice cube down the spine.
This was the last stop on the band's American tour; they're off to play European festivals now, so book those tickets. After the jump, our quick sit-down, in which I shall reveal the only thing capable of bringing the irrepressible Craig to his knees.
It's over, PopWatchers: All four days of Bonnaroo have come and gone. I am slightly the worse for wear-- my voice is shot, my flip-flops should be taken out and burned, a big piece of metal fell off my destroyed rental car on my way back here to Nashville, and I think something bit me on the lip last night when I was sitting on the fence watching the White Stripes-- but now that all's been said and done, I must consider this year's Tennessee music hoedown extravaganza to be a rousing success, both on a universal level and w/r/t my own personal enjoyment.
Pics, naturally, on Flickr (I did a better job with the photo pits than I thought I would). And after the jump: uh, pretty much everything I saw yesterday, plus Demetri Martin telling you what I saw at his show. And for some reason, I keep getting a little emotional. What's that about?
I can't believe this worked: Country Superstar Dierks Bentley is here to blog for you, PopWatchers! That is WAY better than Heidi from The Hills!! Please give him your full and undivided attention!
I'm currently staying in a hotel in Scottsdale, AZ. Yesterday I was walking to the pool when I noticed Sting was walking in front of me. Two worlds collided... the hot, crazy, and naked world of Bonnaroo and the plush and peaceful world of this quaint desert hotel. I could have said something to Sting, as having both played Bonnaroo last week would have been grounds for at least an introduction, but opted to leave him alone. I knew he was seconds away from getting germed at the pool, which he did. ("Are you Stang??" a woman asked. No, he’s just a dude that also has the same unmistakeable looks and air of an international rock star. She then proceeded to follow him and go sit down on the lawn chair next to him.) I could say with certainty that had I asked Sting the question "So, what did you think of Bonnaroo?" the word "Wow," raised eyebrows, and a slight shaking of the head would have been the answer. And then I'm sure security would have been called...
[more from Dierks after the jump]
Saturday seemed to be the peak of activity here at Bonnaroo, pocket people, and as I upped my previous day's time-in-field to a whopping 14 hours, the people around me got loopier (why would you wear rollerskates to spend the day traversing dry, sandy grass?) and, worse, smellier. I cannot describe to you the scent of the crowd at the midnight Flaming Lips show (pictured)-- some ungodly combination of gyros, pot, stale beer, and an assortment of unmentionable bodily fluids-- but I can tell you that smell propelled me far, far away, to the top of a cargo van parked just behind the second-stage fence. From there I could take in all of the spectacle but none of the stench, and lo, it was good.
Yesterday was all over the map: My post-lunch follies started with the alluring Regina Spektor, followed by the Hold Steady (who will get their own post which will feature a Q&A and me trying to conceal my excitement behind "professionalism"), Spoon, Franz Ferdinand, the Police reunion, and an unexpected jam that might have made me the happiest of all. Everything is recorded on Flickr for your pointing-and-clicking pleasure, and after the jump, I'll break it down for everyone still keeping up with this madness. Oddly, I'm more awake today than I've been all week. I think that's a sign of acceptance.
Intrepid former EW intern Kristin Luna (and her even more intrepid boyfriend Scott) return with a couple of Saturday observations:
Haale A band maybe you didnt catch? Haale. As an amateur music lover with
a guiltily acknowledged draw to more mainstream bands, my indie-loving
Bay Area boyfriend coaxed me into sampling more Bonnaroo-centric bands,
like New York-based psychadelic sufi trans-rock group Haale. At first their music closely
reminded me of the eerily trance-inducing oboe concoctions of John
Corbett's character in the
über-cheesy rom-com Serendipity. But the more I gave it a chance, the
more I came to appreciate the melding of the bongo-style drums with
beads rattling in the center, two electric guitars,
and the soothing crooning of the lead singer, a Persian Salma
Hayek-Jennifer Connelly hybrid could-be (only with vocal ability) who
sang in a mix of Farsi and English.
The whole set felt as if it could have been the soundtrack
for my own mythical soul-searching trek through the Middle East. I can
only imagine what the impact would have been had I been high and
heavily clad in mirrored garments and heavy bangles like the rest of the
crowd, as opposed to sipping on my second Woodchuck Cider of the day.
The music was so electric and spiritual that it made the hairs on
Scott's arm stand on end-- and he's someone who takes in at least two or
three shows a week, so that's a feat.
Galactic This was my fourth
time seeing jam band Galactic live and, though it's been a couple
years, initially I remembered them being more jammy than the rap they performed
tonight. But throughout their three-hour set, their signature style
began to creep back into the tent. Maybe it was the fact
that they followed a mild and disappointingly mellow
Police performance (still love the guys) or possibly some stellar guest additions to
their repertoire of songs (including Lyrics Born and Boots Riley), but
the crowd was rocking
out to some post-midnight Galactic, myself included-- and this from a
girl who was groggily awakened in a field from a funnel cake-induced
coma to attend yet another late night show against
her will.
Former EW intern Kristin Luna has also been out in the field here in Manchester, sending me missives from the shows I can't get to (and the bands I've seen too much of lately). Thanks to her for these text-messaged observations:
Kings of Leon We only were at Kings for a few songs, but found their crowd to
be disappointly passive and lagging given that they were a) playing at
Bonnaroo and b) occupying the main stage. It was very generic cookie
cutter rock, and as a fan who owns their CDs, I thought they sounded
much better recorded than live... However, if this is any testimony to
their fanbase, the sound system went out at one point and they
continued playing on while the crowd gained momentum and carried what
they lacked in surround sound by singing every lyric for them.
Lily Allen Lily, in typical fashion, said, "Are you drunk yet? I hope you're as drunk as I am!" and then picked up a bottle of Jaeger and swigged on it between songs. [Ed note: So much for sobriety.] Drunkenly messed up and started singing during a keyboard solo. Took drags of cigarette throughout every song. Told a story about an ex's small [REDACTED]. Took pictures of the audience and promised to post them on her MySpace page. Most enjoyable show so far — her voice is like syrup, she always engages the audience and constantly has fun.
After more than 12 hours on the farm at Bonnaroo yesterday, my darling, pocket-bound PopWatchers, I am sad to say that I headed home and before blogging or even uploading pictures this time, I collapsed. Yesterday, Friday, was the first full day of activities at the fest, running from noon until 3:30 a.m. Even if I'd wanted to take in everything, I could not. I'm just one tiny drop in this Bonnaroo bucket, and walking around the grounds seeing people of all shapes and sizes letting their freak flag fly at whatever level they're comfortable — from topless guys to, well, topless girls — it just makes me feel happy to be a small part of it. And also happy I eventually graduated and moved on from art school, because holy white-girl dreads does that stuff get old after a while.
So much to say about the latter half of my Friday: Dierks Bentley rocked, I tried very hard to get into the String Cheese Incident (pictured), and, amazingly, Gillian Welch surpassed expectations. Check in over at our Flickr page, and then stay tuned after the jump to hear about all of that... plus a 24-year-old named Mike explains Tool. TOOOOL!!
Good start today, PopWatchers: I got right out and headed for the farm to catch my buddies Sam Champion in the Budweiser Troo Lounge. (See what happened there, Budweiser? Your marketing strategy worked!) I know the guys from an aborted Rogue Wave story I tried to write last year when S.C. were their openers; we all spent a night wrapped in rags and freezing to death in an unheated squat on the outskirts of St. Louis (a story you’ll have to just wait for the memoir to hear). Ran into guitarist Sean Sullivan at the RodGab show last night which just reminded me to get here early, and I’m glad I did — it’s a hot day, but not too humid, and there’s music coming out of every corner of the field, including the booth where they sell the bongos. Compared to yesterday’s parking nightmare, today was a breeze, and I’m looking forward to the afternoon bill (Gillian Welch! Dierks Bentley! Uh, Tool! TOOOOOL!!).
First, though, what I did with my "morning" (1 p.m. is "morning" if you were up all night): Cold War Kids (pictured), Tortoise, and the band named after a weatherman. Join me after the jump, won’t you?
Good morning from Manchester, Tenn., PopWatchers, and a thousand apologies for the lateness of this post. Your Aunt Whittlz very much wanted to bring you all of yesterday's Bonnaroovia as it was happening, but the sheer feat of getting to the venue and parking my car damn near killed me... and then someone tried to kill my car. Long story short, by the time I got back to my hotel at 3 a.m., the last thing I wanted to do was typetypetype, so I just uploaded my pics onto our Flickr site and crashed.
(Yes, that's right, I said "hotel." No offense to camping, but it's not real conducive to blogging.)
Luckily, in between those vehicular incidents was a first day of great music — some old, some new — kicked off by Ryan Shaw (pictured), a man I heard referred to as the reincarnation of Otis Redding on at least three separate occasions. More on him after the jump, plus the Little Ones, Mute Math, the National, Black Angels, RodGab, and I take you out of my pocket for a quick look around at where we'll be spending our weekend.
