Vegoose

::Full Vegoose Photo Gallery::

As seasons pass with no king emerging to assume the throne of Bonnaroo nation, summer festivals continue to grow in both size and number. Rural hayfields become more and more bloated with stages and tents, squeezing all the creative juices out of the homegrown fruits that once made regional festivals so ripe with their own unique personalities. The same freakishly diverse temporary families that once convened at those relics of the summer circuit have begun gathering in such large numbers that what once seemed a circus-like freakshow has devolved into just another party.

Those same nomads that make today’s summer festivals so homogeneous trekked through and over the eternal summer of the desert to Las Vegas in hopes that this particular megafest might offer something different. The coming Halloween weekend promised certain revisions before the grounds ever opened. However empty it may be, a certain air of social revolution blows through most summer festivals, but even in cars and airplanes far from their final destination, the weekend’s attendees must have felt one thing very clearly: the inaugural Vegoose was not about social consciousness or warm, fuzzy, neo-hippie activism, nor was it about resurrecting some nihilistic hedonism of by-gone summers. Vegoose was all about chance—the sense that anything is possible and the good fortune to be present when that possibility becomes reality.

Vegoose at Night – Friday

Festivals, especially those in this scene, always carry the promise of guest appearances, and from the weekend’s inaugural evening at the Joint at the Hard Rock Hotel, Gov’t Mule didn’t disappoint. First burning through “Lola Leave Your Light On” and Zeppelin’s “Livin’ Lovin’ Maid,” Warren Haynes and company welcomed the North Mississipppi Allstars’ Luther Dickinson to close the first set with “32/20 Blues.” In the second set, after swerving through the fusionistic southern rock of “Trane,” drummer Matt Abts took the Beatles’ “I’m So Tired” into a drum solo, finally easing into a full-band jam that eventually saw Rob Barraco join the party. “Spanish Moon” and “Beautifully Broken” opened the door for DJ Logic and George Porter, Jr., and Barraco joined Mule’s encore for one of his own on the now-ubiquitous “Soulshine.”

On into the early morning at the Mandalay Bay’s House of Blues, Haynes’ improvisational wisdom left whippersnappers Umphrey’s McGee in awe, guiding the midwest upstarts down roads they’d yet to travel, from bone-crunching classic rock through Deadesque out-of-body space and back again on “Immigrant Song.” moe.’s Al Schnier also joined in on the reggae singalong of “Partyin’ Peeps,” and covers of “Helter Skelter,” Metallica’s “Seek and Destroy” and Motley Crue’s “Wild Side” added some novelty to yet another landmark performance. Umphrey’s originals “Miss Tinkle’s Overture” and “Plunger” proved that this band can do a lot more than quirky covers, and by the end of the show, the Chicago sextet had won over yet another room full of converts.

As the travel-weary crowds slowly drifted out of the House of Blues, and onto the Strip, I quickly realized that, while Las Vegas never actually sleeps, it eventually slows down, and once the night’s music had ended, the empty sidewalks left plenty of room for the still-hyped Vegeese to amble along. Even in the wee hours, fingers were still held aloft, and barely veiled offers of various sins whispered from the dark corners beyond the Strip’s eternal neon glow.

Vegoose Day One

As the sun’s early light pounded through the open windows up and down the strip, festival goers got their first taste of the benefits of an urbanized Bonnaroo, relishing the comforts of room-blackening curtains, air conditioning and spring mattresses. Many slept through the opening hours of Vegoose’s opening day, loosening the potential gridlock at the festival gates and leaving plenty of open space for those more well-rested souls to wander the grounds and soak in the atmosphere before rushing through the throngs that would eventually gather for the day’s headliners.

Those who may have missed the previous evening’s extra-curricular shows were rewarded for their long night’s rest with the gorgeous harmonies and punkified acoustic folk of festival openers Steel Train on the Jokers Wild Stage. Even those who arrived just a little early got a glimpse of the weekend’s most adventurous act. Armed with a film-editing machine wired to play beats, an electric drill, a plastic ray gun, two turntables, drums, bass, keyboards and a microphone, emcee Bean with Holy Fuck flowed through impossibly fast and frenetic rhymes atop a wall of sound and beats that impressed even such festival luminaries as Trey Anastasio and Wayne Coyne.

As the North Mississippi Allstars closed their set with the roller coaster blues of “Sugartown,” String Cheese Incident warmed up on the big stage in the bowl. Right about the time Kang &Co. were wrapping up their first segue from “Best Feeling” into “Come as You Are,” diehard members of the jamband fan club faced their first of many tough choices: stick around for the Cheese, who would later cover Dylan’s “The Mighty Quinn” en route to a closing “One Step Closer” > “’Round the Wheel,” or break off to the Jokers Wild Stage for the harder edges of Gov’t Mule.

Hindsight is 20/20, especially in Vegas, but those who put their money on the Double Down Stage lost that bet. Flush with their fiercest rock and roll “Game Face,” Mule played one of the best sets from the weekend’s festival veterans, crushing the growing Jokers Wild crowd with “Thorazine Shuffle,” “Time to Confess,” and a vicious closing triumverate of “Bad Little Doggie” > “No Quarter” > “Blind Man in the Dark.” Even the set’s downtime was upbeat on Marley’s “Lively Up Yourself” and a merciful reprise of the previous evening’s “Soulshine.”

Choices were easier for the hipsters than the hippies, however, as Superfly Productions offered entire stages worth of both indie and hip hop acts. While Atmosphere stomped all over the overflowing crowd at the Clubs Tent, the Decemberists brightened the already brilliant day with the vaudevillean folk-rock from their recent Picaresque.

The Shins soon joined the fun, besting the Decemberists’ Halloween melodrama with nun costumes and enough Catholic school jokes to fill the spaces between their bittersweet, bright-eyed pop. While the sound suffered from a mix as dry as the surrounding desert air, the Albuquerque quartet made themselves at home, matter-of-factly working through older tunes for the hardcore, along with newer material like “Kissing the Lipless,” “Young Pilgrims” and “Pink Bullets” from Chutes Too Narrow. Even clueless passers-by perked their ears up for the Garden State anchors “Caring is Creepy” and “New Slang.”

Meanwhile, the Double Down Stage paid off in spades as Phil Lesh and Friends flowed from one Dead classic to another, ending a long, strange trip from opener “Playing In the Band” with the missing Ryan Adams’ “Magnolia Mountain.” Old friend Warren Haynes came along for the next ride, hopping in after a stop at “Unbroken Chain” to add guitar and vocals to a crowd-pleasing and Vegas-appropriate “Shakedown Street” before surrending the microphone to Joan Osbourne’s soul-stirring “Sugaree.” Lesh and friends trumped the traditional “Help” > “Slip” pairing with a “Casey Jones” set closer before encoring with the missing “Franklin’s Tower” and a brief tease of “Dark Star” then closing the door on the set opener.

Outside on the grounds, as folks milled around between the Rock Poster Art Exhibit and other festival-worthy merchant tents, trying to decide between Beck and Primus, Talib Kweli rocked the Clubs Tent. With the Jokers Wild Stage running a bit behind, Les Claypool, Primus and their two giant rubber duckies appeared about the same time Beck’s Boy Scout troop navigated the wilderness of the Snake Eyes Stage.

Strapped down with a guitar, the relatively sedate Beck led his troop through the Scout Oath after opening with now-classic “Loser,” then proceeded through most of his newest, Guero. The cut-and-paste rock of “Black Tambourine” mixed with the sunny cheer of “Girl” and the psychedelic mariachi funk of “Que Onde Guero” before reaching back again for “Devil’s Haircut” and “Where It’s At.” Across the way, Primus mixed it up as well, weaving older obscurities like “Mr. Knowitall” and closer “Frizzle Fry” into a set of post-Cheese Seas material like “Eleven,” “Jerry Was a Race Car Driver” and “My Name Is Mud.”

As the last notes of “Sex Laws” faded out from Beck’s set, some got a headstart on the late night festivities, while those who stuck around were treated to a stout “Save Me” from Dave Matthews’ rock incarnation before his Friends left a messy “Will It Go Round in Circles” on the stage for Dave to clean up on “Some Devil.” After working through “Jimi Thing” and “Two Step” with buddy Tim Reynolds, however, the machine was running clean again for “Tell Me Something Good” and an acoustic run with Trey Anastasio through “Bathtub Gin” before a closing cover combo of the Band’s “Up on Cripple Creek” and Sly Stone’s “Thank You (falettin me be mice elf agin).”

As vulturous taxis and limos descended on the parking lot to pick through those leftover fans without shuttle passes, a post-show conversation buzz surrounded the stadium. Setlists were compared, epiphanies explained, and tickets exchanged as those not headed to the tables prepared for the long late-night ahead.

Vegoose at Night – Saturday

moe. – The Aladdin Theatre

Though I generally shy away from the radio, I was in its debt on this late evening in Las Vegas. As I started to drift out of consciousness along with the rest of the exhausted Vegeese on the shuttle bus to the Paris Hotel &Casino, Dick Bartlett (as in “Dick Bartlett’s Rockin’ Oldies) shot the entire bus through with a second wind. My talkative neighbor finally ceased his annoying chatter when the opening notes of Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl” poured from the cheap tour bus speakers, and as his humming joined in with the whistles and singing from our co-passengers, I wasn’t quite so tired anymore. As much as the frat-house classic breathed new life into our rag-tag group, however, the next Rockin’ Oldies number was nothing short of a miracle.

There is perhaps no greater singalong song in all of modern popular music than Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline,” and half a world away, Dick Bartlett, in all his musical wisdom, seemed to have sensed our weariness. Every conscious mind on the bus knew what was coming, and sure enough, after Neil Diamond sang the title lyrics, the bus exploded in a rousing chorus of “bah bah BAH!” “Good times never seemed so good,” indeed.

As the bus pulled up to the curb behind the Paris Hotel, I passed the soulless couple that was somehow still passed out in the front seat and hit the ground running, back to the Monte Carlo with a stopover for beer, sat down, dropped my excess baggage, wrapped two 24-ounce tallboys in brown paper bags, and took off chugging toward the Aladdin.

I have seen moe. a number of times, but never in Vegas or any other setting as momentous as this. After such a custom-made day of musical variety, they had a lot to live up to, and for once, this band that fits the definition of a jamband like few others, that rarely falls flat but had never blown me away, finally reached their potential.

The first set, later explained as the “good” set, opened with the entire band in full costume—Luke Skywalker, a Red Sox fan, the angel Elvis, a priest and Mr. Incredible—and from the first notes of the Cars’ “Let the Good Times Roll,” moe. filled the dark room with sunshine. Al Schnier’s keyboards, so often out of place and out of time before, fit the opener perfectly, and his vocals on “Good Trip” were genuine and warm. As the band flowed into the goofy jam love song, “She,” Schnier went back to the guitar and led his bandmates through a lengthy jam before “St. Augustine” threw a cynical wrench into the set’s jovial mood. As the bottom dropped out of the spot-on “Good Times Bad Times” and the crowd prepared itself for the coming darkness, moe. steered them back to sunny Jamaican shores before launching into the epic set closer, “Moth.”

The lights went up on setbreak like the morning sun through a bedroom window, and I darted off for what I hoped would be a refreshing stroll, but upon returning to my seat, I found that Dick Bartlett and Neil Diamond hadn’t stayed with me quite long enough. When I awoke some time later, the house lights were still on and the crowd was still there, so I sat up and gathered myself for the something wicked that was coming in the second set.

As the lights went down, the band came on, and Darth Vader approached the microphone. The opening riff worked its way through the crowd, slowly revealing AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap,” which would be the second of four covers played for the first time tonight. At times, the novelty of these quirky covers serves to mask mediocrity, but this particular show wasn’t just great on paper.

It could have been the fatigue and the moment, but the second set was moe. like I’d never heard them before. Bassist Rob Derhak laid a solid groove at the bottom of a seemingly bottomless “The Pit,” and as the violent freakout of “Meat” emerged from a long, dark jam, so did Particle guitarist Charlie Hitchcock, who brought the song to an impossible crescendo before the band let some light in with the out-of-place “Shoot First” and “Kids.” Electric Light Orchestra’s “Evil Woman” shone some neon into the gathering darkness before an ill-advised “Karma Police” faded back into the black of “Meat.”

While “Karma Police” and the first half of the encore, “The Ghost of Ralph’s Mom,” didn’t quite match up with the second set’s evil tone, the final closer showed why. The title carries Satan’s name, but “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” is a song about good guys winning, and the Charlie Daniels cover proved why, despite a couple of miscues, the nicest guys in the jam scene finally won. “The Pit” > “Meat” pairing was magical enough for one night, but with four new covers (all completely nailed) and some great improvisation, this one was one for the record books.

As was my Saturday. While late-night wookies mixed with the typical Vegas silk-shirt types, my aching feet moved apart from my waking head, carrying me back to the bed waiting on the 23rd floor of the Monte Carlo. And while I didn’t appreciate it as I floated back up the Strip, catching bits and pieces of war stories from the concert grounds and the gaming tables, that bed (not a tent and a sleeping bag) may still have been the best part of Vegoose, not because the rest of the weekend didn’t measure up, but because that bed made the rest of the weekend so much easier to enjoy.

Vegoose – Day Two

While the hardships of summer festivals can take a toll on one’s patience and enjoyment, nothing goes so far to create a sense of camaraderie among a pack of 60,000 overcrowded campers than a little mud and heat. If Bonnaroo veterans are akin to a brotherhood of natural disaster survivors, then those present at the inaugural Vegoose will look back on the Halloween weekend of 2005 like Red Sox fans remember the fall of 2004: Forget Dickens. This was strictly the best of times.

Looking, and more importantly smelling, refreshed from an extra hour of sleep and no less than a brief rinse in the shower, Sunday’s early risers crowded shuttle buses at Paris, The Tropicana, The Flamingo, and New Frontier, swapping setlists from the previous night (String Cheese Incident’s show at the Orleans Arena was a popular object of effusive praise) and strategizing for the coming day.

Incoming crowds were even lighter on this second day as spectators found the chosen idioms for the two outside stages reversed. California jamsters ALO worked through a short set on the Snake Eyes Stage while the Magic Numbers warmed up Jokers Wild. Michael Franti spread his hybridized good vibes from inside the stadium, and Umphrey’s McGee followed up their late night triumph with staples like the ping-pongy dub of “Anchor Drops” and the chunky-riffing techno of “JaJunk.” Any band would be blessed to have just one of the most technically gifted young guitarists on the jam scene. Umphrey’s McGee has two of them, and while their set was short, it went a long way towards seducing yet another crowd of virgin ears.

As Umphrey’s built their closing suite of “2x2” > “Bridgeless” to a breaking noise tsunami, Sleater-Kinney was making their own waves. The tiny crowd belied the noisy mammoth on stage. Sleater-Kinney dig their brawny guitar fuzz and punchgut drums from the earth of punk’s forebears, plowing through layers of indie noise rock to the bedrock beneath, where Crazy Horse and the Stooges took root. Singer/guitarist Corin Tucker’s urgent wail scratches straight to the bone, and the powerhouse trio stomped like a cast-iron rock machine through “Wilderness,” “Let’s Call It Love,” and the closer, “Entertain.”

While moe. slowly awoke from their dreamy “Rebubula” opener, the brothers Ween rocked and offended with their own quirkiness, laughing in the face of worldwide pandemics on “The HIV Song” and “Spinal Meningitis.” Just as the goofy calypso party of “Voodoo Lady” drifted over the grounds, Spoon’s Americanized anglo-rock won over a few neophytes at the Jokers Wild Stage while moe. riffed their way through the Stones’ “Can’t You Hear Me Knockin’” before closing the book on “Rebubula.”

Living funk legends The Meters temporarily eased the coming painful decision between the jammy bliss of Trey Anastasio and the absurdist spectacle of the Flaming Lips, but the Vegoose crowd’s priorities soon became clear. Tried and true jamsters trekked off toward the Silver Bowl while rootsy traditionalists stayed put for the Meters’ New Orleans soul and the careless and fancy-free gravitated toward Wayne Coyne &Company.

The pop luster of Anastasio’s coming Shine was less blinding in the live setting, but those expecting the afrobeat grooves of his previous band would be disappointed. After the newer “Spin,” the 70 Volt Parade reached back into Anastasio’s bag of tricks on “Push On ‘Til the Day,” adding a jazz swing before finally returning to the song’s groovy origins. Much of Anastasio’s back catalog, including “Night Speaks to a Woman” and “Money, Love and Change” followed, easing the transition into the former Phish leader’s more radio-friendly present reality of “Sleep Again” and “Shine.” Grumbling humbugs were placated, however, with acoustic Phish tunes like “Inlaw Josie Wales” and “Back On the Train,” as well as a poignant duet with vocalist Jen Hartswick on “Brian &Robert.”

The Flaming Lips, meanwhile, brought everything but the big top, as Wayne Coyne’s sincere, center-ring cheerleading after opener “Race for the Prize” prepped the crowd for the group karaoke of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.” The bouncy soul-searching of “Fight Test” foreshadowed the anti-Bush “War Pigs” closer, which teamed flashing images of “shock and awe” with the talking heads of Bush, Rumsfeld, Powell, Cheney and Rice, lending a Halloween horror to the otherwise celebratory set. “Do You Realize” lifted the weight of two days of fatigue from the audience’s collective shoulders, however, leaving the crowd with at least a cheery paranoia.

Digable Planets’ recent triumphant comeback continued in the Clubs Tent while Jack Johnson serenaded the Snake Eyes crowd with cool, acoustic Hawaiian breezes. Perhaps the most anticipated set of the weekend, however, came from the Arcade Fire, whose high-energy art rock was the perfect follow-up to the Flaming Lips’ spectacle.

Opening with the droning guitar and hauntingly jubilant choruses of “Wake Up,” the Montreal it-kids scrambled around the stage, switching instruments and sweating bullets through their critically acclaimed Funeral and self-titled EP. The collective’s eclectic studio work took on new life on stage, as songs like “No Cars Go” and “Headlights Look Likes Diamonds,” which come off a bit snobbish on record, radiated a wood fire’s heat from the hearth of the stage. The urgent thump of “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)” played like anthems from the early dark, and the encore of Springsteen’s “State Trooper” and the band’s own “Tunnels” left little doubt about the legitimacy behind the Arcade Fire’s hype.

Vegoose at Night – Sunday

Weezer – The Joint at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino

Festivals like Vegoose have the tendency to separate the optimists from the pessimists. With so much happening, it would be impossible to witness every “moment,” but on the way out of the gates, there are always the grumbling voices: “I can’t believe I missed that!” It’s a good thing my glass is generally half full, because while I missed what would surely have been one of the festival highlights for me—Trey Anastasio joining Widespread Panic on “Thin Air (Smells Like Mississippi)” > “jam” (as well as what was purportedly a hot opening trio of “Disco” > “Space Wrangler” > “Henry Parsons Died”)—the show at the Joint at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino was one of the most satisfying concert experiences I’ve had. Everyone has a “list”—those few must-see-before-I-die bands—and the choice between knocking a name off that list or seeing Widespread Panic, whom I would see the following night for the umpteenth time, was not a difficult one to.

I had a secret: unbeknownst to most at the Vegoose grounds, Weezer were closing their tour at the Joint. And while I arrived a little late due to my complete inability to peel myself away from the Arcade Fire’s set, and the general admission crowd had militantly sealed off the front rows, the chance to see one of my favorite bands for the first time in a 1200-capacity club was well worth whatever I might have missed.

Two-handed “W”s were already lifted high when I walked in to the power pop of “Why Bother,” and as the stage flooded the room in pink light, the entire crowd erupted into a singalong of “El Scorcho,” one of several songs from fan favorite Pinkerton.

As the opening jingle-jangle of “Say It Ain’t So” sparked a roar of approval, I realized I had never witnessed such shameless adoration lavished upon a band. Even the half-assed pop of “On Drugs” and “Beverly Hills” from the disappointing Make Believe couldn’t quell the love radiating from the crowd. While the giddy smiles didn’t quite equal footage I’ve seen of Beatlemania, I finally understood: Unlike the cool, reserved kinship of the Vegoose crowd, these Weezer fans were in the presence of heroes; they were living their dreams.

A Scott Shriner bass solo bled into the geeky surf punk of “Goin’ Surfin’,” and “The Good Life” received still more adulation, as “W”s were raised again in worshipful praise. Frontman Rivers Cuomo and drummer Patrick Wilson switched places for the closing “Photograph,” which faded into Blur’s “#2” and a crumbling wall of sound that finally crashed to the stage as the band walked off.

Brief confusion turned to pleasant surprise when the audience turned their heads toward the soundboard, where Cuomo had appeared out of nowhere to sing an acoustic serenade of “Holiday.” After walking through the crowd and disappearing backstage, the horn-rimmed wonder reappeared with the full band in costume—Rivers a jailbird, Patrick Wilson a caveman, Scott Shriner a clergyman and Brian Bell a mysterious, red, hooded figure reminiscent of Riding Hood—and recruited an audience member to play acoustic guitar on the classic “Undone.” Morganne Wakefield’s ear-to-ear grin made up for any minor miscues, and after she walked off stage with the guitar in hand, Weezer topped off the evening with the big rock finish of “Hash Pipe” and the nostalgiac sweetness of “Buddy Holly.”

Having failed to trade my extra Weezer ticket for a Phil Lesh (I instead miracled an appreciative Deadhead), I began the mile-long, solitary walk back to the hotel. The relative darkness of the rest of Las Vegas as compared to the eternal electric glow of The Strip is a little spooky, but it gave me time to reflect upon the weekend: Having set my own experience apart from that of the typical Vegoose attendee, I now had just the leftover fumes of the coming Halloween evening with Widespread Panic to fuel my nearly empty tank. I wondered how many of the passing taxis and limos were taking Vegoose revelers to the airport to return to the real world and counted my blessings that my weekend was not quite over.

On my way through the casino, I sacrificed a few bucks to the gods of chance that live in the video poker machine, but didn’t stick around long enough to attract any cocktail waitresses. I wasn’t expecting much luck anyway. I hadn’t come to gamble, and without gambling, was I really in Vegas? Despite the city’s best efforts to put a squeaky clean sheen over its hedonistic heart, it’s still Sin City, and without the city’s favorite sin, it didn’t feel much like Vegas at all. Nor did it feel much like a music festival, at least by the conventional definition.

Though I’m not sure of the organizers true intentions behind the name, or whether they’re aware of the epistemological implications of it, it seemed fitting: a little bit of Vegas, an assonant hint towards Bonnaroo, and a non-sensical suggestion of migratory water fowl suggest some mad cafeteria concoction that mixes two known quantities heretofore never combined to create something vaguely familiar, though its relationship with reality is nearly impossible to pin down. Not that an event like Vegoose could ever have much to do with reality. I knew where and when reality was, and I wasn’t quite ready to return to it just yet.

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