Show Review

Rooville

For the third year in a row, a hazy 700-acre farm in Manchester, Tennessee was metamorphosed from grass roots legend into the country’s premiere musical festival. Bonnaroo, a name coined by the Night Tripper himself, Dr, John, meaning “better than the best" was brought to life again. In true Bonnaroo fashion, with each year’s lineup emerging more eclectic and progressive, along with an increase in attendance; the festival promoters at Superfly Productions can only hope the term “Bonnaroo” continues to live up to its Cajun namesake.

If a dozen camping sites with names such as Scoobydoo, Teella, Pebbles weren’t enough to mess with 90,000 people on a mental hiatus for four days, try orientating yourself to stages called What Stage, Which Stage, This Tent, That Tent, Other Tent, and Another Tent. Just imagine hearing, “ I’m going to check out “Which stage.” “No, they’re playing on What Stage.” “It’s at That Tent.” “Yeah, This Tent.” It’s enough to laugh, confuse and mistake oneself simultaneously.

In true parking lot scene fashion, a make believe world harnessed from the Grateful Dead’s pre show bonanza, Bonnaroo became a free market economy primed with the standard veggie burrito and grilled cheese fare. Ten dollars bought a seat at a poker table and a free beer or for more aggressive people: an escort from locals through the back roads of Manchester, shaving off three to four hours of traffic jam time to enter the campsite. Also located on the farm, Centeroo, open 24 hours a day, showcased music from noon until 4 AM. A hippie version of Times Square, Centeroo offered a cinema tent, street performers, a Mardi Gras parade (featuring American Idol super joke William Hung), Brooer’s Festival, internet cafes, Planet Roo, That 70's Tent, an artisans market, a playground, video game room and even baseball world, featuring batting cages/radar pitching cage for those jocks in attendance.

Hot &High

Jeff Tweedy of Wilco (after a stint in rehab) sarcastically joked during his Friday set. “Is anybody high?”

After a cheering response from the happy fans, Tweedy proudly responded, “I’m not. I’m hot.”

Hot and high, Bonnaroo became druggaroo. Walking back to my campsite at 3 AM I heard the hissing of nitrous tanks and the whispering hints of chocolate mushrooms. This was a tokers’ paradise, as botanical was passed sometimes in three different directions at once. Quite possibly, Bonnaroo became a revised Amsterdam, as more marijuana was concentrated in one place this side of a Phish tour.

With a striking Tennessee rainbow and a recent viewing of Almost Famous stuck in my head, I contemplated how a clairvoyant would describe the aura of 90,000 people when the Dead, a revamped version of the timeless Grateful Dead, played the first few notes of “Tennessee Jed” after a 2 hour storm delay. Maybe it was their energy in the first place that opened up the sky? Surely, it takes a determined breed to withstand four days of repulsive port-a-potties, foul body odor, pounding rain, wet tents, deep puddles of gooey mud (mixed with cow feces and human feces), sleep deprivation, intense heat and overpriced concessions. Astonishing, there was no complaining. Mother nature lost. These fans could not be beaten down. No matter the heat, the rain nor the mud, the faithful ticket buyers attended their chosen bands with infectious anticipation and excitement, supporting, loving, blowing bubbles, hoola-hooping, singing, dancing, and of course, mud-wrestling.

The first band I caught at Bonnaroo was Arizona’s Calexico. Mix one band member who plays accordion, guitar, synthesizers, trumpet and vibes with a pedal steel player, another trumpet player, a stand up base and other fixings, and voila, one entertaining fiesta is served. As Calexico’s energy built, so did the audiences, until the cohesive energy threatened to bring down the This Tent. Every show followed suit. After watching a good portion of the drunken Ween show early Sunday morning, I stopped by to see Robert Randolph and the Family Band. When the band paused, the anticipatory energy grew thick. As soon as the band began playing, the audience erupted, joyously clapping, cheering, and dancing, as the pedal steel honcho kept the party rolling till 3 a.m.

Tweedy for President

If he said he was running, I’d vote for him. Wilco may just save us. They, are after all the quintessential rock band, reinventing their sound with every album, exercising a revolving door of bandmates (6 members at Bonnaroo) with unexercised drama, while spending time in rehab, and rewarding us with some of the most progressive rock and roll heard today. Mr. Tweedy, thinner and shaggier, yet grinning ear to ear, announced: “We’re going to play a song off of our new record. Anyone heard it? How did that happen? Oh yeah, modern world.”

That same modern world provided a set list of wonderful distortion and musicianship including many of the tracks from their latest release, A Ghost Is Born, Summerteeth and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Even a version of the Woody Guthrie penned tune, “One by One” off the Billy Bragg collaborative Mermaid Avenue appeared.

“There aren’t any beach balls, what gives? We want black beach balls,” Tweedy joked to the sunny crowd. As Tweedy whispered the words “one by one,” the beach balls appeared - anything for you Jeff. By the way, do Jeff another favor and go out and buy A Ghost Is Born. Maybe if enough of us buy his albums, he really will run for president. Could we be any worse off?

Swimming Away

After the Wilco set on Friday I had the opportunity to chat with Trey Anastasio, iconic frontman of Phish. Displaying resolve with his decision to break up his 21-year-old jam band after this summer, Anastasio joked that he would go on stage with Dave Matthews and introduce himself as the “lame guy.”

Laughing, he asked, “does that work?” “Now we need to concentrate on these last 13 shows and making them progress.“ “If we can do that, then we can say that we progressed the whole time.” Other “bands get worse then quit.” If his Trey Anastasio’s Band’s ambitious multi-layered compositions and high-energy festival closing performance are any indication, Trey is already headed down a relevant career path away from Phish. Only Anastasio could command the attention from thousands of young people on the tail end of a three-day weather beaten festival, while performing unheard classical music with the 40-member Nashville Chamber Orchestra.

Rock-Out-With-Your-Cock-Out

The most unlikely rockers, sons of a traveling preacher (and one cousin), ranging in age from 17 to mid-20s, Kings of Leon provided a full-tilt rock show, ending the set with lead singer, Caleb Followill, throwing down his guitar a la Pete Townshend. I couldn’t help but throw up a fist and kick in the air in admiration and complete surrender. Caleb sounds as if he has a wad of tobacco in his mouth, which just adds to their fresh Southern-style garage rock sound. Coined as the “Southern Strokes,” the only resemblance is their dirty, messy British rocker hair, tight jeans, and skinny frames.

In similar retro fashion, My Morning Jacket head-banged and thrashed with uncanny relentlessness. MMJ’s ability to serve up ranchos rockers and earnest, somber slow numbers was clearly apparent as lead singer, Jim James, in glorious curly hair splendor, rocked like a lead member of an 80’s hair band, with V Wing guitar and hair bouncing in his face in true medieval fashion. My Morning Jacket’s metal meets alt-country/ indie band style creates immensely electrifying music; however, it is James’ tenor vocals drenched in reverb that carry the band’s sound. As the storm clouds rolled in towards the stage and opened up, an explosive storm paralleled the electrified show climax and audience’s excitement. Literary symbolism would argue that My Morning Jacket has arrived. Indeed. Hold on, they’re taking us for a ride. For those lucky press attendees, Jim James performed a noontime acoustic performance that sent goose bumps across the arms of the media. Reverb is good.

Welcome All Access Roo

Quirky, innovative leaders such as Ween and Yo La Tengo, forced us all to rethink the ‘Bonnaroo is just a Jam Band festival’ sentiment. In response to the question, What does Yo La Tengo stand for, lead Tengo Ira Kaplan said, “it’s Spanish for China Cat Sunflower.” Rather than poking fun at the hippies, I would like to think Kaplan was trying to build rapport.

Certainly, the usual suspects were in full swing. Dave Matthews and Friends, the Dead, Trey Anastasio Band, Gov’t Mule, Yonder Mountain String Band, North Mississippi Allstars, Leftover Salmon, Del McCoury Band, Sam Bush Band, Primus, Bob Dylan, Burning Spear, and moe., enchanted with covers of Peter Gabriel, the Band, the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, Hank Williams, Merle Haggard and others.

Experiencing performances by a slew of diverse oldies and newcomers for the first time, such as David Byrne, Chris Robinson and The New Earth Mud, Doc Watson, Guster, Hackensaw Boys, Damien Rice, Vida Blue and Jazz Mandolin Project left me wondering, is their energy and sound always this outstanding or is it something about the magic of Bonnaroo?

Additionally, the line up was seasoned with progressive jazz flavor from The Bad Plus, Medeski Martin &Wood, Marc Ribot y Los Cubanos Postizos. Rounding out the line up with a strong female presence were Ani Difranco, Beth Orton, Neko Case, Gillian Welch, Nellie McKay, Rachel Yamagata and Antigone Rising. Albeit, I would certainly like to see female rockers like Kathy O of Yeah Yeah Yeahs or Andrea Zollo of Pretty Girls Make Graves on next year’s bill. Damn, with the energy raised from this year’s performance it wouldn’t be a surprise if Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jerry Garcia, Kurt Cobain and Ray Charles, came out of nowhere for a surprise jam session. Or maybe, we should all just stay off the drugs and watch Grandaddy and My Morning Jacket with open arms.