Well, here it is folks...part 1 of the breakdown of our experiences at Bonnaroo 2008. As you may have guessed from the few posts we've already put up, we had a terrific time, and have many tales to tell. I figure it's best to break it down on a per-day basis, so we'll start at the beginning:
We left Murfreesboro (thanks go out again to Joker's wife's aunt for putting us up) before 9:00am, stopping at Kroger to ice down the coolers and grab a few final supplies. While there, we saw an RV full of 'Rooers gearing up, and were given a "Bonnaroo!" salute by the bagboy in the parking lot. We headed down US-41 to Manchester, and as soon as we turned off onto Tennessee Route 55, it was time to apply the brake: it was 9:22am, and the line to get in had begun.
The traffic in wasn't terrible; it took us two hours to get to the "tollbooth" checkpoint, and another half-hour or so to get to our campsite, but there was ample people-watching to be had on the road in. Hippies, rednecks, college kids, burnouts...everyone was accounted for. Want to watch people dash off into the roadside woods to pee? You got it. Want to see two Connecticut douches run out of gas and have to push their Lexus the rest of the way into Bonnaroo? Consider it done. And of course, there were plenty of people trying to make a buck, like the folks selling "light up" and glow supplies for the crazy rave kids:
Once inside, we lucked out by being directed to "Camp Darth Vader," one of the closest possible campsites to Centeroo (the main festival grounds). We were but a five-minute walk from the main event, while some poor schmoes would be stuck with more than a forty-five-minute trek. Things were looking up already. They only got better when the guys in the car parked next to us told us they weren't camping by us, but moving to the "tent only" area, giving us more breathing room. The people behind us camped elsewhere, too, so we really got to stretch out, with plenty of room for our sleeper tent and our EZ-Up canopy.
The neighbors at camp were pleasant, though it would turn out that we nearly all kept different hours, making sleep a near-impossibility. On one side of us was the middle-aged guy who came by himself (he would be entertaining throughout the weekend; more on him in later installments). On the other side was the pair of wake'n'bake kids whose entire lives seemed to revolve around pot. Lucky for them, the neighbors behind them were major pot people as well, a late-thirties/early-forties stoner couple who made their own blown-glass one-hitters and toured festival after festival. We were also in proximity to a group of girls from New Jersey, whose ringleader was a Hoban-esque woman in her late twenties; while the stoners were early risers, the Jersey girls were late-night folk (even later than we were).
We left Murfreesboro (thanks go out again to Joker's wife's aunt for putting us up) before 9:00am, stopping at Kroger to ice down the coolers and grab a few final supplies. While there, we saw an RV full of 'Rooers gearing up, and were given a "Bonnaroo!" salute by the bagboy in the parking lot. We headed down US-41 to Manchester, and as soon as we turned off onto Tennessee Route 55, it was time to apply the brake: it was 9:22am, and the line to get in had begun.
The traffic in wasn't terrible; it took us two hours to get to the "tollbooth" checkpoint, and another half-hour or so to get to our campsite, but there was ample people-watching to be had on the road in. Hippies, rednecks, college kids, burnouts...everyone was accounted for. Want to watch people dash off into the roadside woods to pee? You got it. Want to see two Connecticut douches run out of gas and have to push their Lexus the rest of the way into Bonnaroo? Consider it done. And of course, there were plenty of people trying to make a buck, like the folks selling "light up" and glow supplies for the crazy rave kids:
Once inside, we lucked out by being directed to "Camp Darth Vader," one of the closest possible campsites to Centeroo (the main festival grounds). We were but a five-minute walk from the main event, while some poor schmoes would be stuck with more than a forty-five-minute trek. Things were looking up already. They only got better when the guys in the car parked next to us told us they weren't camping by us, but moving to the "tent only" area, giving us more breathing room. The people behind us camped elsewhere, too, so we really got to stretch out, with plenty of room for our sleeper tent and our EZ-Up canopy.
The neighbors at camp were pleasant, though it would turn out that we nearly all kept different hours, making sleep a near-impossibility. On one side of us was the middle-aged guy who came by himself (he would be entertaining throughout the weekend; more on him in later installments). On the other side was the pair of wake'n'bake kids whose entire lives seemed to revolve around pot. Lucky for them, the neighbors behind them were major pot people as well, a late-thirties/early-forties stoner couple who made their own blown-glass one-hitters and toured festival after festival. We were also in proximity to a group of girls from New Jersey, whose ringleader was a Hoban-esque woman in her late twenties; while the stoners were early risers, the Jersey girls were late-night folk (even later than we were).
The drug culture hit us early and often; within ten minutes of having our campsite set up, we were approached by a lovely young woman selling "beautiful, clean ecstasy." Not ten minutes after that, glass-blower guy's brother-in-law came around peddling the pipes (not our scene, but they were nicely crafted). We may have been the only two people on site not to get high all weekend, but hey, if we had, would I be able to give you this much detail?
Once set up, we headed into Centeroo to see what was what. We loaded up on merchandise (t-shirts and posters), returned it all to the car, and headed back for entertainment. After procuring tickets to the first comedy show of the night (Janeane Garofalo, Mike Birbiglia, and Leo Allen), we loaded up on crab bites and settled in for the festival's first band: What Made Milwaukee Famous, performing at "This Tent."
Now, a word about the tent concerts. I had gone in picturing a large club tent, like the Budweiser Supertent at the Kentucky State Fair. But the music tents were actually large pavilions, practically airplane hangars with three open sides. Each could hold several thousand standing-room patrons under cover, and there was ample lawn space for spillover. At each of the most popular tent shows, I'd estimate there were over 10,000 people in attendance.
Now, a word about the tent concerts. I had gone in picturing a large club tent, like the Budweiser Supertent at the Kentucky State Fair. But the music tents were actually large pavilions, practically airplane hangars with three open sides. Each could hold several thousand standing-room patrons under cover, and there was ample lawn space for spillover. At each of the most popular tent shows, I'd estimate there were over 10,000 people in attendance.
The band turned in a solid performance, at least until we had to leave early to line up for the comedy show next door. It turned out to be our only excursion into the comedy tent: while the air conditioning and the soft, seat-backed bleachers were a welcome relief, the music from This Tent invaded through the comedy show's thin walls, causing a major distraction for both the patrons and the performers. Allen and Birbiglia were gamers, but Garofalo really had a hard time getting into a groove, and turned in one of the most bizarre, unpleasant performances I've ever seen in comedy. Her humor is all about self-deprecation, but she shifted uncomfortably into self-pity, and eventually found herself begging to be let offstage early. If that's her intended act, it's a weird choice. Otherwise, it seems like maybe we got to see a nervous breakdown in person.
After seeing that show, we wandered past This Tent, where MGMT were playing; we stopped in for a couple of songs, then moved on. At the Troo Music Lounge (a tent more like the state-fair jobs I'd envisioned), we encountered Michigan group Nomo, a jazz/funk/all-around-weirdness ensemble who were really rocking it out. We sampled beers at the Brooers Festival, a collection of microbreweries showing off their wares; Asheville Brewing Company's Ninja Porter became a quick favorite. Eventually, we stopped in at the Karaoke Bay for some live band karaoke. And before you ask, yes, we participated, and as far as we can tell, we rocked it out. We had to sit through some major ups and downs waiting our turn (one guy butchered Pearl Jam's "Alive," another sped through Tom Petty's "Mary Jane's Last Dance" too fast for the band, but one woman put on a solid rendition of Tracy Bonham's "Mother, Mother," and another guy tore it up on "Highway to Hell"), but eventually we gave the people a rendition of Stone Temple Pilots' "Vaseline." Difficult to say whether we nailed it melodically (we had no monitors and couldn't hear ourselves), but we were at least on-tempo and hit the cues. At any rate, we can now claim we "played Bonnaroo" the same year as Pearl Jam.
We paid a brief visit to the Discotheque Arcade to hear the stylings of DJ Quickie Mart (he managed to blend the Zombies' "Time of the Season" with Rob Base's "It Takes Two," so he's aces in my book), had a late-night snack, and hit our last band of the night: Lez Zeppelin, in That Tent.
When I first heard of the all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band on the lineup, I thought it was a novelty; I figured we'd stop in to see what's what and move on. But these ladies rocked. Their sound was faithful to the original material, but singer Sara McClellan has a much different tone to her voice than Robert Plant; she sounds more like Heart's Ann Wilson in her prime. They gave a great overview of the Zep catalogue, including versions of my favorite short Zeppelin song ("The Ocean") and my favorite long one ("In My Time of Dying"). "Since I've Been Loving You" was a definite highlight. Lez Zeppelin would turn out to be our first major rush of the weekend, and were a good way to cap off night one.
Ahead: The two main stages open up on Friday; Joker gets me to enjoy the Raconteurs; we witness what may be the largest stand-up comedy show of all time; Metallica melts everybody's faces off; and My Morning Jacket makes a rainy late night at the campground all the more surreal.
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