All about the music?

I suppose I should apologize. Before Bonnaroo, I didn't know who Phil Lesh was or Oysterhead. I hadn't heard of Elvis Costello, Les Claypool, Mike Gordon, Stephen Malkmus, Wood Brothers, Toubab Krewe, or moe.

I squatted during the Elvis Costello show for Beck and Radiohead...and then even left before the Beck or Radiohead concerts started and never saw them play.

I'm one of those guys who slept near the concerts, passed out from drinking too much alcohol in the midday sun.

But please understand, I wasn't going to a concert - I was going to a festival! We were three middle-class white boys just graduated from high school in a college town in Michigan dominated by frat houses and pot heads. We had no idea what we were in for, we all had different goals, and we wanted a bombshell of a vacation just after commencement. I had only been to two concerts in my life - N'Sync and Backstreet Boys ... because my sister had extra tickets.

But I went for the people. I wanted to be in the company of 80,000 people all looking to have a good time. I wanted to find love, freedom, philosophy, conversation, free will, free soil. I wanted to give it all as well.

I left my watch and cellphone at home...decided I didn't need/want to live by schedule, or be connected to outside society.

We (Rory, John, and I - names changed) had a 12-hour drive from Michigan, but we took 48 hours to get there. We left Tuesday at 2:30PM and camped at a KOA campground in Kentucky. We met no one there. Then we camped at a small, very friendly campground 20 miles away from Bonnaroo Wednesday night. We met some other Bonnaroo-goers there. They were nice. I liked them a lot. I never saw them again.

I was worried about where I'd end up in the craziness of arrival. Would I end up next to Shakedown street? 5-minute walk to centeroo? BFE? (what the h.ell does that stand for?). Would my neighbors be fratboys? hippies? e-tards? just general american potheads? So I brought two tents - one for my car camp, and one for tent only.

Arrival day was so disorienting. We landed in Pod 6, about 5 minutes walk to centeroo. We didn't know this at the time though, we had no idea where the h.ell we were, other than in a sea of confusion. I met my neighbors, and kept asking "Where are you from? Where you from? What city did you come from?". My two friends and I didn't know who to trust, what should be going on, what the h.ell to do. But eventually we decided to try to make a neighborhood in the great confusion of bonnaroo. We set up our table that was built into our Honda CR-V, had some nice-vibing neighbors put their tarp over it, and offered them free use of our 8 folding chairs for the generous donation of their tent. A guy who looked like a frat boy trying to be a hippie, who was on his own introduced himself. He let us know his little secret - he had tons of water, but no beer. We offered him as much beer as he wanted, he told us he had a cooler of water in his tent (turned out he had 144 bottles) and that we could go in and grab it whenever we wanted.

The group with the tarp hailed from a very small town in Pennsylvania. Eventually they would become my main family at bonnaroo - brothers, sisters, parents, and eventually lover. We found out they had parents with them, which sketched me out a great deal. We had brought an entirely huge amount of herb, "water-pipes", and planned to be smoking continuously.

By this time my friends were setting down to burn some, and I went off to set up my other tent in tent-only. I took only my camelback, nalgene, and tent. It took me about 45 minutes to complete the 5 minute walk to centeroo because I didn't know the layout of bonnaroo. IT LOOKED LIKE THE m*th*rf**k**g QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP! I COULDN'T BELIEVE I WAS A PART OF THIS!

I saw so many people doing the same things...setting up, trying to figure out whats going on. I asked at least 40 people "Where's centeroo?" and they had no idea. None of the staff/mounties knew where tent-only was. Finally I stumbled across tent only, but couldn't figure out where I wanted to park my tent, so I took my tent with me into centeroo. I happened to find my way to "The Motet" where I was absolutely floored by their completely original sound. I "danced" on some of the trash cans to the house-left of the stage. (I can't dance). And I got a free CD at the end of their concert! But I still wasn't a happy bonnaroovian yet...walking alone through centeroo thursday afternoon I learned just how alone one can feel surrounded by thousands of people who don't care about you.

Desperate to connect to someone, I started playing frisbee with some kids manning ice cream vending in centeroo. They were nice. I liked them a lot. I never saw them again.

Then I went back to tent only for the second time and intuitively found a "nice spot" that for some reason appealed to my subconcious. Then tragedy struck me - I had no tent stakes. In the end this proved to be a wonderful turn of events, because now I had to run around tent-only asking if anyone had extra stakes.

One group of about six people told me they had taken a bus from Maine, and all of their luggage had been stolen off the bus. They had no tents, no coolers, no changes of clothes, no food, no water. Through donations, they had managed to cobble together a crude lean-to with a single tarp to cover them. I sat with them for awhile, and got to know them all. They smoked my cigarettes, they told me their stories. They became my friends, and I theirs. They would become my family in Tent-Only for the rest of bonnaroo.

Eventually someone came to me and said "Hey, I heard someone needed stakes, we had a bunch of extra". I thanked him profusely, and never saw him again, despite great efforts to locate him to return the favor over the following days. He was nice. I liked him a lot. I never saw him again.

I pitched tent, and said my first goodbyes of bonnaroo to the group from Maine, who I wouldn't see until the following day.

Back in Pod 6, I made friends with the group from Pennsylvania. Eventually I slept. In the morning I didn't know what to do for breakfast - I was too lazy to make my own, and I supposed I could have bought it from vendors...but I wanted to meet festival-goers, not vendors. So I walked through and around campgrounds until I smelled some wonderful home cooking, and offered a small group of happy folk my money and my stories for an omelet and bacon. They were nice. I liked them a lot. I never saw them again.

I wandered through centeroo, listened to music, slept in the fields, felt love and warmth. I don't know who I listened to or when, but it was the most lovely music I have ever heard.

I returned to the tent-only camp, and sat down with my friends from Maine. Their number had grown from six to at least ten, wandering homeless bonnaroovians found home under their tarp and blankets. This time I had more to offer them than cigarettes, and we smoked together, bowl after bowl. One man who I knew simply as "Jim" because he was never without a handle of Jim Bean in his hand, was playing Johnny Cash over his ghetto-blaster, and kept inviting me to join in. We all laughed greatly over the song Sue, even through we all had heard it before countless times. It's always funny.

That night I was in centeroo, completely sober. I tried to meet up with my hometown friends that night using a borrowed cellphone lent to me by a generic Roo-head. (She was nice. I liked her. I never saw her again). Cell phone reception was nutsty, and I heard my friend say "We're in Room Number 6" and I'm like "Room Number Six? Where the fu.ck is that?" and he goes "I dont know, we'll be here though". So I went around asking people "Where's Room #6?".... "Where's Room #6?". After about five minutes of this, I learned that it was a completely useless enterprise. Everyone thought I was completely and utterly fucked up and had no idea what was going on. Except I did - I was sober. Some people tried to fuck with me, others took pity on me, others pulled out maps like tourists and helped me look for Room #6. But they all thought I was FUBARed. So eventually I'm like "ok, I'll go to the information booth, cuz their *JOB* is to help people, and they'll be able to find Room #6. There were three volunteers at my section of the info-booth. Two fine girls were in the back holding what looked like two six-foot bamboo shoots, and one guy at the table. I go up to them and say "Hey, I just got off the phone with my friend, and he said they're in Room #6, but I've looked all around centeroo and can't find a Room #6. Can you help me out?" and he takes one look at me and says, verrry sloowlyy: "Are you sure you're not just too fucked up to understand what's going on?" and I'm like "No, they told me Room #6" and he continues in that slow, patronizing voice: "Do you see any rooms here? Do you think we have rooms here? Look around. There's only tents here. Are you staying in a hotel?" and I try to explain I'm completely sober, but eventually the guy turns around to the two girls and goes "This guy's completely fucked up, we need to mark him." I wanted to explode "WHAT THE F.UCK!??!? IM SOBER!!" but I hesitated for a split second thinking "Huh? Mark me?". I then learned what that meant. The two girls quickly raised up their two bamboo shoots, which turned out to be six-foot long blowguns loaded with paintballs. They tried to shoot me with paintballs multiple times, but I was only wearing cargo shorts and flipflops (no shirt), and my chest was so sweaty from the hot sun that the paintballs that I couldn't dodge just glided along my sweat and didn't break. So I never got marked. It became one of my main stories to tell at Bonnaroo, and needed no exaggeration or embellishment.

Friday was mostly a blur. I tried to see Ben Folds, Bright Eyes, DCFC, and Oysterhead (Oysterhead on reccomendations of Inforoo - I had no idea who they were). I drank too much warm vendor alcohol in centeroo in the midday heat and suffered a nasty heatstroke. I passed out in the back of a drum-vendor tent. I just remember thinking "I hope I don't piss off the drum vendor...I feel really bad for crashing in his tent...he seems like a nice guy...I'll try to stay out of people's way and get to the back of the tent".

When I awoke, Ben Folds had finished playing, my skin had no sweat on it at all, I was dizzy and weak as all h.ell. I stole some water from some other vendor behind the drum vedor, and then slumped into a chair. I noticed while I was passed out another kid had done the same thing as I, but crashed in a much more obnoxious place than I had, right in the middle of the f.ucking drum tent where people were browsing the merchandise. I thanked the drum vendor and his co-workers profusely for letting me sleep in his "store". He was so nice for not kicking me out. Once I felt a little better I got up from the chair and stole some more water for the other passed-out kid, and he tried to refuse it. Eventually the drum vendor and I forced him to drink a full bottle of water before we allowed him to leave the tent. Everyone there was nice. I liked them a lot. I never saw them again.

I passed out again outside which stage, and heard Bright Eyes and DCFC while drifting in and out of sleep. Then I went back to Pod 6 feeling absolutely miserable. I sat around with my family from Pennsylvania and listened to their stories of Friday. Eventually I heard about some magic brownies, and wanted to get some, but didn't have the heart to walk around and try. I offered a bowl to a nice guy I half-remembered seeing on arrival about 40 feet from our camp. He was a true Peter Fonda type guy from Easy Rider. I told him my stories and he scolded me for going overboard that day. I felt awkward for seeming like a run-of-the-mill "lets get fucked up" kid. He offered me some hits of lavender to sleep better. I was glad to have my own sort of shaman to consult at bonnaroo. I had no idea lavender was something people smoked, but it was incredibly smooth and relaxing, in a non-"fucked up" sort of way. I thanked him for it and went to bed. He was nice. I liked him a lot. I only saw him once again.

Saturday morning I met the parents of the group from the small town in Pennsylvania, because their kids/nieces/nephews/kid's friends were eating chocolate-chip pancakes, and I offered the dad some money for pancakes. Eventually he fed the whole neighborhood breakfast that morning. We loved him for it, and he loved us for our generous compliments on his wonderful pancakes. We learned he had immigrated from a country north of here, used to be quite the acid-head/hippy, and was more than willing to smoke with us.

I then packed a large bowl, and wandered through the campsites pretending I didn't have a lighter. I just wanted to smoke someone down and trade stories. About three groups told me they didn't have any lighters (WHAT!?) but eventually one group of several fine young college girls from Pittsburgh offered me one, so I offered them the rest of the bowl. They gave me margaritas and other mixed drinks, and were among the most friendly people I met at 'Roo. They said "Hey, how about you come with us to the Elvis Costello concert?" and I agreed.

We brought blankets for the Elvis Concert - and he played beautifully. I hadn't heard of him before, but loved his sound at Bonnaroo, and loved his vibe. They were huge Elvis fans. This was all part of their scheme to see Beck and Radiohead...but they also wanted to see Damian Marley - so half of them left for Damian Marley, and I left to wander around, and told them I'd be back for Beck.

I went back to Pod 6 and got to know more about the people there, and caught the attention of one girl who struck me as especially kind, who was into electronic music like me. She told me I *HAD* to go to Sasha...I didn't know who Sasha was and thought it was a female DJ, but I agreed that we should go together. I told her that needed to sleep after Radiohead though, so she would need to get me up before Sasha.

I tried to return to the college girls from Pittsburgh who were still at their same spot for Radiohead as they were for Elvis Costello. I nearly had a panic attack trying to get that close to the stage in that crazy mob of a crowd, and finally broke it off. Getting out took just as long as getting in. It was less than Standing Room Only. It was horrible. I was scared. The vibe was terrifying.

I went back to Pod 6 and slept in my tent. I awoke to find the girl from a small town in Pennsylvania straddling me with a balloon that she held to my lips. "Sasha Concert!" she cried out, and then left my tent. I stumbled out after her and saw Dave (name changed) sitting at my Honda CR-V table with another balloon, which he handed me. I thanked him. I asked what time it was, and they said they woke me up a little early, they wanted to go down to Shakedown street to get supplies for the Sasha concert and wanted me to come with them.

Shakedown was hopping! It brought such a smile to my face to see something this ALIVE! It was like a living, breathing, organism. It held so much intrigue, danger, and excitement. We found a nice guy who had a regular spot on the street, so we thought if he could afford to sit in the same spot day after day, he had to be selling some good nuts or his customers would have come knocking already. So we got our pink, disgusting-tasting samples of empathy wrapped in little tin foil squares. It would only be the third time over the last two years I'd obtain this wonder. He was nice. I liked him a lot. I never saw him again.

We went down to the Sasha concert about 45 minutes before it started. Dave and I decided we would empty the contents of the tin foil at the same time, and 15 minutes before Sasha was scheduled, we did.

The two hours of Sasha flew by in what felt like ten minutes. An awesome kid came over to us and gave us a wonderful 30 minute long lightshow. We invited him to chill with us for the rest of the set and he accepted. The songs never started, never ended - the music was infinity. The set unified the crowd into one, single, massive creature that only had one emotion available for its access: BONNAROOOOOO! As the sun began to rise, the crowd only danced harder the brighter it got. 5:30 came and went. Sasha stayed on the stage past his scheduled time, but finally had to leave the stage. About 10% of the crowd started wandering off, but the rest of us were left standing there feeling cheated. WE WANTED MORE! So we did the only thing we knew how. We yelled, screamed, vented all of our emotion out through our windpipes with total abandon.

We were rewarded for our rabid explosions of sound. Sasha came back out and played an incredible encore. I have never, ever, seen a crowd that unified in my life. With the sun burning off the dew on the ground, we danced.

It ended, and Dave went back to pod 6, but the girl from a small town in Pennsylvania and I didn't want to leave eachother's company. So we wandered off into the grass and sat beneath a tree, in an endless embrace, then finally made our way back to my tent-only site, and slept there. We were blessed by the early sunday drizzle that allowed us to sleep in until noon without being terribly hot. I bought her and I brunch that morning, but she felt sick from the days of her non-stop partying, so we went back to Pod 6 where she passed out again.

I went into centeroo and wandered among the music on the beautiful morning. I happened to come across Matisyahu beginning his set, and was transfixed by his incredible vibe. I was dissappointed when I got home and downloaded his albums, because the immature "me-against-the-world" studio versions just couldn't compare to his simultaneously down-to-eath and religious live performance. But it was an incredible experience, and wonderful way to begin my day.

Then I went back to Pod 6 where my friends from my own college town, frat boy, and pot-head city in Michigan informed me we were going to leave ASAP. I panicked because I had to say goodbye to So MANY FRIENDS! I said goodbye to the group from Maine, I said goodbye to the Shaman, I said goodbye to the college girls from Pennsylvania. I gave one last ditch attempt to find the guy who gave me his tent stakes...but couldn't find him.

I hugged my family from the small town in Pennsylvania in a very heartfelt goodbye. Leaving was hard. Leaving the girl I had slept with the night before was even harder. We exchanged contact info to stay in touch - as friends.

We left bonnaroo at 6:30 PM. We had a 12-hour ride ahead of us...and I had work the next morning at 8:30 AM. We booked it back home in one giant haul, all through the night. I showered in the morning, and went to work.
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So, I suppose I should apologize. Before Bonnaroo, I didn't know who Phil Lesh was or Oysterhead. I hadn't heard of Elvis Costello, Les Claypool, Mike Gordon, Stephen Malkmus, Wood Brothers, Toubab Krewe, or moe.

I squatted during the Elvis Costello show for Beck and Radiohead...and then even left before the Beck or Radiohead concerts started and never saw them play.

I'm one of those guys who slept near the concerts, passed out from drinking too much alcohol in the midday sun.

But maybe my story will help you understand who -some- of those people were.