After spending all day flying, driving and waiting in lines, I was finally at Bonnaroo. Under the light of the Tennessee moon (and these huge stadium lights that are set up all over Bonnaroo) people poured out of their cars, not bothering to do so much as even turn down their stereos, and started unloading camping gear. With cars parked directly next to each other in tight, organized rows, claiming your space at Bonnaroo is one of the most important tasks of the trip.
Our camp was assembled in less than an hour, and our congenial neighbors were all volunteering at the festival. We introduced ourselves, sat down, and before long, we were conversing like old friends. I soon realized why I went back to Bonnaroo this year: despite the lack of running water, a sophisticated waste disposal system or showers that don’t cost seven bucks, Bonnaroo feels like one thing on Wednesday night: home.
On Thursday, a friend and I walked from camp to a radio station in Manchester to pick up press passes. It had been raining, and before long, our legs were flecked with light brown mud. Fortunately, the overcast sky kept the temperature lower than the near 100 degrees it would have been otherwise, and the three-mile walk was actually a pleasant way to observe the lush forests surrounding the Bonnaroo grounds.
Bonnaroo feels like one thing on Wednesday night: home. During our walk, we observed the obscene line of cars waiting to get into the festival. Whereas we were able to get into the front gates and to our campsite in less than an hour the night before, people sit in line for hours on end for entry on Thursday. Already, some of the outer camps were filling up – camps more than a 30 minute walk from our own. A sea of tents spread out over the horizon, and no matter how far we walked, we could always hear people shouting the battle cry for the weekend: “Bonnaroo!”
Upon entering the festival Friday, I was greeted with the sweet smell of fried everything. From funnel cakes to corn dogs, food vendors were filling the air with the scent of their merchandise. As I watched Gomez play the Which Stage, people passed me with beer, pizza, gyros and more foods on a stick than I can name.
By Friday, the clouds had cleared and I could feel my skin crackling in the sun. As I applied more sunscreen, I gaped at the abundance of people who already had sunburns. I then proceeded to apply even more sunscreen.
The blazing day gave way to a cool night, and it seemed the entire population of the festival had gathered to see Phish. But never underestimate the number of people at Bonnaroo: despite Phish’s star power, a substantial crowd had also packed That Tent to check out Phoenix, while the Troo Music Lounge was jammed with attendees to see the Protomen. I was truly amazed that every single person at the festival wasn’t at the Phish show. It was both surprising and comforting at the same time.
I spent Saturday hopping between concerts: from Jimmy Buffet to Rodrigo y Gabriela to Wailing Souls. I tried to see as many acts as possible. By this time, people were looking dirty. It wasn’t uncommon to walk behind someone who had mud up to her thighs. Even though the sun was out and there had been no rain, the mud remained, as it tends to do at Bonnaroo.
“It’s too fuckin’ hot for Santa!”
- Bruce SpringsteinAfter walking around all day, it was hard to get excited about seeing Bruce Springsteen that night. I was extremely skeptical about the Boss. I thought he was a poor choice for the Saturday headliner – could New Jersey’s blue-collar poster boy connect with the same crowd who was there to see Phish? But connect he did. The space seemed just as jammed as it had for Phish the night before, and from the beginning, Bruce completely rocked the Bonnaroo crowd. My favorite part? Bruce strolled out into the crowd to collect signs people were holding with written song requests. Once back on stage, he rifled through them and finally held up a full size poster of Santa, alluding to his famous cover of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” The boss announced, “It’s too fuckin’ hot for Santa!” to a roaring crowd, and then proceeded to play the song.
Sunday brought extreme exhaustion, but after four or five bottles of water, I was ready to check out my first concert of the day, Robert Earl Keen. The country legend started and ended his set with covers of classic Cream tunes. With a jam-band inspired version of “Dreadful Selfish Crime” and a finale of “The Road Goes on Forever,” Keen played to the Bonnaroo crowd while staying true to his roots.
Later that night, Coheed and Cambria took the stage in That Tent. I was amazed by how well the technical prowess expressed on their studio cuts translated to a live venue. After an energetic set, I left sure that I had seen my favorite show of the weekend.
What a happy mistake that was.
I didn’t want to see Phish Sunday night. I was tired, I didn’t really like what I’d seen of their Friday night set, and most importantly, I had no idea where my friends were. So when I got a call from a friend telling me, “You have to make it to the Phish show, I’m in such an easy spot to reach,” I sighed and started the trek. And I finally found him, standing not far from the stage with every other person from our camp. All our friends from before Bonnaroo, as well as those we’d met while there, were standing in the same area, jamming to Phish. So I dove in myself.
At Bonnaroo, the pros far outweigh the cons.Now, I’m not much of a dancer. But I danced the entire time Phish was playing. While I’d like to think I looked like I knew what I was doing, I probably looked like an uncoordinated idiot, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that I spent the last show of the festival with my friends, old and new, and we all got lost in the music. The show lasted until 12:30 a.m.., after which we retired to spend the last night at our campsite together. The feeling I got that night can only be likened to the feeling of the last night of summer camp – a sort of bittersweet melancholy built upon the incredible times you have spent with people you never knew before and may never see again.
In the end, that’s one of the best parts of Bonnaroo. Bonnaroo may mean great music and art, but it also means friendship. As strange as it may sound, the festival has a way of bringing people together in a tangible connection completely inaccessible in the “real world.”
As we all packed up to leave the next morning, I took a moment to reflect on the pros and cons of Bonnaroo. I even made a list.
Cons:
1. Have to sleep on the ground.
2. Have to pay for a shower.
3. Port-a-potties don’t flush or clean themselves.
4. Other people stink.
5. You stink.
6. The guy you’re sharing a tent with stinks.
7. No air conditioning.
8. Food is expensive.
9. Beer is even more expensive than food, but less nourishing.
10. Sunburns.
11. Blisters.
12. It may be muddy.
13. If it isn’t muddy, it’s going to be dusty.
14. Either way kind of sucks.
Pros:
1. Great music.
2. Great friends.
In the end, screw the numbers. At Bonnaroo, the pros far outweigh the cons.
Branden Hart, TheSequitur.com's managing editor, works as an editor in San Antonio.
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