Eat a Peach.

  Ok. Admittedly, I've never been a huge Grateful Dead fan; I respect the adoration and devotion of their fans but I never really "got" the whole thing. I still don't know that I do but without straining my mind on it, I've come up with that it's just a lifestyle more than anything, the festival life/ roadie life/ hippie life. Doing the tour circuit along with the band, following them wherever they may go.
  That's a portion of them, the rest just like some chill ass music to take drugs to, not that I have anything against that; I mean, it's better to drop acid at a Dead show (or any other side band affiliated with them) than, say, The Acacia Strain (even though I like them too). There's certainly something to be said for any band who has maintained such a devoted following, and of generally positive things. Sure, there's lots of "drug" use there but people just want to escape for a few hours to a place of magic and wonder. Can you blame them?
 
  Coming fresh off a weekend music festival high up on Montage Mountain in Scranton, my faith in humanity and life itself has once again been salvaged and restored, for the most part; there's always a handful of assholes but that's just life. The whole thing was beautiful, though. My girlfriend Rachel might disagree (haha) with me on that because not everyone's idea of fun consists of trudging up a ski slope to your tent site but for me it gives me camping wood, plus the view was to die for. And let's not even talk about the sunsets. Yes, be jealous. Then get yourself a ticket and go next year!
   Anyways, there was a lot of initial anxiety regarding not being able to camp with your vehicle, as I'm accustomed to, and having to grab your gear, head to a shuttle pick up area, load up then be taken to the camping area. The first trip was disorienting and exhausting but we managed to be broadsided by the kindness of strangers, thanks to our neighbor, Bob. I forget what Bob does or where he came from but for a few hours we co-existed as if we've known each other for years. It's that random kindness from people you don't know but who are there for all the same reasons you are that really make me go all soft inside. It's a beautiful thing.
  Now, Bob isn't perfect. No one is. He was a little clingy, got belligerently drunk and nearly inflicted permanently disfiguring oil burns on all of us by his drunken clumsiness around a camp cooker but we survived, and the fact of the matter is he went along back with us on our second trip to the truck to grab more gear. Had we not met him, it would have taken three trips back and forth, easily. The man even fed me beers until I got my own, so he's ok in my book.
  Rachel and I walked around with Bob the first night, got drunk and just wandered, eventually losing him but ending up laying on a blanket gazing up at the clouds on a beautiful mountain night with The Allman Brothers Band as our soundtrack, hoopers and trippers surrounding us, the landscape awash in grooving bodies and lit up by glow sticks and the air perfumed by marijuana and patchouli. Definitely a good night.

  Eventually, we ended up back at the tent, just what time it was exactly was irrelevant at that point, and that's the beauty of festivals. Shit, camping in general or just spending time in nature does the same but couple that with three days of music and no reason to be anywhere soon and you're living, my friend. You're living.
  It doesn't take long for your biological clock to reset itself. Maybe you go to bed early, maybe you stay up late but get up earlier. Do whatever your body feels like without having to strap yourself to a schedule. In that respect, I definitely get the whole vibe of these bands and their fans, that culture. And it is a culture, for sure. Me, personally, I feel very much at home in it, for the most part. I dig the earthy/artsy/eco things in life, and I like to live simply as much as I can, but there's always a part of me that's either ready or at least accepting of the fact that the dream can't last forever; at some point reality has to come back in to play.
    We got to spend one more whole day of just resting, relaxing and exploring on Saturday, which entailed checking out Karl Denson's Tiny Universe's whole set, along with jamming out to Citizens Band Radio later, who just tore it up in that southern boogie style and capped the night off with round two of The Allman Brothers, who opened up with my favorite tune, "You Don't Love Me". Don't let the title fool you, though: I was definitely feeling the love all weekend long :)

  Our weekend came to an end that night, as we sat together in our tent with the "door" open, letting the cool night air in, just taking in the sights and sounds, and eventually turning in, cuddled up together in the chilly night air. The weather was perfect, as was the company the time was spent with.
  We didn't stay for any of the bands Sunday, as I'm ready to get back home and unpack and relax before getting slammed back into the vocational doldrums Monday. I would have liked to see The Black Crowes but there's always another time; I'd say we did pretty damn good with what we did do, as so often it's easy to do too much at a festival like that. Bonnaroo especially, since there's so many good bands that you want to see but you just can't do it all. Times like that you just have to take a minute and breathe, remember that this is supposed to be your relaxing vacation, not work with more schedules and having to be somewhere at a certain time. If you do, fine. If not, even better. It often goes that the best show you see is the one you never planned on by a band you never even heard of.

  It's a little depressing seeing everyone suck back into themselves, packing up and going back to their own individual planes of existence in their corner of the world. You go back to being total strangers but you'll be back, and there will be a whole other completely new and different, yet similar, brand of experiences with people you never knew you knew.

  This makes two festivals for me this year, and as much as I'd love to make it three, it just may not be feasible. I have to be careful not to spoil it for myself though, as these things can be an addiction of their own, and sooner or later it loses the appeal for me. I never want it to because for a few days, I get to live off the grid. I can turn my phone off once I get there (after making the appropriate calls to loved ones ensuring your safety) and not worry about it until it's over. I can feel like a human being, I can feel like myself and not have to answer to anyone or put on a front to appease my employer.
 

   Until next time,
 
   See you there.


-Shane
8.18.13

Hipster Fasciitis

"Standing stoic, eyes like bright statues against an emotional undercurrent; the intellect is what binds."

  Yeah, something like that. I'm standing in a grungy basement surrounded by people I refuse to associate myself with; a very definitive hipster dilemma, I would say. The band my friend and I are here to see is (the) Melvins, but I can't pull myself out of my head; it's a pretty normal thing for me, so I'm not worried.
  Looking around at all the arms folded across chests, these arms covered in tattoos, everyone wearing painted-on jeans and shockingly similar eye wear. There's a couple to my left who coordinated their outfits well, tonight: the ubiquitous skinny jeans on both sexes, tattoos, "hipster glasses" and identical Adidas footwear. I throw up in my mouth a little.

  I don't know, I guess I've always had some sort of issue with conformity in one way or another, and even when I did (conform), I could reason to myself and others logically exactly WHY (I thought) I stand/stood out. Most times, I only have my ridiculous theories tested and dissected, leaving me a bit like a sullen adolescent. It's hard to be original these days, and even when you are you run the risk of becoming a schtick; you cease to be human and instead exist as a living, breathing gimmick. You could wear a meat suit or light yourself on fire but then it just becomes shock and awe for its own sake, a pitiful cry for attention in a world where no one is listening.
 
  But they're talking. And soon, meat suits become all the rage.

  I will try all day long but ultimately cannot deny my interests and tastes are decidedly "hipster". This is my generation, so I guess I might as well stop fighting it and just laugh; at myself, and others. Quietly though, hipsters probably offend easily.

  So now what? Where do I go from here now that I see my fate? Ok, I guess I should get back to being  somewhat present at this show, since I did pay money and drive two hours to see..

  There's always those who have a good time, no matter what, no matter who is playing. And there is always the other 3/4 of the audience (whom I've described earlier) scrutinizing the band howling and gyrating onstage like they were some strange bug caught up in scientific documentation. It's like that for us hipsters; I do it plenty. It is, however, interesting to watch and I turn that scrutinizing eye not only on my fellow audience but myself, as well.
  No one moves. Magically, the Melvins come on and everyone's heads and necks become instantly unglued, teetering and bobbing back and forth to the first four seconds of the opening drum kicks. It's amazing stuff, and if you've never noticed it, well, then just keep reading my stuff I guess.

  The 30-year vets of eclecticism lurch through a set that I have no idea of the exact length; I'm drunk and busy watching hipsters but losing myself in the double-drummer attack all the same. I never see the band once, except for the occasional glimpse of the frontmen through armpits and under chins.

  It's ok. Really. Sometimes its better to just close your eyes and be a hipster like no one's watching.