June 20, 2007

Bonnaroo Epilogue

Reflecting on the Bonnaroo experience after returning to "normal" life, I've come to appreciate it more than I did while I was slogging across the fields, covered in sweat and dust, and wracked with the searing pain of chafed skin. I'll admit to envying those official bloggers from various local and national news organizations whose job it was to go, and who had press passes; but the triumph here is that a decent accounting can be undertaken even outside those parameters, if I do say so myself.

Regrets? I have a few. I missed seeing The Roots, The Decemberists, lifelong favorite Ralph Stanley, Ween, Gogol Bordello, Hot Tuna, Galactic, Ornette Coleman (who evidently collapsed and had to be hospitalized), Clutch, the jazz, the comedy (especially David Cross; I did wander by when Lewis Black was introducing Gov't Mule, but didn't catch his act proper), and a host of other things. It simply couldn't all be done; but even with that, I made choices. Oh, and even though former Led Zeppelin bassist John Paul Jones hopped around from stage to stage and sat in with all kinds of bands, I managed to miss his every appearance. Dang! Other groups, like, apparently, The Hold Steady, I had no idea that I should have tried out, until after I got home and started reading other blogs.

Still, there were the little moments, like when we strolled past a tent that was completely empty save a large, shirtless, sleeping man, and an equally large rubber mallet, and began discussing the probability that this man was, in fact, Thor. We decided that Thor had come to Bonnaroo to gather his strength and wait for the right moment to launch a counterattack against the monotheism that has held the day for the past few centuries. He doesn't seem to have made such a move, even though he'd have had quite the army of hedonistic, neo-pagan warriors at his side.

I don't know if I'll go back to Bonnaroo. It may have been a one-time affair. Full media privileges would, I'm sure, factor into such a decision. (My editor here says that the festival never responded to his requests to obtain a pass this year. Maybe there was some mix-up; I mean, who wouldn't include the award-winning Pulse?) Another factor would be the future artist lineup, over which there was much speculation at our campsite. Will Bonnaroo continue toward harder-edged rock, return to full-on hippiedom, or cash in with pop acts?

I do hope that my chronicling has sufficiently illuminated the event so that you who haven't been now have a better idea of what it's all about. As with most (but certainly not all) things, I recommend trying it once.

[Thanks for your continued patience as I gather and edit my small collection of video footage and photos. They'll be along as soon as possible.]

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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.

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June 18, 2007

Dispatches from Bonnaroo, Day 3

I think I'll work a little backward on running through this day. We'll start with me trudging the mile-plus distance back to camp at a late hour — late for me, though I was leaving a show that was just getting started. Sasha and Digweed were spinning minimalist madness, and the thump-thump-thump followed me most of the way back. It was like having my own soundtrack for the walk. I enjoy listening to (what we used to call "techno" way back when) when I have a repetitive task at hand. I didn't have it in me to stay, though I think quite a few others did have "it" in them, whatever "it" might have been.

Before that, I had been wandering around the outskirts of Which Stage (second biggest), where the Flaming Lips added to the greatness of this Bonnaroo by putting on one of the most visually stimulating shows I've ever witnessed. Their stage set was dominated by a UFO-shaped light rig, which did descend to the stage amidst spaceship landing sounds, and from which the lead singer proceeded in a large plastic bubble, which he then used to walk atop the joyous crowd. There were outlandish video clips projected to the back screen, balloons and confetti everywhere, more dizzying lights; and the front crowd all got laser pointers to shine at the stage. Musically, the band was very tight, but none more so than when they (acted like they?) tried to start their show an hour early with a verbatim cover of Black Sabbath's "War Pigs."

In addition to an amazing show, Flaming Lips also had a pretty cool opening band (The Police, who played the 9pm slot on What Stage). The Police are a "life list" item, so I'm glad to have them checked off.

That said, the only one who seemed to be enjoying the experience (including most of the enormous crowd) was Stewart Copeland. Sting and Andy Summers just were not present. From the botched opening of "Message in a Bottle" to the painfully syrupy, yes-I-can't-believe-they-played-it "Every Breath You Take," I cringed more often than I cheered at this one, but mostly I just stood there. "Synchronicity II," as a song, had so much potential to make up for the opener, but sadly fell flat as well in its second-place spot.

There were good moments; don't get me wrong. The trio stretched out a bit on "When the World Is Running Down, You Make the Best of What's Still Around" and sounded quite fine on "Regatta de Blanc"->"Can't Stand Losing You" (though I could have done without the sing-along part). They rocked "Next to You" with just a twinge of the old punk-ish edge.

Sting's voice was in good form, but his bass wasn't mixed well; Andy Summers played rather sloppily, and didn't seem to know what to do when the song would "jam" for a minute; and Stewart Copeland was energetic and impeccable.

Expectations were probably unrealistic on my part. I admit that. I have been a self-styled Police connoisseur for such a long time, it was inevitable to have been let down a little. But everyone else I talked to got the same distinct impression about the two non-drummers' lack of enthusiasm (and several pointed out that the band ended its set earlier than expected).

Let's see, backing up some more: I finally ventured out at around 6pm, having tried to escape the heat all day. I chose Franz Ferdinand over Ween or Ben Harper. I'm really sorry I did that. I was back far enough at Which Stage to be able to hear the crazy time they were having over in This Tent with Ween. The pavilion was crowded by that time, though, and moving would have meant leaving a shady sitting spot for standing in the full sun. Again. The problem I had with Franz Ferdinand was that every song, save one, had the same marching bass drum beat, and after a while it was merely silly. I think their hits work well as songs, and the band plays well. It's easy to be too picky when surrounded by so much great music.

I missed a lot of music, due to heat effects and simply due to the fact that even though the schedule looks like one can catch Act A, then B, then C, one really has to skip B in order to leave A and make it over to find a good spot for C. The RV or VIP route is the way to go to make the most of it, I think. Tent camping is the full experience, but a big part of that experience involves hiking and porta-toilets. And try to add videotaping and blogging to that mix.

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Dispatches from Bonnaroo, Day 2

Tortoise under a shell

Start with two drummers, and place them right up front, where a singer would normally stand. Then go ahead and have two basses, just to be, you know, fair; add some keys and synth textures, a vigorously played vibraphone, and musicians that each know how to wield pretty much all of the above with fierce skill, and that's Tortoise.

A few hippies, perhaps somehow led into thinking that they were seeing "Terrapin," bolted for the nearest tent edge when the first onslaught of distorted notes emanated from the stage. The popped, terse opener quickly gave way, however, to a couple of hours of sequined, studied, and altogether mouth-watering instrumental inventiveness.

This band knows how to introduce fresh elements, and use them consistently in a given setting, without sounding in any way like they're employing a gimmick, or anything close to that. The tasteful use of dissonance is (occasionally or usually, depending on you) an elusive quest, but these guys are pretty good at reining it in, and then complementing it with hypnotic polyrhythms and modal sequences. The layered outcome was a true great find, and I'll be digging into the archives (Tortoise has been around since 1990) after I get home.

Kings

The heat abated for just a few moments as a popcorn thundershower skirted the festival grounds and provided cloud cover and a few sprinkles. I was seated outside The Other Tent, where Gillian Welch was just starting her set. I heard a few well-delivered folk songs, and then went on to catch some rock 'n' roll.

Nashville's own Kings of Leon played a set on Bonnaroo's What Stage (that's the biggest one) that sounded a bit pulled up short, but good. The vibe just wasn't there for a "barnburner." Sound equipment malfunctions also marred the overall experience, but it's not as if the boys weren't trying. They stayed strong and made a great impression in style and showmanship, even if they didn't rock as hard as (legend has it) they are able.

How Tool saved the Universe

Powerful, mesmerizing, bone-jarring, intricately patterned, beautiful — that only starts to describe Tool. Aw, shucks, I think I just gave away my bias. Seriously, even though I'm old enough to have sired most of the audience members, I join them in admiring this quartet of dark-themed rockers. Tool stole the spotlight, in my opinion, from the other headliners (Police, Widespread Panic), and on the first full night. Looking around, I could tell I wasn't the only one having a peak experience. The combination of sound quality, light/video/laser work, complex songs, and full-throttle roar made this, in my opinion, the best rock show on the main stage at Bonnaroo 2007. I've liked the band since Undertow, and that was before I got the full experience. Now I like them even more. [Edit: my sole humble request to the band is that they play some songs in a key other than "D" or its dominant minor. But I'll work with them until then.]

Some felt that a "heavy band" like Tool didn't belong at the festival. I disagree. I think that by including quality music that the kids dig, Bonnaroo's entertainment board made a smart move.

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June 15, 2007

Dispatches from Bonnaroo, Day 1

Coffee County, TN — There is dust everywhere. It floats through the air, gets violently sucked into lungs, and settles into a fine, floury brown layer on everything. Drought conditions are making themselves felt in earnest. Helicopters circle constantly, but thankfully not low enough to stir it up, except at their landing spots.

Things I forgot to bring (noticed so far): aloe vera gel or another sunburn remedy. I did my most extensive walkabout before applying my sunblock. I didn't think I would be out that long, but it's a big and interesting place. Chalk it up to my making a sacrifice for you, the reader, and gathering data straight away. Saline spray, to aid silica-strafed sinuses, would also have been a good idea.

Festivalgoers are really nice people, judging by one day's observations. That's a good thing, because we're all such close neighbors in the campgrounds. Conversations tend to include tidbits like "what band are you here to see the most?" and "you go pee, I'll hold your drink," in addition to the standbys "where you from?" and "Damn! it's hot." It is, but it's not too humid, so the evening has cooled a great deal after a very pretty sunset (the dust surely had a part in that).

I think I'll walk around some more now that the air has cooled, and find the place where I can post this.

[Edit: the internet connection was down on Thursday night. Thanks for your patience.]

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June 13, 2007

Be My Bonnaroo Guide

by Joe Lance

Last week's Pulse featured a set of Riverbend picks by the editor and a few contributing writers. Today's edition continues the thought.

I want to take a slightly different approach with regard to Bonnaroo: I want you to suggest your favorites and have me go review those shows. The schedule is here. There are some tough choices to make, such as Franz Ferdinand vs. Ben Harper vs. Ween (especially if, like me, you've never seen any of them).

Ziggy Marley or Fountains of Wayne? Old Crow Medicine Show or Railroad Earth? Wilco's on one stage, while The Decemberists and The White Stripes split that time slot on another.

Help me out, please.

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