Image by Juliana Keeping
Bonnaroo beats
Former cow field becomes music city central for the three day festival
By Juliana Keeping
Published: June 21st, 2007 | 2:41pm
June 15, 3:30 a.m.
En Route to the 'Roo
Reporter Juliana Keeping on 12+ hour festival journey
I left my home in Chicago around noon Thursday, June 14, cursing construction and congestion spawned by the big, gray city. I traveled with my boyfriend, Mark, and a friend who I hoped would keep him company while I ditched my boo to go review shows and chase celebs. We traversed south, through the land of sweet tea, meth labs, and hospitality. It is the land of a million Cracker Barrels that sport bathroom biohazard waste dispensers for insulin injection needles.
By 1:30 a.m. Friday, June 15, we waited in a line of cars to set up camp at the 2007 Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival. The 12-plus hour adventure that was getting to Bonnaroo and getting my press credentials, then getting my cohorts through the gates caused them to devolve into 12-year-olds. In the back seat, I popped open my second Miller Lite, my answer to their increasing ridiculousness of it all.
Finally, we drove onto the former cow field in Manchester, Tennessee, and by 3:30 a.m., had set up our little compound of tents, shade, and lawn chairs, one of thousands in this ad-hoc city. The mass of Roo-goers, cars and camping gear that we had just joined surrounded Centeroo, the fenced-in festival grounds where the official vendors, various entertainers and bands did their thing.
I drifted to sleep at God knows what hour and awoke at 7:30 a.m. Now and for the next few days, I hope to capture the essence of Bonnaroo, a big fat orgasm of music and beer and art and often drug or drink-addled campers, in posts for Venuszine.com. The cast of my blogs might include the occasional reference to myself or Mark - but most of all, and most importantly - a sampling of the 80,00-plus tent-city of campers who have converged upon this farm in Manchester every summer since 2002, and the artists who come to entertain them, for the sake of art, escapism and communal, crazy fun.
***
June 15, 9:30 a.m.
These Girls Were Funked, a Roo-goer profile
Meet Beka, Brittany and Blaire, all 18, and Emily-Nicole, 19. They made the eight-hour trip to Bonnaroo in Blazer Boy, Emily-Nicole's mom's minivan. The New Orleans pals report that they are eight hours or so from home. They are here to see soooo many acts, but when strong armed, picked the White Stripes, Feist and Girl Talk as top must-sees. All but Emily-Nicole were Bonnaroo virgins until just after 1:30 a.m. Friday, June 15. Vet or virgin, as they arrived in the wee hours, they were all funked. Explains Emily-Nicole, a man with an empty squirt gun told them that they "Need more funk," and "I'm gonna shoot you with my funk gun." He did. And they, indeed, felt the funk.
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From L to R: Beka, 18; Brittany, 18; Emily-Nicole, 19; and Blaire, 18, pose by "Blazer Boy," Emily-Nicole's mom's mini van, which got them to Bonnaroo. The girls are friends from New Orleans.
This and all subsequent Roo-goer profiles will ask the same five questions: How far away from home are you right now? What got you to Bonnaroo? Who are you here to see? Bonnaroo vet or Bonnaroo virgin? And last, but not least, tell us about a strange Bonnaroo encounter.
Photo by Juliana Keeping
***
June 15, 2:15 p.m.
Brazilian Girls Want to Get You Hot
As the sun baked the Bonnaroo crowd, Brazilian Girls' Sabina Scuibba's vocals and moves toggled between vulnerability and playful sexual advances. In a head-to-toe tan-and-gold ensemble — a floaty skirt, perfectly snug top and kickin' little sandals (think gladiator sandals with slouched ankle cuffs) – she teased the crowd as easily as she switched languages, alternating between English, German, French, Italian and Spanish.
Scuibba was all sulks, bangs, jawline, and lips as she sang to and played with sweaty, smelly Roo-ers. "I would like to know, how many of you are sexy?" she asked, which brought on a chorus of concurring screams. "How many of you are assholes?" she inquired next, to an equally enthusiastic response. "That makes you, a sexy asshole," she concluded. And with that, she broke into "Sexy Asshole," a cut from the group's latest album, 2006’sTalk to La Bomb. Never mind that except for the phrase "Sexy asshole," the song's lyrics are German. The crowd really didn't seem to mind, just as they didn't mind that Scuibba is the only female in the group, and none of them are actually Brazilian. Meanwhile, I, too, had no idea what she was singing half the time, but was easily taken, thanks to Scuibba's sultry, haunting voice, tinged with a splash of grit and entertaining in any language. Credit should certainly be offered to the rest of the quartet. The equally musically impressive members, to whom none in the crowd offered as much as a second glance, are Didi Gutman (keyboards), Jesse Murphy (bass) and Aaron Johnston (drums). You see, it was just plain hard to see them, especially after Scuibba launched her final trendy accessory: a big, crazy gold disk that further highlighted her position as the group's artful attention-grabber.
The fusion of dance, electro, pop, and punk continued to hold the crowd with chest-thumping beats and other infectious musical conglomerations. "It's not time for the pussy yet," Scuibba teased further, referring to the dirty-yet-catchy tune, "Pussy," from the group's self-titled 2005 debut. Meanwhile, she drank and smoked, proclaiming, "I'm so high!" before finally singing "Pussy." And so came the climax of the show. The crowd dissipated quickly after that, off to find gratification elsewhere, and maybe smoke a cigarette or five.
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Photos by Juliana Keeping
***
Comedian David Cross gets uncomfortable for a change
Comedian David Cross, of TV show Arrested Development fame, offered this zinger following a question about his impressions of Bonnaroo 2007. "I've seen people, uh, on drugs throwing other people who are fucking into the streets."
These and other entertaining moments occurred among the press conference panel Friday, June 15, 2007. Those answering a few questions included Brit pop sensation Lily Allen; Cold War Kids' lead vocalist, pianist, and guitarist Nathan Willet; Gov't Mule guitarist Warren Haynes; guitarist Richard Thompson of The Richard Thompson band (formerly of ‘60s band Fairport Convention, and duo work with wife, Linda); comedian, sketch artist and comic writer David Cross; and Roots drummer Quest Love.
Here's what led up to the "people fucking in the streets” quip made after an exchange between Lily Allen and the moderator, an Esquire reporter.
She had said, in so many words, that hippie counterculture at today's fests is quite a bit more watered down than the fest atmosphere she experienced as a girl.
The reporter responded that she's about half right. On the other side, as he put it, "it's back to those days where they're throwing drugs at each other and fucking in the streets and what not."
At this point, I thought, I have to agree to an extent. You still find the diehard dirty longhairs here selling grilled cheese by the ounce.
The moderator then followed up with David Cross: "David, have you seen much of that?” he asked. "Um, I haven't quite seen what you're talking about," Cross said, pausing for a good 10 beats as the crowd cracked up, anticipating a punch line. "I've seen people, uh, on drugs throwing other people who are fucking into the streets."
He continued, "I got here early Thursday, before any music had been played, and you could already see that they'd lost some people this week. They're gone. They're kids. They don't know how to ration out their drugs, they don't what they're doing yet, and it's a learning experience. Some of the kids are gone already. The festival is over for them before a note had been played. There's plenty of that stuff going on, which is not a bad thing."
Haynes, the jam band guitarist extraordinaire from Gov't Mule, then shared his impressions of the fest.
"It's very diverse," he said of Bonnaroo "It started out as a jam band festival, and each year gets a little less and less of a jam band festival."
At this, Cross shifted a bit in chair and winced, and the crowd laughed. He had railed against hippies in his shows on the festival's opening day, Thursday, likely the same hippies who worship Haynes.
"There are those who say it's a good thing, because, to get an audience seeing Tool, and The Police and Widespread Panic in one place, that's pretty cool," Haynes continued. "The main thing is for audiences to search out real music as opposed to being force-fed the bullshit.”
***
June 15, around 4 p.m.
Lily Allen is foolishly reminded that bloggers are watching
Lily Allen looked bored but laughed easily at a Bonnaroo press conference held at Bonnaroo Friday afternoon. Allen, 22, grew up, quite literally, on the festival circuit. Her arty parents — dad, an actor-comedian with ties to the early punk scene and her “mum,” a film producer — took her to her first music fest, England's Glastonbury Music Festival, at just 5 weeks old.
In the tent packed with media-types, Allen said she planned to behave herself at the 'Roo, after being reminded by a foolhardy Esquire reporter that bloggers are following her every move (ahem…true). By the way, a big effing thanks to you, Esquire, for reeling our paparazzi-kicking hero in. (Um, we happen to like her more because of the fact that she talks trash about her own label during shows and kicks photographers). "That's why I'm not drinking," she said in response to the blogosphere reminder, with a giggle. And, she explained, she is saving hard partying for Glastonbury, her first and finest fest love, at which she will perform next week. "I just wish Paris and Lindsay were here so they wouldn't bother me," she pondered.
Don't get Allen wrong — the authority-bucking high school dropout may have cut back on the boozin' and antics, but didn't skimp on her performance three hours later. Allen didn't hold anything back as she bounced around and sang her heart out, and admitted a decent buzz onstage after tossing back a pint of Jaeger at her hour-and-a-half set, enjoying a cheeky rapport with the crowd all the while.
***
June 15, 6:30 p.m.
Lily Allen: Alright, Still
A hot breeze did little to cool the Tennessee air as I scarfed a hotdog, downed a beer and packed up my reporting gear, plus two Red Bulls, for good measure. I was tired and dusty, my backwaters 'Roo camp site at least a mile out from Centeroo, the center of the festival grounds on which all the acts take place. But I had had had to get to the Lily Allen show. I only recently started listening to her fun mix of pop, hip-hop and R&B. You've got to love a girl with the guts to sing things like "Alright how would it make you feel if I told you that you never ever made me come? In the year and a half that we spent together, yeah I never really had much fun," from "Not Big." And from her most popular hit, "Smile,": "At first when I see you cry, yeah it makes me smile, yeah it makes me smile. At worst I feel bad for a while, but then I just smile I go ahead and smile."
Her catchy lyric lashings are sung sweetly. But she is a clever little snake-in-the-grass, teeming with delicious venom to impart on the boys who have done her wrong, not to mention the filth who took away her license and messed up her fun.
And so, I ditched poor Mark, who had come down with a migraine, and power walked it to the festival grounds. My heart sunk as I approached This Tent about halfway through her one-and-a-half hour set. It was packed and overflowing with fans. Her deliciously bad-in-a-good way lyrics were calling my name, and so, with swift and shameless abuse of my press credentials, I reasoned with a staffer, who let me into the pit, normally reserved for those with a photography pass. Within moments, I was a few feet from the highly entertaining Allen.
By this time, she only had a few songs and a swig of Jaeger left in the pint at the foot of her signature white suedes. The bit of the show I got to see was everything I'd wanted: dancey, fun, sassy, brassy. The looks on the faces of Allen's front-row fans pretty much say it all. 
***
Saturday, June 16, 2:15 p.m.
Piano Virtuoso Regina Spektor croons concert-goers to tears.
If you can't love Regina Spektor, you've got a cold, cold heart.
The Russian–born piano virtuoso played at a nonstop love-fest at Bonnaroo Saturday afternoon. At the beginning and end of her set, the humble songstress repeatedly thanked the audience for coming and sweetly reminded them to drink plenty of water and wear sunscreen. When the 26-year-old singer-songwriter-pianist admitted cheerfully to "fucking up my words again," in the middle of "On the Radio," a female fan cried out "We love you!", and a male, "You're so cute!"
During "Samson," from Begin to Hope, fans such as Blythe, 18, from Ohio, cried. She and six friends who grew up together came to Bonnaroo for the Spektor show.
"It was the most thrilling thing I've ever felt," Blythe said afterward, of the "Samson" performance.
Spektor enjoyed underground success in New York with before being swept up by the Strokes for a nationwide tour in 2003. She's got five discs, with Begin to Hope (Sire, 2006) her latest. Sigh. I've missed so much! She draws easy comparisons to Tori Amos.
Unlike the veteran Spektor fans, I had sadly never heard the artist before Saturday – and yet I felt similarly moved. Moments into "Samson," the arrangement gave me the chills. "You are my sweetest downfall," she sang, "I loved you first, I loved you first/ beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads/ But they're just old light, they're just old light/ Your hair was long when we first met."
Further in-depth Google research from some folks with large vocabs and more time to analyze stuff revealed more about the song. Quoth NPR: "On 'Samson,' the album's most elegantly lovely song, Spektor uses the story of Samson as a jumping-off point for a poignant rumination on disappointment, aging and obsolescence." (Right, right. Note to self: look up “obsolescence.”)
I may not keep words like “obsolescence” in my back pocket, but I do possess keen eyes and ears, and noted this at Saturday's show: Spektor's speaking voice is as meek as a child's, and the loose, green dress she wore Saturday seemed to swallow her. But when she sings, something gracefully and surprisingly emerges: a crystalline, ethereal beam of sound that streams straight to your core. Her music creates synergy in a crowd. Listen, and it could bring you tears of joy.
***
Left: Kings of Leon Nathan Followill at a press conference Saturday
Right: Followill leaves with his new fiance
Saturday, 4 p.m.
King's of Leon drummer Nathan Followill wishes dad a Trippy Father's Day
Kings of Leon drummer Nathan Followill shared this touching take on Father's Day: "It's good to have him see the level of success, or whatever you'll call it, that we've had. It's good to have him around, and hopefully, he'll keep his clothes on tonight."
Moderator: "What do you mean by that?"
Nathan: "People on acid take their clothes off a lot. I do."
Moderator: "Does your dad take acid and run around naked a lot?"
Nathan: "We're going to find out tonight."
The press herd cracked up for a good half minute at that one. Followill was responding to a TV reporter's earnest question about what Father's Day meant to him. He then left the stage and grabbed the hand of a fresh-faced, pretty blonde in an adorable blue sundress to which he was recently engaged.
Because of their traveling Pentecostal preacher dad, brothers Caleb, Nathan, Jared and cousin Mathew Followill grew up touring the dirty South for their dad's preaching gigs. They were banned from MTV and Top 40 music back then. Apparently, good 'ole dad had loosened up a bit.
The Tennessee-born hotties played Bonnaroo Friday afternoon. Wildly popular Because of the Times (RCA,2007) mixes folk, electronica and other good, crazy shit. Aha Shake Heartbreak (RCA, 2005) put them on the map.
***
Saturday, 6 p.m.
Spoon causes dust storm, Britt Daniel looks all indie and serene
Outside of That Tent Saturday, Mark and I sat on a picnic blanket and tossed back a few plastic bottles of Bud Light. Fans packed inside the 'Roo venue to see indie rockers Spoon. Around us, some napped in precious shade under trees, and many fans covered their faces with their shirts or bandanas. The hot, dry weather had caused Crocs and Teva-clad feet stomping about to kick up a hell of damn dust storm. Meanwhile, we finally gave into hunger to split a $13 burger and fries. Why not? We'd already paid $6 each for our first festival-ground beers. (Though it is easy to sneak beer in to Centeroo, we had foolishly forgotten to do so). Eating in a hot, mini-dust storm, as one might imagine, rather sucks. However, were dirty enough and buzzed enough that these things didn't matter anymore. Oh yeah, and Spoon had just started to play.
The band is touring to support upcoming record, title Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, (Merge, 2006) out in July. In 2005, they released Gimme Fiction (Merge) to critical acclaim. They've been mainstays on the indie scene since 1994. And yet, once again, I'd never heard them play before that day (besides some last-minute research I burned off of a friend's computer). I'm lame. I know.
My first impressions were this: their fans went insane, and their music provided the perfect backdrop to our dusty, impromptu picnic. I felt happy, and I liked them. My intentions of attending the show weren't to review, but to have a nice Bonnaroo experience, listening to good music on a blanket. I have to give lead singer/guitarist Britt Daniel and the crew props for playing a good 20-plus-minute encore on that hot, hot stage. That's when I finally got off of my ass and tried to weasel my way into the photography pit. "You're cute, but I can't let you in," the 'Roo worker told me. Boo! He pointed out that I had a media pass, not a photography pass (as if I didn't already know. Ha!) "I'm not trying to work that," I said, surprised as hell that anyone could think I was remotely cute in the dirty, sweaty, near-feral state I was in. "I just want a picture." No dice. I wriggled my way into the crowd and snapped a few shots.
Earlier, at a press conference, Britt Daniel was quiet and serene, sitting back looking indie as Flaming Lips front man Wayne Coyne gestured wildly and pretty much dominated the press conference with crazy stories and drug references galore. Unassuming Daniel finally got a word in when asked for his impressions of Bonnaroo. Answer: he doesn't have an impression yet.
"I haven't even been out. I just got here two hours ago, but everybody's just telling me that I need to take a lap around and experience how big it is," he said.
I surmise that after his show a few hours later, he had formed a decent impression of the 'Roo's dusty backwaters locale and hungry, happy fans.
***
Saturday, 9 p.m.
The Police observed from a distance
After our second day in the hot sun, Mark and his friend were feral and shifty-eyed. I went animal control on their asses and we plodded back to our campsite. We skipped The Police show. (Yeah, yeah, yeah). Sure, it's their reunion tour, but relaxing at our campsite and getting happy for the upcoming Flaming Lips show held a lot more appeal. From the distance, we had a great soundtrack, listening to "Roxanne" and the "De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da" song. I'm sure the show was all that and a bag of chips, but my Sea Salt & Vinegar Krunchers were the only chips I cared about at that point. The crazy college kids camping next to us, who I'm sure were about age zero when The Police were the biggest band in the world, returned and reported back that the show was "Fucking awesome." There you go.
After refueling, we headed out to see the Flaming Lips.
***
Saturday, midnight
Dealer reports robbery, angrily steals bag of Funyuns from camp site.
En route to the Flaming Lips’ midnight to 2:30 a.m. set, we observed a young guy with brown, floppy hair walking quickly and shining his flashlight frantically on any object on the ground. "Can we help you find something?" we enquired, thinking he had dropped his glasses, perhaps.
"I'm looking for money," he said, continuing to erratically shine light on crushed beer cans and errant, empty water bottles. "I just got fucking robbed, man. They took $400 and 36 hits of acid from me."
"Who did this?" we asked, incensed at the injustice.
He angrily explained as we walked and shone light on random trash that he invited some new friends into his car to smoke opium and snort OC (OxyContin). However, they instead acted all shady and robbed him of all the acid he had planned to deal and $400. The drugs and the money were his income for the entire summer. He has no job, other than dealing, and a shitty, one-bedroom apartment, he lamented. He has no money to get home, and so now, he is looking for money or shit to sell, from the ground. "I stole the guy's cell phone, but I can only get, like $50 for that, maybe," he said.
And with that, he angrily skimmed a bag of Funyuns from a camp site and continued his stroll.
***
We discuss Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles During Flaming Lips Show, and I recall that earlier, front man Coyne gestured wildly and threw off some zingers
We were so far back from The Flaming Lips that it was useless to try to squint and see them. Their crazy, psychedelic visual antics, however, were impossible to miss. (Think an audience armed with a million laser pointers flashing at the stage, and a whole bunch of other lights and lasers flaming white, red and green through the darkness). I had seen the Flaming Lips live before, and their songs and antics (from what I could see and hear) were as freaky and entertaining as ever, though I admittedly wasn't paying close attention. The show blended into the background as my little group held deep discussions about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (a guy dressed as Raphael had just walked by us); the movie Grizzly Man; the time in our lives when laser pointers were coveted and undermining adolescent weapons; etc., etc., etc. You get the idea.
"She Don't Use Jelly," the 1993 recording that propelled the band to mainstream success, played in the background as we left the venue sometime around 2 a.m.
Earlier Saturday, front man Wayne Coyne of The Flaming Lips gestured up a storm and threw off some sweet, if not long-winded, quotables at a press conference.
"The Flaming Lips are the festival band of the summer," the moderator noted, to much applause and some hoops and hollers. "This is your element, a festival like this. Correct?"
"Yeah. I think if I wasn't playing some of these festivals I'd be at them anyway," Coyne had replied. "That's the part that I like about it the most. I mean, let's all admit that the toilets suck, and sleeping in the tent, and trying to beat the heat, when you've been awake until 6 in the morning, and then you try to sleep in your tent when the sun comes up. All of those elements give it a bizarre adventure element. You're not just seeing bands; your life becomes this grand adventure. And I think that is really kind of a metaphor for The Flaming Lips anyway. We're not just playing music. We're all kind of having this, hopefully intense, pleasant—but not always pleasant—experience. And we're going to remember it for better or for worse, and we're going to be here with our friends, and we're going to live it with intensity that only music and art, in some sense, can really take you to."
"We're all in it together," he continued. "It becomes. Let's do it! Come on motherfuckers!"
He went on to clarify that he comes onto stage in a space bubble, not a gerbil cage, because The Flaming Lips are supposed to be from outer space. And regarding the band, "We're all a little bit like adults who still believe in Santa Claus."
***
Sunday, some time after 2:30 a.m.
The party was in full swing around 2 a.m.. On the way back to our campsite from The Flaming Lips, I deemed it was time for a few more ‘Roo-goer profiles.
***
Meet the Four 20's
The Four 20's, from left, Stephanie, Anna, Shannon and Katie
At Juan's Nite Club, one of the many "unofficial" set-ups here, I came across four happy campers chilling on a couch. "We're the Four 20's!" they said, introducing themselves. And so, meet the Four 20's. They are, Anna and Katie, ‘Roo virgins; and Shannon and Stephanie, ‘Roo vets on their second trip. They spent 14 hours driving from Pennsylvania, five of those waiting in line to get into the fest, in a 2002 Cavalier, and are here to see Feist, The Flaming Lips and Keller Williams. Strangest encounters so far include the time they were briefly stalked by a man faking a French accent, who zoomed in on them from across the field, and the fact that they forgot their tent poles and are sleeping under a tarp.
Meet Elleni, Penelope, Christian and Jocelyn, of Vancouver, BC. They flew 1200 miles or so, mostly to see Kings of Leon and The White Stripes, and are Bonnaroo virgins. Christian reported that his strangest Bonnaroo encounter so far was "Seeing my girlfriend with her tits painted as marijuana leaves."
Meet Michael, body painter. He traveled 14 hours from Delaware in a Dodge Minivan, not to see bands, but to paint bodies. "I am a professional body painting artist. This event is a great opportunity," he said from under a tent, which included a clipboard-wielding hostess, psychedelic tapestries and art supplies. As he put the finishing touches on his rendering of a snake wrapping around a woman's naked torso, he added that his strangest Bonnaroo encounter was the "Intellect of offending management. Every year, I do this for free. I work for tips. Why are you hassling me? Isn't this event called the Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival?"
Now that we've profiled the man in devil horns painting a snake around a girl's naked breasts, it is a good time as any to feature my ‘Roo-goer profile from earlier Saturday.
Meet Barry, 51. He and some fellow Christians, Bonnaroo virgins, drove from nearby Chattanooga not to see bands, but to tell people about Jesus and save them from eternal damnation, he said. "It doesn't look good," he said." If they die without Christ they are going to hell." They were at Riverbend, a Chattanooga music festival, when they heard of Bonnaroo and made an impromptu trip to Manchester to help more ‘Roo-goers connect with Jesus and get to heaven. They are from Atlanta, about a three-hour trip away. Barry's crew held Bibles and a sign that read "Jesus said…How can ye escape the damnation of hell." Another group's sign read: "Jim Morrison, John Lennon & Jerry Garcia Are: Burning in HELL! And YOU could be Next! Got Jesus?"
Barry couldn't name a single most strange encounter, but as we spoke, many in the crowd chided the Christians. "It becomes normal to us, but it gets old, the drunkenness. We get tired of it, but we're used to all the utterances."
***
Sunday, noon
Sunday morning, unfortunately, it was time to pack up. My, mom, sister and little baby niece were heading into town Monday; otherwise, I would have seen the fest through. Some dirty longhairs selling pipes from the side of the roadway chided us for leaving before jam god Bob Weir played. Weir, Schmeir. I was pissed about missing the White Stripes and Feist later that day. Like most of the people here, we really didn't care about the jam bands. It was abundantly evident, from the diverse lineup to the far-ranging fans, that jam bands weren't at all what Bonnaroo is about anymore. For better, or for worse, as Warren Haynes, the jam band guitarist extraordinaire from Gov't Mule, put it earlier: "It's very diverse," he said of Bonnaroo. "It started out as a jam band festival, and each year gets a little less and less of a jam band festival." Is it a bad thing? Eh, the hippies will always have their farmland venues. I like Haynes's opinion on this, too: "There are those who say it's a good thing, because, to get an audience seeing Tool, and The Police and Widespread Panic in one place, that's pretty cool," Haynes continued. "The main thing is for audiences to search out real music as opposed to being force-fed the bullshit." I also spoke with Dave, a medic from McMinnville, Tenn., about 20 miles away, who drove to Bonnaroo in his pickup truck to help out, because he thought it sounded interesting. As he handed me some supplies to treat a blister Sunday morning, I asked him about the range of humanity he's seen this weekend. His answer: he's seen it all. "I've seen babies, little kids 5, 6, 7 years old, and hippies from the ‘60s and ‘70s, who look like they're still in the ‘60s and ‘70s," he said.
***
Sunday, 1:30 p.m.
Waffle House employee reports Bonnaroo death, anticipates sweet tips from fest-goers heading home.
"Can I trust you?" Aaron, a Waffle House employee, asked me as I relished my first decent cup of coffee in days. "Of course,” I said. He asked if I would count his tips. As I stacked up the bills in piles of 20, Aaron informed me that a man died at Bonnaroo this year, again. I later checked and found that it was a 25-year-old man from Kentucky. It's the sixth death at the fest in as many years. I tallied his tips from the morning, $155. Waffle House is adding staff on Monday, he said, anticipating a bum rush. I washed my dirty, dirty feet in the Waffle House sink before doing a jig in the parking lot, in honor of smothered hash browns, Southern hospitality and indoor plumbing. Then we hit the road again.
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Photos by Juliana Keeping
Issue #35
Comments
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CaliSurfing (about 1 month)
I'm jealous! I wish I could have seen Lilly Allen! I wish I could have seen <a href="http://www.motorola.com/E8">David Elsewhere</a> too but I guess some people get all the luck. Maybe next time though! I'll just watch his Motorokr vids until then ;)
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