'Tis true. They don't. No snowflake is the same. No fingerprint. No watercolor painting. And yes, the same goes for face tattoos. We learned this at Rothbury from our friend Pullman who was a lone explorer for most of the weekend and always came back with the craziest of tales, such as sharing a bag of Franzia with a face-tattooed lady.
** This is not the lady. Just an example of a face tattoo. What kind of person tattoos their face? How badly must that hurt. I don't think I will ever get a face tattoo... unless I murder someone, and then I will tattoo a tear falling from my right eye so people know that I am a badass and they should not mess with me. **
Sumner! Time? Noon-ish on Thursday.
We came to Rothbury to celebrate our freedoms. Freedom to rock. Freedom to roll. Freedom to dance with all your soul. Freedom to wave our freak flags high, high, high in the sky!
The journey began with a frenzied packing Wednesday after work... I forgot a pillow, my cow bell, and warmer clothes amongst other things. At 6:38pm I boarded the Metra from Chi City up to Cary with Ms. SJ. Smash McDash picked us up and we groceried, packed, slept for about 3.7 hours and headed up to Michigan in the cool, dark, dew-studded morning.
Get your motor running.
Head out on the highway!
We were the first car to arrive at the pre-determined TB location in Grand Rapids, or Muskegon, or some other Michigan town. I read RS mag while we waited in the parking lot, there was a special on Bonnaroo that got me verrrrrrrrry excited about what was to come from my festival experience. Also, crazy
Amy Winehouse... something else that one is. Oh geez! It was cold and cloudy and we all crossed our fingers that once we entered Rothbury the sun would be shining and the sweat would be pouring. It happened, thank goodness. First, we waited in line for about 2-ish hours to get wristbands, maps, and finally, our perfect camping location!!
(We were in the Price Lot on the red road, just south and in between the two bathrooms; after the 2nd First Aid tent, showers, sinks, and port-a-potties, just beyong the nitrus tanks and two trees) It was a trek into the festival grounds, but well worth it, for the music and the friends made the time very worth the while.
Looking for adventure, And whatever comes our way!
We had a sweet set-up with two loungin' canopies filled with chairs, tables, Bag sets, coolers, and surrounded by our tents. We were right on the edge, so we got a great view of our fellow festival-goers, from those still awake from the night before, dazing their way back to their tents to the highly decorated Dance Police to those peddling walking vendors of glass, T-shirts, headies, doces, and E to the drunks at 11:02. It was good!
FREEDOM!!
The American flag marked the spot to home. And we shouted at the people as they passed, encouraging them to celebrate their freedoms and show them to us.
Yeah darling go make it happen,
Take the world in a love embrace,
Find all of the guns at once - and
Explode into space!
Thursday night I saw Greensky Bluegrass, and they did an amazing Pink Floyd cover from Dark Side of the Moon, though I'm lacking on specifics right now. Then, we sat in the Sherwood forest, in awe of the beauty of the giant pine trees and all the decorations and hammocks. It was truly a magical place, and incredible to be surrounded by such majestic nature. The trees reached up, up, upwards grazing the star-sparkled black velvet sky. We heard Perpetual Groove through the trees and they sounded nice and groovy. Then Steveo and I wandered over to hear Zappa Plays Zappa - and my goodness! How bizarre! How incredible! I loved it! Tiny pillows and tiny sheets! It was funky, groovy, crazy, and cool. Everyone was really into the act, performers and concert-goers alike. The keyboardist woman did this crazy Cartman-inspired act and I had no idea what was going on, but it was good. After about 45 minutes of that we trekked back to the Sherwood Court to Mickey Hart and his people. They did an awesome cover of "Fire on the Mountain" the energy of the performers, and the light spectacle of a rising red and flashing white lights. Mickey was set-up in the middle, surrounded by drums, dancing through them with skill and gusto. It was incredible!
Oh boy! The temperature dropped. I shivered and rushed back to my tent to grab more layers (I had to be creative, because I didn't pack many warm things). On the way back to the festival grounds with Steveo and J-Dub we saw a wicked fight. A beating might be a better term. It was brutal. We're walking, just minding our own business. As we approach the port-a-potties area we can hear the
ksccchhhhhhsssssshhhhhhhhhhschhhhhhhhh! of the nitrus tanks growing louder and louder, more people stumbling around with balloons in their hands. The boys explain that nitrus is "hippie crack." Then we see it. A swirling mass of people whipping through the passersby. I'm confused. What are these people doing? Are they dancing? Is this some crazy festival version of the Sharks versus the Jets? I don't get it. Oh no, wait. It's a group of 5 guys beating the shit out of one dude. Fists are pummeling into the middle of the group, legs and arms are everywhere. Shouting and chaos. I jump out of the way, helpless with my hands to my face I weakly say, "Oh no! Stop! What are you doing?!" What am I going to do? I can't jump in the middle of that. We need some horseback security which is nowhere to be seen. I got separated from the boys as the trainwreck ensued. Eventually they got the dude up against the car and were kicking him, repeatedly. It was the worst thing I've ever witnessed. I was appalled. I was speechless. I was shocked at the violence of humanity. Then they stopped as quickly as they started. Satisfied with their delivered punishment, the sauntered away, high-fiving each other for a beating well done and cursing about how that's what the fuck gets for trying to steal their shit. Fuckin' nitrus, dirty bastards - thugs. The guy sat slump-shouldered against the car, battered and bruised,
looking in a daze as he couldn't imagine what he just experienced... and everyone continued on their way. I sure hope he's okay...
I found my friends and we tried to comprehend what we just saw, trying to put our emotions into words as we passed through Shakedown Street and back into the festival grounds. We saw EOTO and they were - wow. Always a good show. Always something new and fresh. Who knew old dudes could rock so hard? Wow! And they played at the Tripolee Domes which looked like something out of a space settlement - these steel Epcot-like open-air domes and crazy canopies draped here and there
(a li'l like this). The crowd was loving the show. I was loving life. An excellent first day, and a good indication of the amazing things to come.
I like smoking lightning!
Heavy metal thunder!
Racing with the wiiiiind,
And this feeling that I'm under!
Fun day, Friday! FREEDOM!! Show us your freedoms!! Freedom for all! America, FUCK YEAH! Coming to save the motherfucking day, yeah! America, FUCK YEAH! Freedom is the only way, yeah! Hmmm MMM hmmm hmmm! America, FUCK YEAH! Lick my butt and suck on my balls!
Liberty, FUCK YEAH!
White Slips, FUCK YEAH!
The Alamo, FUCK YEAH!
Band-aids, FUCK YEAH!
Las Vegas, FUCK YEAH!
Christmas, FUCK YEAH!
Immigrants, FUCK YEAH!
Columbine, FUCK YEAH!
Democrats, FUCK YEAH!
Republicans (republicans)
(fuck yeah, fuck yeah)
Sportsmanship.....
Books.....
Tea Leaf Green was
boooooooooooooooring. The keyboardist got underneath his instrument, maybe trying to figure out what it was exactly... trying to tune it, who knows. The guitarists were amazed with each other's playing ability, and they all seemed confused that they were on stage, perhaps wondering why all these people were just standing around watching them. I wondered that too, and so I left.
The Wailers. Oh my goodness. That was probably one of my favorite shows. They played at the Odeum, the main stage. The large, brilliant red curtains billowed in the breeze. Elan Atais acted as some sort of mystical wind shaman dancing around the stage, beckoning the air to sweep across the crowd. Stir It Up, Jammin' and One Love, of course are always favorites, as is No Woman, No Cry. They played everything you wanted to hear. And I did cry during One Love. It was a really powerful performance. Everyone in the audience sang "one love, one heart" over and over until everyone joined in. It was one of those festival moments where you realize people are people, everywhere you go. (I wanted everyone to hold hands and share a big hug, something really peaceful and loving - it was a totally hippie 60s moment for me... but only in my head did that happen. I asked my friends to, but they looked at me like I was crazy because it was so effin' hot.) For in that moment, the crowd of thousands became the heart of one. It was something that I'll remember always.
Then, I had to get more water. SJ and I trekked back to the magical water spot (the water in the camp ground tasted like rust - blach!) crossed paths with Betty LaVette who was rocking some old style deep south jammin' blues, and then Sam Beam of Iron and Wine was a stroll through a park at dusk, beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
Oh, and the ridiculousness ensued with Mr. Snoop Dogg. He rolled out on some crazy bike about 4:35 sayin' "It's 4:20 - time to smoke!" (it stayed 4:20 until about 4:52 - which was slightly confusing because I was not aware that Snoop a Loop could control time), but before that there was plenty of time to let every woman show her freedoms on the jumbo-tron. Some that should not have. I shook my head many a times. The show was bizarre. I can't really say I hated it, but I won't say that I loved it either. It was an experience that I otherwise wouldn't have had. An experience that I won't soon forget. That man has some ego I tell ya, he closed the show with about 5ish minutes of, "What's my motherfuckin' name?" SNOOP DOGG. But it was fun because he sang it all different ways; slow, fast, jazzy, rappy, and on. Listened to some Keller Williams, love that Freaker by the Speaker. Then there was Modest Mouse, who simply rocks all the time, and then subtly transforms into the prettiest, most melodic music, with the darkest lyrics - I love them, forever and for always. Yonder Mountain String Band was a fun show, too. My legs were a little wobbly, so I just watched the crazies jump around me, and that was completely entertaining.
Sumner! Time? 8:40.
Warm clothes. FREEDOM!
Of Montreal!! Another best show! Kevin Barnes, so theatrical. As always, they delivered a rockin' show. Two previews of new songs for an album that is TBR in October - really great, one was something about Tender Meat or Love, something. And they played Gronlandic Edit, and Hissing Fauna, and they closed out with Party's Crashing Us. Oh wow! I boogied/flailed about in the crowd as the neon lights splashed across my face. They even had other performers, little kids in masks that were super creepy and a dude that put grease all over his face and rocked unlike anything I've ever seen before. Then I caught the last part of Widespread Panic, it was eh (I hear the first set rocked out, but the second one was more filler). Not really my type of music, but it wasn't bad.
I had to buy a sweatshirt because I sweat through my hoodie at Of Montreal and I couldn't stop shaking. $55 and they didn't even have my size, so I draped the large around my shivering, sunned skin, and pulled the head chords tight. A cool design, but I wish for that money I would've at least got a line-up on the back. Desperate times call for expensive merchandise.
I went back to catch Primus (wish I would've stopped to see Thievery Corporation, but alas, I did not) but I was waiting so long, and it was so cold that I left for the campground. I stopped off at Flosstradamus for a while and that was rocking - of course. And it was really funny because there was this clean-cut man in a collared sweatshirt, grayed, in his early-50s I'd say, dancing and grooving to the music... on drugs? His short wife stood with her short, poofy brown hair and big glasses, watching on... maybe they made a deal that he would get to relive his youth and trip acid on Friday and then it would be her turn on Saturday, that way things wouldn't get too out of hand. I watched and giggled as the ravers next to me danced around their flickin' flashlight trying not to get their feet burned by its rays.
My bones were aching so I trudged through Shakedown Street ("
Doces. Doces. Mollie. Balloons. Pipes. Headies. Doces. Doces."), hoping not to witness another tank-related attack. I did not, thank goodness. But balloons were abound! Back to my tent. BRRRRRRRRR! It's cold! Another night of serious spooning so we don't freeze to death!
Yeah I'm gonna go make it happen,
Take the world in a love embrace,
Find all of the guns at once - and
Explode into space!
FREEDOM!
Saturday, and still one day to go!!! I caught
Gomez, and they were good... I liked them a lot. British rockers with a rotating sound of delicious melodies and harmonies... a li'l bit of this and a li'l bit of that. I wasn't a huge fan of the Dresden Dolls, at all, and walked on to catch The Black Keys. I entertained myself some how in the time between, probably sitting in the forest. Oh, that Sherwood. The Black Keys rocked, so I thought. But then some people in our party were saying they were tuning the guitar between every song. Merh. Whatever, I shook it and dug it and had a groovin' good time. Michael Franti and Spearhead rocked out in peace, and it was a happy concert, all about love and going places, following dreams in the back of a Greyhound bus. Living life.
Dave Matthews blew as I expected. Well, yeah. No. I don't like him. I did enjoy Satellite, but the show just seemed so rehearsed and forced, so set to a tee. The saxophonists sounded like farts and the violin man had to woo the crowd back into happiness as Dave opened his mouth wide and ate the mic. I like jamming, I like improv. I like spontaneity!! C'mon, DMB stop being soooooo lame!
When I was walking through the forest earlier that day a dude walking behind me coughed a-once, a-twice to get attention - you don't turn around to these calls unless you're looking for trouble. Then he walked up to me and said he was in a band and asked if I wanted something other than Dave that night, and I excitedly said, "Yeah!" Then he gave me his bands flyer and said they'd be playing in the campground. "Well, are you any good?" He laughed and said he thought so. "What do you play?" Guitar. "Cool, alright. What type of music, I mean." A jam reggae hyrib with a rock infusion. "And what're called?" The Roots of Creation. "Alright man. In the campground?" Yeah. And then he said the directions really quickly and after we said our farewells I realized I didn't understand where the show was and the flyer was only for upcoming tour dates. Drat! But then! As Smash and I walked back to the tents to get warm clothes we heard the music. The Roots of Creation were jamming by the first major intersection behind the Port-a-Johns in the Rodeo Lot. Incredible! They sounded awesome, and they had a mini set complete with neon lights and good speakers. Very professional, very impressive. Dancy grooves. And they played an amazing cover of Talking Heads' "Naive Melody." It was a great surprise to find them, and a relief to have some entertainment while DMB and their uptightness stank up the mainstage. Rock on, rockers!
STS9 rocked, incredibly! It was a freak show for sure, and the grooves drifted through the crowd and people went wild!! Crowded and electric. Smash and I were shakin' it, standing over our bags and a hairy, sunned, ripe, hippied-out mid-20s man danced in front of us in a loin cloth-esque outfit with a sunflower headpiece. He was so happy. Next to him stood 4 of his polar opposites. Dudes with their strap-on coolers of beer, ball caps, khakis and sandals... the same age, suits on the weekdays. I wondered what Sunflower did and where the split occured for these young men to go the path of bohemian or corporate man.
I. LOVE. FESTIVALS.
I. LOVE. MUSIC.
I. LOVE. PEOPLE.
About an hour and a half into STS9's set Smash and I were pooped and we went to sit against a tree in Sherwood, watching the lights dance through the trees, listening to the echoing laughter of those surrounding us and the bouncing, distant electronic sounds flowing from the stage whence we came. Then we dragged our tired bodies back to the tent.
Like a true nature's child,
We were born
Born to be wild.
And we can climb so hiiiiiiiigh,
I never wanna diiiiiiiiiiiiie.
Sumner! It's 1pm. The last day.
Oh my gosh! I'm spent. I can barely move. My ass hurts from walking and dancing in flip-flops or no shoes at all. My feet are filthy, I smell. I haven't showered at all and only wet my hair once on Friday to cool myself down. I missed more than I saw on Sunday - which I can only be disappointed in myself for. I did catch a little of that JJ Grey & MOFRO, in passing-by. Listened to Trey battle it out with Colbie Calliat in the trees between, shouting about freedoms on our blanket. Checked out funky Gov't Mule and dug it. Then trekked to see John Mayer. It was alright, he shouldn't be singing, just jammin' on his geetar. He's a funny guy talking about how if he were elected to the Oval Office he would spend billions of dollars on a black-and-white swirling "time machine" and that's why he said he was a guitar player instead. It was groovy. I got sucked into the lazy atmosphere of the relaxing tunes and hanging out with friends and completely forgot all about
Atmosphere (everyone said it was great though, which makes me happy to hear) until it was over which put me in a sour mood for Phil Lesh & Friends until about 30 minutes into and then I had to Shake it, Shake it Sugarie to free myself from the past that I couldn't change. It took everything I could muster just to put in that last hippie shake on Phil & Friends.
The last night was the warmest, and it was great for the evening concerts. There were a couple drops of rain before bed, and during the middle of the night the winds whipped and the rains poured and the lightning and thunder tore through the barriers of light and sound. Thank goodness we only needed to pack up on Monday. Our tent dripped drops on our noses. That didn't make us happy, but the rain drowned out the sounds of the nitrus tanks, so that was nice.
Born to be wiiiiild
(Bwah wah wah waaaah wah wah!)
Born to be wiiiiiild
(Szah wah wah waaaah waah wah!)
All in all, it was incredible. This post doesn't do it justice. The laughs, the tears, the friends, the beers. The horses, the shit, the port-a-potties, the hippies.
The monkeys, the art, the sound quality(!) was candy, the freedom, the adventure, the exploration. It was all so good. I feel completely content that I was able to experience the very first Rothbury, and I am totally down for it next year.
This next time though, I'm bringing more stuff. More bananas. More energy drinks. An arsenal of water bottles. A better bag -- fanny pack! Sunglasses that don't slide. A tent marker that I can uproot and take inside with me so friends can gather (other people had rain sticks, medicine man-esque walking sticks, mannequin heads on posts). Also, more freak gear (there was the Dance Police and one dude dressed in a bishop's outfit smeared with "blood" and a "666" on his hat). Festival!! I loved being dirty, but it was so nice to get clean. Now we're back in society and we must function with the rest of the droids. Until next time.
Keep on keeping on.
Peace,
Penny
[11.25.08] "Captain's chair" tattoo, note.
