Results tagged “festival”

[Wednesday] [Thursday]

I have friends, and some of them came with me to this High Zero concert. That's because the Saturday matinee is a unique show among these unique shows. It involves compositions... of course, ones that deal in experimental improvisation. This year's was comprised of two by local auteur Jenny Graf Sheppard. Both were hit and miss.

The first piece was titled "A Performance of Experimental Archeology by the Stone Carving Oraclestra". This involved five so-called "readings" by a quintet of veiled women dressed in white, ululating and moaning. They would culminate in a phrase made ominous by lack of context ("DO IT NOW") and splitting reverb. Then one would hit a rock with another rock, and hand it to the recipient of the reading. Between each reading a small group of High Zero musicians performed.
The performance, in addition to being overlong, suffered from a lack of focus. On one hand it strongly suggested a genuine attempt at divination and matters of the occult, but on the other there were more light-hearted elements that betrayed and muddled the presumed intent of the whole thing. Meanwhile, the vocalizations of the prophetesses were unimpressive in their experimental character. Some were more inventive than others, but unfortunately the main prophetess, who was also the loudest, was content with a small selection of whoops and moans. Also, the performance was riddled with minor but obvious goof, suggesting that the performance was not altogether planned very well. The better moments came during the group's interludes, however their music was not wholly different from the sets heard on any given High Zero evening. In the end, this piece was kind of asinine.

In order to prepare for the second piece, we were given an hour-long intermission. When we left the theater I wheedled my wife and friends into filling out their survey forms that were included with the programs. These get entered into a box, one is drawn at the end of the day's concert, and that person wins two copies of a special tenth-anniversary High Zero DVD. I wanted that DVD.

With lots of time to spare, we headed outside and around the way to an Ethiopian-operated cafe. We headed back with time to spare, and we used it hanging out front of the theatre at one of the High Jinx events called "Toys That Make Noise". Although it essentially consisted of a motorized singing doll (with a haunting resemblance to JonBenét Ramsey), I still wished I had brought a few of my daughter's kookier pseudo-musical toys and join in.

In time the theatre doors were opened, and we all quite literally entered into the second piece, "Threshold for Action and Sound". The need for such a long intermission was immediately clear: we were led through a gateway onto the theatre stage, which had been turned into a dining room by the placing of plastic-board tables, folding chairs and other atmospherics. Several musicians were scattered around the space, being clandestinely conducted by an unidentified man in one corner. We were going to have dinner, and our choices as we ate would determine the what's, who's and how's of the music. Two menus were offered, one vegan and one non-vegan, and they were segregated to stage right and stage left, respectively. As it happened, half our group went vegan and half went non. I went non.
We sat at a table with, as it turned out, several of the weekend's artists who were not performing in this piece. Across from me was Ms. Adorno, as well as others such as Bill Nace and Audrey Chen sat nearby as well. We were encouraged to pick the courses on our menu in any order, although we ended up simply going down the list. We had a bread and cheese course, servings of kimchi, deviled eggs, and finally tiramisu for dessert. I would like to point out that the food was not great, but I'll grant that its quality should be incidental to the success of the musical piece (also considering that this is a free meal at a shoestring performance event, one should not expect culinary excellence). Unfortunately, the music itself also became incidental, as unnoticeable as the humming of the ventilation system while we all ate, drank and were merry. It was a fabulous and unrepeatable experience, excitement and playful inhibition giving way to many shenanigans best left unlisted. The joy was in the time spent there, with like-minded folk. The music was ignored. And so it must also, like Sheppard's first piece, be deemed a failure. But thank you for a lovely time.

The drawing happened immediately after, in the lobby, and wouldn't you know it but one of my friend's name was called (actually, the one who needed the most wheedling). He gave me one copy of the DVD and kept the other. I felt as if I had just pulled of a bank heist.

By the time we were outside, another High Jinx was beginning. Someone read millennia-old Roman poetry, and attendees were encourages to move to the sounds. It was called "Latin Dance". We took the opportunity to bust a move or two.

Finally, it was time to go, and to say goodbye to High Zero for another year. As my wife and I walked back to our car, an audience member strolled ahead of us, intoning through a well-worn tuba. The spirit was in him, and now he was going out into the world, prophesying to all nations. I was comforted by that thought.

[Wednesday] [Saturday Matinee]

Back again, and this time with a good parking spot.

Thursday night at High Zero began with a Special Set from one of the festival's 10th Anniversary Artists. Her name is Olga Adorno, she is 71, she is from Nice, France, and she specializes in "spontaneous performance". That's quite a statement to make— I mean, isn't that what all these artists here do? Isn't that the point of the whole festival?
Turns out that Ms. Adorno, a woman who was pivotal in the 1960's New York beat scene and their notorious "happenings", didn't so much utilize the idea of improvisation (as the musicians did) as embody it. Every new moment in the (albeit onerous) 45-minute performance was palpable as Adorno chose how it would play out. It was ontology, manifested. That's all I can say; to describe the actual elements of her happening would cheapen it, and miss the point.

A non-intermission followed, then Group One began. This performance set the pace for a consistently great evening. The key to this group was an impeccable rapport. Each member was clearly attentive to his or her peers, and moved as a group from one idea to another. At times San Fran trumpeter Liz Alibee and Philly violinist (and member of experimental rock group Normal Love) Carlos Santiago would face off with staccato flourishes. Other times drummer Paul Neidhardt (and fellow UMBC music alum) and guitarist Bill Nace would match para-musical sound for para-musical sound (and as I suspected from the night before, I did indeed miss out on Nace's playing-- by laying the guitar flat on his lap and attacking it with foreign objects like crochet hooks and toothbrushes, and applying feedback liberally, he creates a rich symphony of distinct noises. He also played on Saturday, and in all the combined time that I watched him perform I don't think I ever saw him touch the strings with his bare hands).

Another solo set followed, by Magali Babin. She performed the night before, but to recap: she's from Québec and her instrument is "amplified metal". This appeared to involve pairing up various metal objects-- tinfoil, ball bearings, mixing bowls-- with various types of mics-- contact primarily, but also pickups and more traditional types-- and also various digital processing-- looping, reverb, pitch-bending. An art so focused on the tiniest details of timbre and the slightest changes between them did not work well in a group setting, so a solo set had great prospect. While Babin lacked a serious inventiveness (or perhaps it was more a problem of execution), she still achieved some lush moments. And overall, I should add, a more subdued performance helped the course of the evening move along without exhausting itself.

Group Two followed closely in the footsteps of Group One, with less effective results. Drummer Tony Buck, from Berlin, was solid, implementing all types of gear, orthodox and not, to create sounds from his set, yet he also showed serious chops during passages of more traditional playing. Arrington de Dionyso (leader of the group Old Time Relijun) played bass clarinet with the fervor, and spasticity, of a jazz player. The hitch may have been local artist Audrey Chen. While her cello techniques were interesting, she spent equal time laboring through harsh, histrionic vocals. Her efforts weren't bad, strictly, but when compared to other musicians who specialize in avant-garde voice (Jaap Blonk was a highlight of last year's festival), she appeared uninspired. Still, the group hung together well, and even achieved two separate collective stops, the four-minute-mile of group free improvisation.

Group Three capped off the night, starting later than when the night before ended. This group was unusual in that it appeared to have been more deliberately formed, for it was comprised of five horns and reeds players (John Berndt on alto, Liz Alibee on trumpet, Rose Hammer Burt on baritone, Samuel Burt on Bb and bass clarinets, John Eaton on alto) and one drummer (the wunderkind Chris Corsano). The result inevitably skirted free-jazz terrain, but the players consciously moved beyond the Ornette tradition and kept the music grounded in the avant-garde. The music began with an excited blast from Berndt and everyone followed suit, which was already a refreshing departure from the usual process of timid looks about the stage giving way to hesitant squeaks and blurps. As it happened, Berndt often appeared to be leading the group in a certain direction, but being one of the founders of the festival he knew exactly what was needed (Berndt also founded the emindent Baltimore design firm The Berndt Group. It's always strange to remember that these crazy cats often have straight-laced day jobs). Another unique aspect of this set was the absence electronic sounds-- all the performers worked with acoustic instruments. And I would be foolish not to mention the talents of Corsano, who was simply all over the place. And when the time came, the it all ended perfectly, with the tiniest of reprisals and then silence.

It was past midnight, and I headed home wondering what surprises would come alive at the special Saturday matinee show.

[Thursday] [Saturday Matinee]

This weekend is the tenth anniversary of one of the most exciting and unique musical events in the world, and by that measure that makes it one of the best reasons to live near Baltimore. It is the High Zero Festival of Experimental Improvised Music.

So, here's the rundown. For one extended weekend in September a group of several dozen musicians from near and far assemble to play sets of completely improvised music. The performers, their disciplines and their aesthetics all vary greatly. These concerts take place every night, plus a special matinee show on Saturday. But that's not all; the weekend also includes an opening night event with special performances; several scheduled talks, lectures and master classes by the musicians at local colleges and other organizations; and finally the highly radical and often dangerous High Jinx, which speaks for itself. By the way, the whole thing is produced by the Red Room Collective, who work very hard to prove that Baltimore is among the most vibrant cities in the world for new music.

So that's the gist of it. I wish I had posted all that before hand, so that I could just get right to the recap of the first night. Fortunately, we can get to that presently.................

I arrived late, because I couldn't find my earplugs. These are special, high-end earplugs that are designed to reduce all frequencies relatively evenly, so that the sound quality is not compromised. I usually bring them to concerts (as a piano tuner, protection is critical), and I learned last year that the sounds at High Zero are just as threatening. Anyway, I didn't find them, and I was running late. The low point of the evening was shelling out $11 for parking, because I didn't have the luxury of searching for a spot on the street.

Upstairs in the Theatre Project, all manner of so-called "humans" were mingling. Joy and contentment was in the air. This is where you go to be yourself, but only once a year.

The theatre is small and stubborn, all black with steeply tiered seats. I like to sit in the second row... close, but not too close. You never really know.

The show began, as usual, with a solo set. Tom Boram is half of Baltimore's experimental electronic duo Leprechaun Catering. He is older than he looks, with shaggy black hair and beard (with a pinch of pepper), and he wore a red-and-black ensemble with a tailcoat. His listed instruments were "synthesizer, voice", and neither were played. Boram began with a soft, largo click. He began to tap dance (yes, he was wearing tap shoes). He hopped sprightly around the stage, then crossed in front of his setup, revealing that mics had been planted in the area to catch the taps, transfer them to his ranks of circuit patches where they would be processed with effects. It became a rich melody of acoustic dance and digital glitch. He soon settled down to an upright studio piano, opened to reveal how the strings had been prepared. This also ran through his rig and treated with effects, further exponentially removing the original piano tone. Notes knocked, swooped, yelped. Balloons were taped to the top lid of the piano, and Boram would occasionally grab a pin and attack, bursting several in one swipe.
It was over all too quickly: that's my only complaint. This was the perfect way to begin the festival weekend, with something even veterans could not expect.

Boram's setup was struck, and Group One began without intermission. It was a pretty good performance, but never quite took off. Pedal steel guitarist Susan Alcorn had some unique ideas, but did very little beyond soft textural contributions. Canadian Magali Babin played "amplified metal", but the subtleties were mostly lost among her peers. Rose Hammer Burt was a more traditional free improviser on baritone and soprano saxes, which actually came as a refreshing change of pace. Robert van Heumann, from Amsterdam, was the most interesting performer, but I had philosophical reservations about it. His tools were a laptop, small mixing boards and an adapted joystick. His modus operandi was to take the sounds produced by the other musicians (he must've been patched into the soundboard), process them and replay them. It was always a surprise to hear a quick flurry of sax notes, then a second later hear that same flurry, distorted or echoed or shifted in pitch. It was live, improvised sampling; it was meta-improv. But is that OK? After all, he is simply taking the ideas that the others had already stated and putting it in his own voice. I suppose that's pretty much the same argument against sampling in general, but for some reason it only began to bother me in the moment. I suppose part of the problem was that it reminded me of a bratty kid, repeating what you said back to you in a whiny, mocking voice, his face a scrunched with resentment.

Group Two took the stage after an intermission, and proceeded to drag the evening down further. All three musicians did a respectable job. Guitarist Carson Gerhart indulged in several homemade effects pedals and other instruments. Electronicist Michael Muniak (boyfriend of a friend of a friend), sat in the middle, arrayed with devices that toiled in non-melodic noises. Philly-based trombonist Dan Blacksberg favored extended techniques over simple atonality. The problem seemed to be that the three never really coalesced into a trio, and it felt as if they struggled to find a point to their playing. At one point, Blacksberg accidentally dropped his Harmon mute while manipulating it in the bell, and although he played on as if nothing happened, that unplanned action seemed to shock and invigorate the group. If even for just a bit, an electricity ran through us all. Sometimes circumstances beyond one's control are necessary for development.

A matter of seconds into Group Three's performance, it was clear that they would be the best performance of the night. It was a stellar group, and all local folk. The VIP was M.C. Schmidt, who with his life partner Drew Daniel make up the acclaimed experimental electronic duo (yeah, another one) Matmos. Last year they moved here from LA, and we are pleased as punch that they have assimilated themselves into the local scene, despite already having an international audience. Schmidt was a kitchen sink player. He moved recklessly between vocalizations, goofy synthesizers and live sound effects. He put marbles in his mouth and dribbled them into a steel thermos, and cleverly varied the act to achieve more than one sound. He conducted half of an argument. He pushed things off his table. (This makes sense, since foley recordings and musiqué concrete are Matmos' forté.)
The other two musicians worked hard to keep up; John Eaton was less interested in his alto sax than in the pickup mic inside, and Alessandro Bosetti used his laptop and homemade keyboard to play snippets of foreign language plays and poems (I think). Ideas were going everywhere, like marbles scattering across the floor, which also happened.
During the intermission before the last set, one of the performers, Ric Royer, handed out a sheet titled "You Will Play Too". Here is an excerpt:

It has been said that the audience that connects with 'this kind of music' is an audience that projects themselves into the set... As my contribution to this set, I am not only testing this hypothesis, but the audience to go one step further in their level of engagement: I am asking you to perform.

On the back of the sheet was a list of fifteen instructions, "some more open to interpretation than others." Royer had corresponding numbered placards, and would be holding them up during the performance. I was so down for this.
Also during the intermission, M.C. Schmidt took a seat next to me. I took the opportunity to thank him for his performance, and to also tell him that I am a big fan of Matmos. A personal highlight.

When Group Four took the stage, Royer sat at a table in the middle. Reclining in his chair, his legs crossed, he waited eagerly and with visible mischief for the right moments in which to brandish his numbers. We all did, too. 11, we made kissing sounds. 7, we pounded our hands and feet on anything nearby. 1, we began humming, and slowly crescendoed into a positive din. 5, we whispered. 9, we all switched seats. 13, the instructions were simply "O", and I decided to shout it in various inflections (Oh? Oh. Ooooooo!! Ooooohhhffff.... O, ho ho ho HO!!!)
A friend recently told me that he doesn't enjoy improv concerts, not because he can't tolerate the music, but because he wants so much to join in that he's uncomfortable being just an audience member. This made sense to me, and while I still greatly enjoy attending these concerts, I often felt that tug of creative self-expression, the exhibitionist's drive. For this, the opportunity to participate in the music for Group Four was more than welcome: it was cathartic. All the same, I couldn't help but feel there were some fundamental problems with the act of making the audience into a participating performer. In essence, the two are mutually exclusive. One engages and appreciates music differently when one is creating it and when one is observing its creation. One listens differently, as well. When I became a conduit of sounds, my attention was mainly focused on my job, and I became less aware of the music coming from the performers onstage. Perhaps you've noticed that thus far I haven't even mention who the others were (one was Robert van Heumann again, the other was a guitarist names Bill Nace, of whose intriguing approach I could only barely be aware). So while I enjoyed getting a chance to make some music, it gave me an appreciation for the times when I remain an audience member.

The set, and the night was over all too quickly. I drove home blasting jazz on NPR.

Later that night, as my eyes fluttered behind their lids, I improvised my own reality of how Thursday night would be.

PART II: Friday

Friday is the day to burn out. Everybody does it, deliberately or not. Many of course do it hard, with the help of illicit substances, or with cases and cases of cheap beer. Some may do it simply by way of pushing themselves physically to have as much fun and do as much stuff as they can, and they poop out. Me, I burn out just on the music. I get so excited about all that the weekend promises, and dart eagerly (yet in a meticulously planned manner) from one show to the next, striving to ingest as much music as possible. Without fail, by late afternoon or early evening on Friday, I'm burnt. I still push myself, make it through the day, and usually a break at camp before the headliner is all the convalescence I need to get back in the game. And it's all uphill from there.

... or is it downhill? Well, whichever of those is the good one.

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8:00am - Wake up. It was hot. Outside, probably around 90°, but in my little backpacker's tent there was no breeze, so even though I was wearing practically nothing, I was still sweating like it's a national sport and I'm training for the Olympics. I unzipped the flaps of the tent and some cool freshness poured in. Still, I needed to get up, because there's a big event this morning at Camp Inforoo: The Annual Inforoo Brunch. This is the time when any and all members of the Inforoo message board meet up, socialize, eat a strange assortment of foods, and make plans together for the rest of the weekend. I was looking forward to meeting many of the people I hadn't yet, and I was curious about who might remember me from the boards.
I stepped out of my tent and greeted other campers who were already chilling together under the communal canopies. Even though the brunch wasn't for another two hours, I had to get moving and get myself ready for the day, because everything takes longer at Bonnaroo.

9:00 - Buy ice. I had checked my cooler, and found that not only had all the ice i packed melted while in Matt's trunk, but that it was already rather tepid. I ignored the likelihood that my milk and ground beef were probably not safe to consume, and purchased a five pound bag of ice for $3.50. For all its neo-hippie, grassroots idealism, Bonnaroo is not without its gougers.

10:00 - Inforoo Brunch. What a sweeping success! We had a turnout of roughly 40 or 50 people, easily twice the size of last year's brunch. It's a testament to the group that even neighbors of ours—a girl named Alyssa and her two friends—were sucked into the celebration and became part of Camp Inforoo for the rest of the weekend. The food, like the people, did not disappoint by quality or by strangeness of variety; we feasted on biscuits and gravy, grapes, honey roasted peanuts, Charms Blow-Pops and margaritas. I mingled and greeted many people I had anticipated getting to finally meet. I walked up to one well-known Inforooster to say hi, and she immediately exclaimed, "I love your shirt! That is so you!"
I should back up and explain that I was wearing my favorite t-shirt, a Threadless creation that simply says, "I LISTEN TO BANDS THAT DON'T EVEN EXIST YET". I'll admit I was hoping to make an impression, but I hadn't realized that I already had a reputation. Several times during that morning, Inforoosters would spot my shirt and make a similar remark about how I'm such a music snob and that I make them feel dumb by mentioning so many names and bands that they don't know. At one point I approached someone and introduced myself, and he said, "Steveternal! Your knowledge about music is so impressive!" Well, gosh! As if I need my ego any more bloated.
(I'd also like to say that I wore my party shirt because that's what you do at Bonnaroo. It is one huge party, after all. Look around and all you'll see on the guys, and many girls too, are t-shirts that are mock-vintage, touting some band, being ironic or just trying really hard to be funny. Two shirts that I remember liking: "Gumby: Getting Bent Since 1955" and "This Shirt Is Only Blue When I'm Thinking About Dwarves" [and it was blue]).
I also chatted with DJJD, a genial, middle-aged guy who works for AC Entertainment (one of the promoters responsible for Bonnaroo) and is the DJ on Bonnaroo's Internet streaming radio station apty titled "RadioBonnaroo". Before the initial lineup was announced, DJJD created riddles for many of the artists, and these riddles drove us on Inforoo crazy with wild speculation. I asked him if he was aware of the agony he caused us, and he had no answer. DJJD also manages the banjo player Abigail Washburn, whose Sparrow Quartet (featuring Béla Fleck) was playing on Sunday. I lamented that I was looking forward to seeing them but worried that I might miss them due to conflicts. DJJD paused, then reached into his backpack and handed me a promo copy of Washburn's newest album. That was quite a treat. I never did get to see her Quartet, but I did listen to the CD on the ride home and was pleased.

12:15pm - Head to Centeroo with Alyssa. It's always easier to brave the lines and security with companions, so I packed up and headed in with our new friend Alyssa for a long day of fun. I had convinced her to come check out some of my first must-see of the day, The Fiery Furnaces, but once we arrived at That Tent I saw the thin crowd and decided I must take the opportunity to get close to the stage. So we said goodbye and I weaved my way up to the front fence.

1:15 - The Fiery Furnaces. This here is a textbook indie band (now let's all sit and think about the peculiarity of a textbook on indie bands). We had five thirtysomethings on stage, somewhat stiff and unsmiling, powering through song after song featuring rapid, frenetic shifts in form and stories about searching for a lost dog or an older woman fainting during her daughter's second wedding. Rest assured, this was a great show. The band was tight and competent, particularly drummer Bob D'Amico... man, what a beast.
So there I was in the front row. It's a scientific fact that shows rock harder (by as much as 63%) if you are in the front row, so it's always worth making the effort (and by effort, I mean arriving early and being patient and polite to your neighbor, NOT pushing your way through the crowd). And added perk was that this turned out to be one of the shows being filmed and broadcast live on AT&T's Blue Room website. A friendly Inforooster copied the stream and posted it for download. You can see me there, short, boppin' my head, and pulling out the camera every 30 seconds to take a photo. At one point in the show, stagehands passed out life-size cutouts of members of the band into the audience. For the rest of the show they crowdsurfed, stood up, and were dismembered. Singer Eleanor Friedberger remarked that she's rather have people touch her real body instead of a cutout. Ok, then.

2:15 - Hit the Karaoke Bay. I had an hour and a half before my next show, and with "Bulls on Parade" still ringing in my head I decided that now was the time to get my Japanese businessman on. The live bands weren't scheduled until the evening, so at that time of day it was a half-full house with inebriated but still nervous college kids singing canned 80's songs. It was a relaxed crowd, and I felt the glorious freedom of Bonnaroo surging through me. I looked in the songbook and tried to remind myself that I could pick anything in there, but for some reason only one song was on my mind. I looked it up, and there it was, #13-8. I approached the emcee and signed up.
I figured this might be my only stop in for the whole weekend, and I really needed something for posterity. There was a plump, middle-aged woman at a table in the front. I introduced myself and we hit it off (ahh, the magic of Bonnaroo). I asked her if she could take some photos with my camera while I sang. "It's for my wife, she couldn't be here", I said. She graciously agreed, and after a few more people my name was called. I jumped on the stage to a polite smattering of applause.
"Thank you, thank you. Everyone enjoying their Bonnaroo?", I asked. The music started.
"This one was a big hit for Metallica. I'm sure we'll all hear them play it tonight." Laughter ran through the audience. The lyrics began. Time to shine.
"Desparado... Why don't you come to your senses..."
Three and a half minutes later, I was done. I had shaky moments, but solid ones as well (I nailed the high notes, even got a "whoo!", despite straining my voice on my own catcalls the night before), and was warmly received by the audience. The emcee gave me Mardi Gras beads (?), and my new friend took some decent photos of me belting it. I thanked her, gathered my stuff and decided to head to my next show. On my way out, someone leaned over and told me I did a great job. Go me.

3:00 - Frisbee. While on my way to The Other Tent, I passed by a small group tossing discs. They were using these tiny, cheap promotional "XBOX" things being handed out at the Arcade Discotheque next door. I pulled my personal Frisbee out of my bag and threw it in, and they were relieved to have a real disc. We tossed for a while, a couple young boys asked me how to throw a "hammer", and a good time was had by all (except that, despite the sky being overcast, I almost burnt myself). Not wanting to be late, I grabbed my disc and parted ways with my new buddies.

3:45 - The Bluegrass Allstars. I'll say it right up front: Best Show of the Weekend. Again I arrived a bit early to this show and secured a spot very close to the stage. I would say that it wasn't until I arrived at the show that it fully dawned on me how incredible it would be. Let me break it down for you.
This was a one-off collaboration (although not really) of modern bluegrass legends, including Béla Fleck on banjo, Sam Bush on mandolin, Jerry Douglas on Dobro and Edgar Meyer on bass, plus upstarts Luke Bulla on fiddle and Bryan Sutton on guitar. The core of the group, Béla, Sam, Jerry and Edgar, have all been around for 20-30 years, made tremendous impressions on the world of bluegrass, and collaborated exhaustively, most notably as 4/5 of the supergroup Strength in Numbers, which acted as the house band for the Telluride Bluegrass Festival for many years and in 1989 cut a spectacular album of original compositions. While the members collaborate frequently, it is quite rare to see them perform, all together, as a unified group. This is what dawned on me when I arrived and saw them on the stage, together, and that's why I soiled myself.
Bush was the ringleader, an emcee, a jokester, and a decent singer in his own right, and he kept the atmosphere light and fun. They played some tunes from their respective careers, one SiN tune, and of course some traditionals and some classics by the likes of Flatt & Scruggs and Bill Monroe. They were so obviously thrilled to be together again and playing for a packed crowd, and we all just ate it up. Some excellent spontaneous moments and some brilliant solos... like I said, Best Show of the Weekend.

5:15 - !!! When The Bluegrass Allstars ended I made my way back to That Tent to catch the end of !!!, a dance-punk (or electro-rock or whatever you want to call it) group. I was slightly interested in seeing them, plus I wanted to stay after for M.I.A., in whom I was somewhat more interested. To me their music has always been an attempt at capturing the excitement of our culture over the taboo of sex. Live, they drive the point home: sweaty, grinding and all over you. But I wasn't there to get in touch with subconscious desires, I was there to enjoy music. So no thanks.
!!! ended a half hour early, which meant an hour wait for M.I.A. That gave me time to realize how terrible the crowd there was. A group of friends stood next to me, two girls and a guy, and killed time complaining about everyone around them. As M.I.A.'s crew set up, one of them began tossing out plastic horns into the crowd. One of the girls said that they were very annoying. the crew tossed out more, and she grabbed one and proceeded to cherish it and test it liberally. They tossed out more, and she tried to grab another, rather than let someone else have one.

6:45 - M.I.A. This one I'd have to call as Worst Show of the Weekend. To be fair, though, it was in large part because of the crowd. As I've made clear, I was surrounded by people that each had contempt for everyone else there, and the tent was packed tight with these people. There were also the crowd surfers and slam dancers... yes, at a dance-pop show. But Ms. Arulpragasam herself is not without blame. There were numerous technical problems, and she openly berated her sound crew for them. This was all after being 15 minutes late. There was no reasonable way to enjoy this show.
After a couple songs I decided to book it. But with the crowd so packed, this turned out to be exceedingly difficult. I slowly squeezed my way out through the neverending masses. At one point I stopped to look back and realized I was already about 20 feet outside the tent, and still not out of the crowd. When I finally made it, I needed a break to collect myself physically and mentally.

7:10 - Willie Nelson. Thank God that such a polar opposite of a show, in style of music, character of performer, and attitude of crowd, was at hand to cleanse my palate. It was rather refreshing to stroll into the relaxed, genteel crowd and see the Red-Headed Stranger (yeah, he played that song). Truth be told, he struck me as a fairly standard nostalgia act, one with little energy left and who ambled pleasantly through his beloved back catalog. However, I appreciated this his was the first (and just about only) act I saw that featured an acoustic piano. A nice six-foot grand, too... methinks a Baldwin.
After a couple tunes I moseyed on out in search of more entertainment. Rilo Kiley was nearing the end of their set in This Tent, and while I'm a fan and thoroughly enjoyed their last Bonnaroo show, in '05, I had little interest in stopping in. I walked up the main gravel path of Centeroo. Dusk was approaching. Something special happens at this time of evening around these parts, and I figured that for the first time in my Bonnaroo experience, I should go see it myself.

7:25 - Watch the giant fireballs. There is a small patch of farm that for the last couple years has been the site of a conceptual art group known as Such 'N' Such. Their trade is art installations, but their trademark is fire sculptures. At Bonnaroo they cast towering, burning, breathing, exploding monsters of scorched iron. It's our little piece of Burning Man. Among their installations is a device that looks like an eight-foot, miniaturized oil rig that, in the hands of so-called professionals, can be set to erupt in a giant fireball, which in turn sets a giant billow of black smoke into the air (the environmentalist in me cringes to write that), which, if done successfully, will morph into a smoke-ring 30-40 feet in diameter. The smoke-rings can be seen from all over Bonnaroo, but nothing beats being front row for the fire.
I took a spot around the fence and got my camera ready. We were close enough to This Tent that I could hear Rilo Kiley encoring with "Portions for Foxes". The first fireball erupted, and for a split second I felt as though I had opened up an oven and jumped in. The smoke-ring failed to form. While they prepared for the next fireball, an androgynous person sauntered around with a flamethrower. The next fireball, while equally exhilarating, also failed to properly form a smoke-ring. Oh well, at least I got nicely flambéed.

7:45 - Chris Rock. My original plan was at this time to head back to camp, eat dinner and prepare for the late night side of Bonnaroo. I abandoned that plan and decided to go see one of the strangest bookings for Bonnaroo 2008: Chris Rock. This is not just because of how his ultra-racially and sexually charged routines would play to a crowd of 50,000 white, middle class neo-hippies and college kids. It's also because no comedian has ever performed at Bonnaroo outside the Comedy Tent, let alone on the main stage, warming up the crowd for the headliner. And this is why I decided to go, not because I'd say I'm a fan. OK, I'll admit I was looking for a cheap laugh. But I also figured that I could get a decent spot, catch his hour, then there would only be a 15 minute break before Metallica. I could watch them a bit and feel free to head back to camp at my leisure.
This was my first stop at What Stage of the weekend, but the tricks of the trade came back to me: On this huge field, keep towards the back, weave through the people chilling on their blankets and work your way around to the far side (both entrances to the main stage area are on the right, so the crowd is significantly thinner on the left side. After seven years this is still true). I was able to move relatively close to the stage, and not longer after I arrived did a surprising pair of folks walk on stage: James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich of Metallica, here to introduce their "good friend", Chris Rock. Rock entered, wearing a blue worker's jacket with a namepatch and matching slacks, they all embraced in a big fake celebrity hug, and he addressed the thrilled crowd in his unmistakable abrasive tenor.
I don't know about you, but I'm not that big into stand-up comedians in general, so I'm usually taken aback when one makes me seriously laugh, which will happen a lot with any reliable comedian. This was Rock. He seemed a continual sewage drain of clever comments, and you can take that however you want. The show touched on the Presidential candidates (and remained surprisingly bipartisan), wealth, fame, immigration, relationships, and of course sex and race. An hour later, he dropped his microphone on the stage and left, amid a positive din of cheers and applause.

9:15 - Metallica. As I said, only a 15 minute break was scheduled between Rock and Metallica. This became a 30 minute break, even though Metallica's stage was set before Rock performed. In the meantime I was feeling surprised by the relative decency of the crowd. I feared the Metallica kids would make for the worst atmosphere, but while there were plenty of drunks, hecklers and dudes bumping into other dudes, overall it was not too band. It certainly wasn't as bad as M.I.A. OK, last time I mention that, I swear. Anyway, the show eventually began... and wouldn't you know it? Rock returned to, in turn, introduce the members of Metallica.
It was a good show, but they didn't win me over. I had prepared myself for finally seeing the appeal of Metallica, but while the band was massively tight and blazing, it was still the old thrash metal band pummeling through chugging beats in drop D. It's a good formula, and the band has recorded some great songs in their career, but still it can only go so far.

9:45 - My eyes have been soiled! After a few tunes I was feeling hungry, and knowing full well that the headliners can be well-heard anywhere in the campgrounds, I decided to head back to camp for downtime , where I could enjoy the rest of Metallica's set. While stepping through the throngs on my way out, I passed by a young couple. They were lying on the ground, in flagrate delicto. Needless to say that anyone, regardless of what's in their system, should have the sense not to enter into that kind of activity in the middle of an outdoor concert with thousands around them. But there they were, going at it like catching Meningitis and Syphilis simultaneously was going out of style. It wasn't until I reached camp that I was able to think straight again.

9:55 - Chill at camp. Folks were already slouched in their chairs, attempting to recharge before midnight madness. No one really does, but of course the psychosomatic effect goes a long way (say, 'till 4am or so). I grabbed a beer, cooked my ground beef into something that I hoped wouldn't repeat on me, and sat down. We discussed who was going to see what. Many were planning on seeing My Morning Jacket's unofficial CD-release party concert at the Which Stage, scheduled for 3 hours and guaranteed to have a wealth of guests. Others had their sights on the digital end, MSTRKRFT, The Disco Biscuits and Tiësto. I was heading back to the smallest tent for the annual mystery box dubbed the SuperJam.
In the first several years of Bonnaroo, the SuperJam was a scheduled show by a slapdash supergroup including artists already there for the weekend plus some shipped in specially. In the last couple years the idea has evolved to incorporate bigger names (last year included John Paul Jones) and thematic setlists. What hasn't changed in all the years is the element of surprise. It's never announced before the show who is playing, or what will be played. Clearly it can be a gamble to choose something like this over what you KNOW will be good shows. Thus, I usually don't make it a point to attend the SuperJam, much less camp out for it. Why was this year was different?
About a month before, a news article let slip a tiny blurb about the SuperJam. I was impressed with who they named to be involved, and totally floored by the person for whom they were coming together to pay tribute. No one knew for certain if this info would turn out to be true, but I had to be there to see it for myself.

11:50 - Head back to Centeroo. I feel I should comment on the marked change in atmosphere among the Bonnaroo folks when late night begins. The best and most concise description that comes to mind is an often-recalled phrase popularized by Mr. Edgar Winter: They only come out at night. It's true. For every shenanigan during the day, there are a hundred shenanigans come nightfall. That, like, a lot of shenanigans, am I right? Shenanigans!
So I got back through the gate, with a lightened backpack containing a few snacks, a bottle of water, a rain slicker (later I'll be glad I had that), and my trusty camera, the lens cap of which I discovered I had lost, most likely having fallen out of my bag during Metallica. Thanks, guys. First Napster, now this.
When I arrived at the The Other Tent roughly an hour before showtime, I found that my luck had not yet run out; there were openings on the fence, off to the right side. Not long after settling in between a couple kind folks, I spotted two fellow Camp Inforoosters, Jay (the admin) and Jamie (my co-line-hiker), standing together not far away. I called them over, and we stood together, talking feverishly about who might be part of this event. Are the rumors true?

Saturday, 12:20am - Figure out SuperJam. The first and most obvious piece of evidence was an electric upright bass situated on the left side of the stage, in front of a pair of mics, one regular vocal mic and one bullet mic. This was the unmistakable stage setup of Les Claypool, original bassist for Primus, leader/member of many other cherished groups, one of the most eccentric artists to be adopted into the jamband community, and a hell of a player. He played earlier that day with his group, the Fancy Band.
This was looking good, Claypool was one of the names from the rumor. I was ready to crap a rainbow.
Next, Jamie pointed to the drum set. It was a slightly more elaborate setup, with some specialty cymbals, various mounted percussion pieces and a couple hand drums at ready. Jamie said he was at Les Claypool's Fancy Band's show, and that he thought it looked like the set for their drummer, Paulo Baldi (who is also the current drummer for Cake). Interesting.
Nothing else on the stage presented any solid evidence. There were three or four other vocal mics, and that was about it. We waited for more clues. As the time passed, more and more people began standing, stepping forward, thickening the air. I began to notice that the pre-show house music was Spike Jones, undoubtedly a Claypool pick, and passed the time singing along with "Der Fürher's Face". We in he audience were getting friendly with some of the photographers in the press area over the fence. None of them knew anything about the SuperJam, but one said he heard that Bruce Springsteen and Van Morrison were on the premises. That turned out to be bull.
At about ten minutes to showtime, an announcement was made that one of the musicians had a delayed flight, and the show would be starting about 20 minutes late. The disappointment over the delay was blunted by the mystery of who was being flown in specially for this show.
The big break came when roadies taped setlists down in front of the mics. One of the press photographers took a photo, and showed it to a couple of us near the front. Through the abbreviated titles I parsed out the songs "Way Down in the Hole", "Cold, Cold Ground", "I Don't Wanna Grow Up" and "16 Shells from a Thirty-Ought Six". These are all classics by one of the greatest and most innovative songwriters of the 20th century: Tom Waits. So it was true: this show was going to be a Tribute to Tom Waits.

1:25 - SuperJam. It was very early on Saturday morning, at the very core of the weekend, that the two central themes of Bonnaroo 2008 began to develop. The first is that most everything—the shows, the lines, the gates—involved waiting much longer than usual... but the payoff always made it worth it. The second theme was that so many of the artists that performed over the weekend owed some influence to Tom Waits, and this was indicated by the many covers I would hear, in addition to this two-hour tribute show. It was a testament to his impression on modern music, and also to his songwriting genius. That's what Bonnaroo 2008 came down to: waits and Waits. It made for a spectacular weekend.
So eventually the musicians took the stage. Claypool wore a stylish black and red suit vest combo and an Elvis mask. Baldi took the drums. With them came another name from the leaked info, Eugene Hütz, leader/singer for the so-called "gypsy punk" band Gogol Bordello. Other members of his band accompanied him: violinist Sergey Ryabtsev, accordionist Yuri Lemeshev and an attractive gypsy dancer. Deeper into the show, Metallica guitarist Kirk Hammett joined them for a few songs, and thus the third and final name from the blurb was confirmed.
I would like to say it was pure ecstasy, but I didn't feel that the outcome matched the concept. For one, the song selection was quite suspect. Deep cuts were over-favored, particularly from Waits' weaker albums ("The Black Rider") while some of his best songs and albums ("Rain Dogs") were overlooked. In addition, his pre-junkyard, more jazz and ballad-oriented era was completely ignored. It seemed they picked songs which most easily lent themselves to a central-European twist, and on which they could most easily jam. And the jamming, well it was rather shaky; it was clear these fellas didn't get much prep time for the show.
When all was said and done, though, it was a fantastic show. What a treat it was to be witness to a tribute show for one of the greatest songwriters alive. And who better to do it then a long-time collaborator like Claypool, and a group in whom the influence is clearly felt like Gogol Bordello (also Hütz is a terrific frontman with so much rabid energy. I dislike Gogol's music but enjoyed the opportunity to effectively see them perform sans their terrible songs).

3:20 - Walk around. It was raining hard when the lights came up in the tent, so people dispersed gingerly. I threw on my rain slicker and left. As I headed down the main road, I approached This Tent, where Tiësto was busy whipping up a Euro-trance frenzy. I was interested in checking him out, but looking into the darkened, flickering, thumping tent full of people dancing wildly, I suddenly felt as though I would be intruding on a conversation already underway.
As I walked slowly by, I looked to the stage and waved a hello to Tiësto. He briefly stopped the music, smiled and waved back.
No, he didn't.
Actually, hard to believe, I know, but he did.
Psshh, naw. Just kidding.
But seriously, he did. It was crazy.
No, not really.
Yeah, he did.

3:30 - My Morning Jacket. I decided to go see what was supposed to be the cornerstone of the Friday late night. When I reached Which Stage, I found a scandalously small crowd, apparently diminished so by the rain. By the time I found a spot up in the dedicated crowd, the band was beginning the sole song in their encore. It was one that I didn't recognize, nor did I recognize the shaggy, paunch dude that came out in a red "Annie" dress and dance. Later I learned it was comedian Zach Galifinakis referencing one of his trademark routines. I also learned later that Kirk Hammett guested at MMJ's show for a couple songs. That is, in addition to the three songs he later guested on at the SuperJam and the entire 2 1/2 hours he played with Metallica. I'm impressed, I'll admit it.

4:00 - Back to camp, sleep. Gotta get ready to do it all over again.

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Ok, just one more quick note to let you know that my photos from Bonnaroo 2008 are now up on Jo's Flickr page. Enjoy, and stay tuned for Part III: Saturday.