It’s been said that with a full night’s sleep one can accomplish just about anything the next day. No one said that those accomplishments had to be good deeds, though.
As previously mentioned, this year’s Bonnaroo seemed to be the year where everything went wrong. Now, that is not to slander the “near-perfect” logistics so often flaunted in other news articles, nor to say that even the majority of festival goers experienced some sort of existential trauma while in Manchester, but without a doubt this writer saw and felt a bevy of events that negate almost every postive vibration the festival instilled during previous incarnations.
Friday is usually when one learns the heat can simply be too much. Sleeping in what amounts to a mylar sack without ventilation in the middle of field during the Tennessee summer equates to sleeping in a pressure cooker over a roaring fire. Friday morning begins the prevalent trend of sleep deprivation, which at times can make the festival a sheer joy, and at others a total nightmare.
My companions woke me around eight in the morning and asked for beer. Their cooler was left in my trunk from the night before and they needed a carbohydrate-rich breakfast. After obliging their request and quenching my own thirst, we decided to beat the heat and head to the Cinema Tent for a showing of the blaxploitation classic “Superfly.” Claming any kind of pride for the film is a bit erroneous, being a Caucasian, but regardless the hustlers-always-prosper story and Curtis Mayfield soundtrack make the film a must-see and perfect for the party atmosphere concocted by Bonnaroo.
Like a good rollercoaster, the ride had to end all too soon. One of the weekend’s more ridiculous rackets involved packing the Comedy Tent to capacity and then giving out tickets to the Cinema Tent to watch Conan O’Brien’s mid-day performances at 1 p.m. Friday and Saturday. What this meant for early-bird Cinema Tent attendees seeking refuge from the 100-plus degree heat was a royal boot to the rear at 12:30 and a trek over to the new Lunar Stage to watch Conan without a hint of shade.
For a lesser comic, the sacrifice would have been in vain and grumbler about for the rest of the weekend. Chris Rock’s notoriously awful warm up for Metallica in the rain at Bonnaroo 2008 was one example of braving inclement weather only to be slapped in the face with the stale fish of mediocrity. O’Brien, however, has gained a new level of bravado and affable comic-guy swagger during his recent “Legally Prohibited From Being Funny on Television” road tour.
Though his voice sometimes barely coasted above a rasp, O’Brien’s physicality during such tried-and-true bits as his Kennedy Brother/Mayor Quimby impersonation showed no sign of duress. One of his notable additions to the road show is a rhythm and blues band complete with two soulful back up singers, running through songs about his life and a hilarious update of Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again” to “On a Show Again.” With a taped speech from Robert Smigel’s immortal Triumph and some hilarious live commercials from Andy Richter, the performance seemed like watching the old Conan late night show, before he bowdlerized himself for primetime and was ousted by Leno’s chin a few months ago.
After O’Brien’s routine we made a detour back to camp to eat and rest for the long night ahead. On the way into the Ghostbusters-themed camping pod we saw police officials apprehend a man for selling drugs only to let him go after finding no money on his person. This event illustrated an important change from past experiences from the festival. While the has never been any inkling of making drugs legal at the festival, anyone who has ever attended can attest to clouds of pot smoke and observing fellow concert-goers geeked out of their minds on any number of assorted substances. In previous years undercover officers from Manchester’s finest have also participated in stings, arresting and citing hundreds of patrons for possession and usage of all sorts of drugs, but seeing them handle such a situation for the first time struck a major blow to the illusion of a completely free festival where responsible parties can do their bidding without fear.
Now, I would not advocate drug usage, and especially not the trade of illegal substances, under the auspices of a college newspaper. However, as a person who has attended the festival thrice and seen illegal activity of all sorts, watching people being arrested or fined while enjoying a weekend away from society completely destroyed my feelings of goodwill for the festival and the hope that such a model of existence, where responsibility reigned over fear, could carry over to the real world.
After reflecting on these thoughts and attempting a nap, we returned to Centeroo for the evening’s festivities.
Friday night: Salvation comes from the mothership
Though preconceived notions of a transcendent festival experience had been quashed, we were determined to make the best of the evening. With the sun’s bite somewhat neutralized, it seemed safe to venture back into the musical arena.
After a few snatches of Damien Marley and Nas, we decided to check out She and Him. Putting all fanboy admiration for Zooey Deschanel aside, the duo’s breezy 60s pop sound provided a much-needed palette cleanser. Though the band perhaps garnered too much hype during their early outings, their dynamic holds its own live and as long as the listener doesn’t expect any earth-shattering revelations, they would love She and Him.
Next came OK Go. The first thing that can be said for them is that if they brought their fantastic treadmills on stage they would be radically more interesting to watch. However, their upbeat rawk groove made little impression, even near the foot of the stage. Props are due for getting their crowd wild and dancing, but it was not a second too soon when we left for Tenacious D.
“That Panda will be the death of the D”
I have never liked Tenacious D. More to the point I rarely think of Jack Black as anything less than obnoxious in most of his feature roles since his rise to fame. However, in a live setting the antics of Black and comedic life partner Kyle Gass transform into a Megazord of funny the likes of which were wholly unexpected.
With an introduction from Conan O’Brien, the duo took the stage with brow-flexed intensity and blew through fan favorites like “Kielbasa Sausage” and “Kickapoo.” At various times they relived old sketches with slightly updated plot lines, like “Kyle Quit the Band,” while bringing out both the Devil and the Metal for rock-and-dance offs. By the time the duo left the stage, the sky was growing dark and the time drew nearer for the greatest moment of the weekend, that time when a man in a bubble would roll out on a crowd of acid freaks and animal-costumed fanatics to preach a gospel of peace and weed.
“Dark Side” comes alive with the Flaming Lips
To a casual music fan, skipping the now-overblown Kings of Leon for the Flaming Lips might seem an unnecessary and asinine sacrifice.
As a devout disciple of music and the Flaming Lips, I can honestly say that it was the best decision I have ever made.
