Oh Roo, you’ve done it again! Another near-perfect weekend of music, art, food and fun has been written and it was one for the history books! The shows were incredible and the weather was the most forgiving it has ever been. A little curry chicken and fried Oreos didn’t hurt either. But let’s be honest, nothing is perfect, right? For me, it wouldn’t be Bonnaroo without a minor disaster to start it all off. And what kind of flawless weekend begins with your wife losing your ticket to the festival as you drive up to the main entrance? Yeah, that happened. It was one of the more stressful 90 seconds of my life. But when I recovered I thought, “it can only get better from here.” I could not have been more right!
We spent most of Thursday settling into camp and getting our fellow camping mates, Jay and M’lyn, acquainted with the lay of the land. Other than a few songs at random stages, we didn’t take in a whole lot of music that day. I enjoyed White Denim from a distance but I wasn’t quite ready to dive in just yet. We visited the Cartoon Network themed fair and spent some time playing games, before retiring to the campsite for the evening. I felt a little guilty about not completely immersing myself right out of the gates, but when I looked at my schedule, I realized that the rest of the weekend would take care of itself.
On Friday, there was a small problem with long lines at the main entrance. Luckily, it was all ironed out later that day, but not before I missed the first half of tUnE-yArDs. I went to see them on a recommendation from a friend; and as I eased my way into the percussive art-rock radiating from the tent, they did not disappoint. We moved on to the Which Stage, where Afrocubism (the original incarnation of the Buena Vista Social Club) was just starting to cook. The crowd was thin and the breeze was just right for dancing. Shortly after this collaborative supergroup, we would see Feist grace the same stage! She sauntered out wearing sunglasses, a red summer dress and a large sun hat that crowned her tiny frame. She sounded everything but small that day. She provided a generous mix of new and old songs but it was the three sirens standing to her left who belted out the opening lines to “Sea Lion Woman” that sent chills running down my neck.
From there we took a short walk to catch up on St. Vincent. Approaching the tent, I could hear it dripping with synthesizers and a haunting rendition of “Cheerleader.” When I finally made my way in, I was rewarded with the ironically cheery single, “Cruel.” I wish I could have stayed for the entire set but I had a schedule to keep and time was crunched. Now, for the first time of the weekend, we were filing into Great Stage Park. Just as the sun was going down (and not a moment too soon), the cool was creeping in and Rodrigo y Gabriela heated it right back up. The duo is now flaunting a full band (C.U.B.A.) of Havana’s best musicians and an entire set of old Rod y Gab songs that have been rearranged accordingly. It was a huge leap from the first time I saw them, only years before. This seems like an exciting new direction for a two-piece band that could otherwise be viewed as a one-trick pony.
It was approaching the tenth hour into my day but my night was just beginning. Exhaustion was setting in but giddy anticipation kept me alive. This is what we came for: Radiohead! It would be my fourth time seeing them and it would prove to be the best. The crowd of more than 60,000 fans was thick with excitement. Then I heard it—the trademark loop of noise to start the set and the tedious electronic percussion that would eventually build into an epic version of “Bloom.” For the next two-and-a-half hours, everything was right in my world. The sound was rich, from the deepest, dirtiest bass to the quietest piano and vocal. We were speechless. They showcased songs mainly from In Rainbows and The King of Limbs with a peppering of Kid A, Hail and Amnesiac. We were even treated to the more recent “b-sides”, “Staircase” and “The Daily Mail.” It wasn’t until 90 minutes into the set that we were all arrested by the “Karma Police.” And that’s when I realized: these guys weren’t leaning on old hits anymore but creating new classics, all complemented by a multitude of morphing t.v. screens. It was a stage production that I had never seen in my life. But my night was not over yet…
1, 2, 3… Mos Def and Talib Kweli! Flanked by Madlib and Hi-Tek, the verbally savvy collaboration was everything you would expect from a party thrown by Black Star. They flowed in and out of each other’s solo material with ease, tore the roof off of That Tent and proved who is really “watching the throne.”
There is nothing like a little thrash-punk to get your Saturday afternoon started and Bad Brains was on the menu! After all these years, the band still sounded like they had a fury living inside their instruments. Frontman, H.R. however, did not. I was warned about this blasphemy but had to see it for myself. Unfortunately, it was true. It was fun to see those old songs I grew up with but the lethargic singer wasn’t selling it any more than he had to.
I regrettably missed out on Battles because I was in need of a well-deserved rest. Remember, that schedule is a monster once you start adding up the actual hours you’re clocking. I took the time to visit with New Orleans native and Telefon Tel Aviv veteran, Josh Eustis. It was good to see an old friend out in the trenches. He is currently playing guitar with the newest Maynard James Keenan outfit, Puscifer. They rocked it the only way a Maynard project knows how to… full on and a hundred percent! And they did it all wearing flight captain suits?!
If I wanted any chance of catching the second half of Santigold I would have to make a break for it. I’m glad I did because she was having a blast up there. They dropped the beat-heavy “Creator” while she invited the crowd on stage to dance. It didn’t take long for the line between crowd and performer to become obscured. It was when I tried to make my transition from the New York style dance party that I found myself walking face-first into a wall of sound that was Mogwai! I squeezed my way through and allowed myself to be completely swallowed up by the carefully orchestrated noise. It was perfect.
Which brings me to the not-so-perfect Red Hot Chili Peppers. Now, I’m a Flea/Smith/Frusciante/Klinghoffer fan as much as the next guy but everything coming off the stage sounded kind of muddy and thin. Compared to the previous night’s headliner, though, how could it not? It was an eye opening juxtaposition of who is still pushing the envelope and who is still rehashing versions of their old songs. Anthony Kiedis is still playing the role of the clown and the songs were fun to see; I just wasn’t connecting at the moment.
Somehow, I managed to drag myself out to some late night shows. Totally ignorant to what a Skrillex was, I had to see what all the hype was about. From what I could tell, it seemed to be an updated rave that fell somewhere between American marketing and European snobbery. It looked like fun for the fans involved, but had I been on some mind-altering drugs, I probably would have enjoyed it a lot more. But who am I to deny the party of the zombie tween army?
3:00 a.m. Must…keep…going. My last show of the night proved to be well worth the exhaustion. GZA performed the Liquid Swords album with a full band, Grupo Fantasma. It was flawless and they didn’t skip a beat when slipping into Wu-Tang classics like “Cream” and “Shimmy Shimmy Ya.” I could finally succumb to sleep.
Our final day would shape up to be an overcast and relaxing one. What better way to satisfy the Roo’s thirst for irony than to sit and watch the Beach Boys in the drizzle? “God Only Knows,” it was just what the doctor ordered. Then we made it just in time to see Kenny Rogers bring out Lionel Richie for a rousing “All Night Long.” Nobody saw that one coming. From there we hoofed it over to what would be a personal highlight of the day, Kurt Vile and the Violators. There was something about the dark intimacy in his spectrum of rock, noise and quiet guitar that had me completely plugged in. Dare I say, I saw a little of myself up there? A quiet, confident version that was excited to see the personality of small songs not only surviving but thriving in such a large environment? And finally, it was off to see the Shins. Though I’m not entirely familiar with their whole catalog, I knew enough to keep me singing along and smiling. It was sad to think our journey was coming to an end but as these indie rock icons made a soft segue into “New Slang,” I took the opportunity to share a slow dance in the rain with my wife. A perfect ending to a great weekend.
