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June 19, 2007
Dispatches from Bonnaroo, Day 4
Or, if you will, BonnaWoo, as almost every act I saw (and a few I didn't see) on Sunday started with the letter 'W'. Was this by design? Who knows?
First up: Wolfmother. The first time I heard this band was in the truck on the way to Manchester, so I don't have a lot of listening experience behind my introduction to their live show. I think everyone's first impression is that they sound a whole lot like classic Black Sabbath (with Ozzy, not Dio), although I noted right away that the singer also reminds me a lot of John Lydon (of Public Image Ltd., aka "Johnny Rotten" when with the Sex Pistols). Sabbath riffs with Lydonesque vocals sounds like a winner to me, and yet further listening revealed many more classic influences in this band's sound. We counted The Who, vintage King Crimson, ELP, Led Zeppelin, and others (help me remember, guys). The crowd seemed to like them, as did I. The three-piece played with extra energy (especially the bassist/keyboardist, who spun around his keys like a madman), and their sound was consistently powerful. Good show.
Now, the only non-W act: Elvis Perkins in Dearland. Unfortunately, I only got to see about the last 20 minutes, and that left me wanting to know a lot more. What a sound! Perkins' voice sits in an ideal register and timbre for his singer-songwriter style, and his acoustic guitar was amplified very well. But that's not all. The band, featuring a retro lineup of string bass, pump organ, and a bass drum played with mallet on one hand and snare-stick on the other, plus a trombone, gives this performer a one-in-a-kind sound. The guitarist from "Clap Your Hands Say Yeah" (sorry, I'm out of touch and don't know his name) sat in for a couple of tunes. Too soon, it was time for this gem of a group to wrap up.
My friend and I then headed for What Stage so that we could be sure to snag a good spot for later. While we waited, we caught the last part of Bob Weir & Ratdog's set. Call me a nostalgic old Deadhead, but I thought Bobby and the boys sounded really good. They sure sounded better that day than some other Ratdog shows I've heard. "Throwing Stones" was a bit underwhelming, but "Franklin's Tower" and "Samson & Delilah" measured up to the best one can expect from ex-Dead (or is that Undead?) spinoff bands.
The sun continued to beat down on this, the hottest day yet (it was like the weather was seeing how much we could take), as we maneuvered into better position for an intimate experience with one of the bands I had really come to see: Wilco. I'm so glad I toughed it out, because this was, in a completely different way than with, say, Flaming Lips or Tool, one of the best shows of the whole festival. Watching Jeff Tweedy and this great band imparted a sense of melancholy camaraderie; watching Nils Cline gave me a heap of envy. Everyone in Wilco is great, but my unsung hero was the bassist. He lays down a wide, V-shaped furrow of sonic stability, never misses, never tries to outshine, and is quite handy with the backing vocals as well. Oh, and he looks like a young Bill Murray, but that's beside the point. Just something I noticed.
Wilco's set was full of songs I've come to love since acquiring Kicking Television earlier this year. I rarely know song titles (let alone lyrics), but I'm sure you would have recognized most of them. Either way, the songs are expertly composed, full of magnificent small touches, and occasionally swell into unrestrained washes of noise, only to sneak back in underneath and carry on, like the spark of life after a near-fatal overdose. Jeff Tweedy very kindly acknowledged the untoward climatic conditions besetting his audience, and even admitted to having a good time that day, quipping, "I usually hate these things." I understand that, I really do; but selfishly I'm glad he still manages to do them. People who missed this one really missed out. The mood was preset to mellow, simply because, in late afternoon on the fourth day, we couldn't take much more excitement.
Oh, but there was excitement remaining. A huge crowd assembled next door at Which Stage for rock's super duo The White Stripes. And here's where I'm going to tick off a lot of folks, because I didn't really like them. Nope, sure didn't. I kept thinking, "Dude, please tune your guitar." Right behind that was "Chicky, please at least hold a steady tempo." I mean, there's rough and raw and unpolished, and then there's just irreconcilable sloppiness. Maybe it was the dust storm I was standing in, but I had to get out of there.
I finished up the day relaxing with a couple of beers (it was too hot to drink more than one at a time, until then) back at the campsite, while strains of Widespread Panic's closing show wafted toward us in the slight breeze. I will say that the addition of Jimmy Herring (of whom I'm a "closet" fan) has made Widespread's sound more palatable to me, although it still didn't make me feel like heading back down there to hear them.
Our peace was briefly disturbed by a crazy naked hippie running amok through the crowded campsite and babbling about the bad LSD trip he was on. Folks, don't let your kids get on that stuff without proper supervision. Seriously, the guy was in danger of hurting himself badly on a tent stake or something; and he broke our neighbor's truck's side mirror, and bruised our neighbor's arm with some flung object. He came out of nowhere, retched loudly right beside my tent, and then disappeared almost as quickly. I was about to round up some people to forcibly restrain this fool and douse him in ice-cold water (it sometimes works). I'm hoping he got some help, and came out of it okay. I'm not patently against the careful ingestion of hallucinogens by responsible adults, but this was a sobering (so to speak) reminder of how some substances can get away from you.
Then again, alcohol is legal, and no less potentially damaging: some youngsters near us got wasted in the middle of the day Thursday (before anything even started), and ostensibly paid for it the rest of the time.
It was a great Bonnaroo, even if I can't compare it to others. A final wrap-up, complete with a little digital imagery, is forthcoming.
Bonnaroo 2007 | By pulseblogger | 02:30 PM
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