So where do I even start? Whether seeking shelter from raining glow-sticks during My Morning Jacket's epic late-night set or gladly suffering from a mild case of whiplash as a result of Metallica's gritty assault, this year's Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival did not miss a beat. Well, there is Kanye West ... but we will get to that later. Set on a 700-acre farm in the middle of nowhere (Manchester, Tenn., to be exact), the four-day sensory overload featured a diverse lineup of over 150 bands. To each of the 80,000 in attendance, Bonnaroo is their own. Here is my hazy day-by-day attempt to recap one of the finest celebrations of good music.
Thursday
Thursday at Bonnaroo is merely a day to set up camp and get some blood flowing through the body - basically the calm before the storm. The first music did not start until about 7 p.m. and gently eased you into the evening with a crop of lesser-known artists and up-and-comers. As a majority of the festival-goers were still stuck in traffic, Thursday was also the perfect opportunity to explore the endless line of attractions in the main concert area, aptly named Centeroo. One of the many highlights was the Scratch DJ Academy, which featured a "DJ 101" workshop and hands-on scratching and mixing - my very own chance to pretend that I am DJ Shadow or Daft Punk (space helmet not included).
By far the highlight of Thursday was a sunset performance by Michigan-based afro-pop-meets-funk outfit Nomo. Having been awake for most of the last 36 hours, only surviving on a diet of energy drinks and Diet Coke, Nomo's rich rhythm section and bevy of brass-laden explosions snapped some life into my weary body. Unfortunately, indie sensations MGMT and Vampire Weekend failed to keep me awake.
Friday
Waking up on Friday morning at Bonnaroo signifies the true beginning. Generally the sun is an unwelcome guest as it turns your tent into an oven just minutes after clearing the tree line. Luckily, overcast skies kept the temperature in the 70s, and the humidity resembled San Diego rather than Africa.
Hailing from the far reaches of the Deep South, the Drive-By Truckers proved to be a fitting wake-up call on the Which Stage. Playing loud and toasting to their southern rock disciples, the Truckers came off as a far more rustic version of Lynyrd Skynyrd, and sang as if they had seen just as many miles as their icons, if not more.
While the freak-funk bass master Les Claypool could be heard slapping his way through his set, a loud crash came from the main stage (called the What Stage) and a wall of noise nearly trumped Claypool's sonic trickery. A mass exodus ensued and Claypool refugees were met by Jack White's piercing guitar licks. White, who played last year with the White Stripes, returned this year to perform with his other group, the Raconteurs. Still a relatively young band, White and company quickly navigated through both of their albums in their 90-minute, high-octane scorcher of a set - easily the daytime highlight of the entire festival.
Then there is Metallica. As a testament to their fanbase, at just about every show over the long weekend multiple fans could be spotted donning their vintage black Metallica tour shirts - a true feat in the 90-plus-degree heat. I give Metallica immense credit - they showed up, played an amazing show full of hits, and seemed to enjoy every minute of it. Frontman James Hetfield even asked the audience members to raise their hands if it was their first Metallica show. When nearly everyone raised their hand he responded, "All right, that's good to see, I love that ... we support live music and kicking ass live ... that's why we're here and that's why we hope you are here too."
A slight drizzle during Metallica turned into an all-out downpour as the clock struck midnight. In the past, Bonnaroo has seen its share of epic late-night performances, with none being more celebrated than My Morning Jacket's three-hour set in 2006. With the Louisville, Ky.,-based quintet set to play the Which Stage at midnight, the hype surrounding the show was endless - especially considering that the bands album Evil Urges was released to critical acclaim only four days prior. Four hours and 35 songs later, I was sure that I witnessed one of the most impressive performances in my life. Metallica's guitarist, Kirk Hammett, even sat in during My Morning Jacket staple "One Big Holiday" - a move that I never could have predicted. (I guess those guys from Metallica are pretty cool after all.) The rain, which turned the toxic dust into mud laced with all kinds of gross substances (urine perhaps), only enhanced the show. It almost seemed too perfect, maybe suggesting that My Morning Jacket was controlling the weather. As darkness slowly drifted into dawn, I threw out my first pair of sneakers and settled into my tent.
Saturday
Groggy and beginning to ripen from three days without a shower, I spent much of my Saturday drifting in and out of a peaceful slumber during the afternoon shows. Stephen Marley, clearly unashamed of his father's legacy, dusted off many of the legend's classics.
Sunset proved to be the perfect time for Jack Johnson to stroll barefoot onto the main stage with just an acoustic guitar. As Johnson admitted that he could not wait to see Pearl Jam, Eddie Vedder appeared with an acoustic guitar and joined Johnson on "Constellations," from his album In Between Dreams.
The push toward the front in the minutes before Pearl Jam's headlining set brought me to a nice spot just behind the pit. As expected, Pearl Jam played nearly an hour past its allotted time slot, which was cut down to two hours after Kanye West's set was moved to 2:45 a.m. Pearl Jam's three-hour set visited the best corners of every album in its repertoire and even included a gripping cover of The Who's "Love Reign O'er Me."
With little time to waste before Kanye's much-anticipated glow-in-the-dark set, a quick jog to the emcee tent allowed me to catch the end of Lupe Fiasco's 45-minute set. Backed by a full band and a horn section, Lupe worked the crowd nicely and closed his set with his hit, "Superstar." This seemed to be a fitting segue for Kanye's spectacle to come.
Soon 2:45 a.m. rolled around and Kanye failed to appear. To start with, I believe that there is no room in music for Kanye's ego and am hardly moved by his lyrical content, but still I respect him as an artist and a producer and, based on what I have heard about his live show, believed that his Bonnaroo performance would be a milestone for hip-hop.
Things could not have gone any worse and, unfortunately, Bonnaroo has to live with the scars as Kanye's ego continues to grow. Kanye's behavior, as he failed to appear until 4:30 a.m. without apology, and cut his set down to an hour, was as unprofessional as it was disrespectful to the Bonnaroo crowd, which is a composed of avid music fans. Granted, festivals can become logistical nightmares, but Kanye's excuse for being late (a broken LCD screen) was pathetic. Why not put his arrogance to good use and prove that he can entertain an audience of 40,000 with just a DJ and no over-the-top production? I was pleased to hear that Kanye took the stage to boos and was even more pleased that I left well before my own musical integrity could be compromised.
Sunday
Sunday at Bonnaroo is a day of acceptance. Having not showered since Tuesday night, and living on hot dogs and water, the body generally accepts the fact that it is time to move on with the journey. The vibe for much of the day could be summed up in two words, "Kanye Sucks." Leading the charge was pedal-steel-guitar virtuoso Robert Randolph, who led the crowd in multiple "Kanye Sucks" chants during his sweaty booty-shakin', foot stompin' marathon. Yonder Mountain String Band, the leaders of the jam-grass movement, as well as Robert Plant and Allison Krauss, held down daytime slots on the main stage. Both delivered heavy doses of bluegrass and were well received in the intense heat. Add in sets from Derek Trucks and Susan Tedeschi and an acoustic set from Phil Lesh and Sunday quickly became a showcase of virtuosos. As Widespread Panic closed out Bonnaroo for the second straight year, many festival goers hit the road to beat out the traffic, myself included. Almost 24 hours and 1,100 miles later, I dropped my luggage and immediately proceeded to the shower. The dirt may have washed away, but the memories will always remain.
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