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I got home at 2:30 last night, back at work first thing this morning. I had an extremely surreal time there, so much so that I'm convinced it was a dream, or that no one attended but me; and most certainly that the star-shaped pills contained very powerful truth serum.
THURS: drove Toronto to Tennessee, smuggled pots: best drive ever.
FRI: sold extra guest passes for drug money (thanks Passion Pit) and bad karma; only caught the end of ANIMAL COLLECTIVE (supremely bummed, because Fireworks and Brothersport were great, and they will always be one of my favourites): bad karma redeemed; caught BELA FLECK AND TOUMANI DIABATE, and it was excellent; GRIZZLY BEAR was kind of underwhelming, and I got the fear from the heat and herb; AL GREEN at sunset!; DAVID BYRNE was a highlight of the whole weekend: great song selection and presentation, and a treat to hear him sing; PHISH: I chose to abstain from usage this night, came in with no expectations of the band (except of what I've heard of their approach since reuniting, and I was really pleased! Solid Divided Sky, Disease, Hood. First really adventurous jam I've heard (out of Stash) since coming back, and the best jam of the weekend out of Kill Devil Falls->Free (though another pretty nondescript new song). You Enjoy Myself->Wilson->You Enjoy Myself was crap. Overall a fun, enjoyable, well-scripted and well-executed reconciliation set with the band and some close friends.
SAT: Started the day with Bruce's soundcheck and JIMMY BUFFET billed as ILO & THE CORAL REEFER ALL-STARS, awesome; caught a bit of BOOKER DBT, which was also excellent; BON IVER was the surprise of the festival for me, really lushing up his sparse sound; bit of TONY RICE and GRISMAN QUINTET was nice and begot shaded naps; OF MONTREAL was kind of nonplussing, but I'm mostly suspicious about that band; now BRUCE... I haven't read any reviews or anything, but for me this was a big flop, and really tough. Total mismatch of icon and hippie festival. Looked great on paper, but in execution was seriously... awkward. Really wrong crowd and an admittedly patronizing, one-way performance by Bruce. 15,000 greying Boss fanatics are a much easier sell than 60,000 spun hippies at midnight. Bruce came with his Working on a Dream game, when he should have tailored the show for the context (rather than just bring Max and Patti back to the tour in TN). The heat and humidity robbed Bruce's voice, and he didn't have a complicit audience to fall back on. His "take a house of hate and build a house of love" spiel fell flat on its face, and the pervasive irony of the whole performance – not just the idea of him being at the indie kids' Bonnaroo – just smacked me aghast in the starry-eyed face. I still really enjoyed the show. I love Bruce. Santa, Growin' Up, and Youngstown were treats, and Rosalita showed that even given the circumstances and the struggle, this band can carry unmatched momentum. But overall I felt really bad for Bruce. My lifelong hero became fallible right before my eyes. He came across as a showman, not genuine; though his workmanship never failed, and I may in a day discover that I respect him more for attempting this new festival billing, and falling short. It could have been personally devastating, on a lot deeper level than I can say, but I stood for the Boss, and had a rational thought about it all. Bruce always taught me that blind faith in your leaders will lead you astray, and I always wondered if that included him too... Also, I had a hallucination that I think was actually real, when at the "Is it quittin' time, Miami Steve?" part of the show, Bruce's face appeared on the big screens at front grimacing and addressing me directly (the delusional part) with "Ma an' Dad said you can't take no mo' ... don't take no mo'". That was almost as sobering as the throngs of black-clad NIN fans horded like cattle in fencing waiting to get into the stage area after us.
SUN: Andrew Bird and Merle Haggard were kind of meh and Neko actually was no better than when I saw her 2 months ago. Really too bad she didn't do more with it, like bring The Sadies down with her. In fact, I was generally dismayed that more acts didn't do something real with their sets (including Byrne). PHISH: Much better spot closer to the stage with supreme good vibes. Kudos (sort of) to Bonnaroo for planting thousands of glowsticks in the crowd, making for a glowstick war on every song and for visual delight. Solid Bathtub Gin, and great segue from Tweezer into The Horse->Silent in the Morning. A dream that last came close to satiation for me on 7/16/99 in Jersey – when Phish brought Tom Marshall out to sing Born To Run (Bruce was opening up a 2-week stand at Giants Stadium that week) – became real when Trey introduced his lifelong hero to the stage, telling of the best show he'd ever seen in his life when he was a boy. It was a really heartwarming moment for me, and totally frightening at the same time. Maybe I was the only kid in the crowd that this carried such weight for – two of the biggest musical figures in my life, at certain times and at varying degrees, meeting together on the stage before me – but I felt at once so glad that Phish was righting something (more than one thing, unknowingly) that had gone wrong, and so fearful that it would get even worse. There were a few cringe-worthy moments – 1. Bruce inching nearer and nearer to Trey, trying to solo guitar-to-guitar, feeding back, defining an aspect of the whole experience for me, and basically pushing Trey to back away as if Bruce was a close-talker with Bonnarhea breath; 2. Bruce calling Page "Mr. Keyboard Player" – but it was overall something to behold. I would trade the whole festival for the "Glory Days", so much rawer than what E Street had played a day before, and by no means better, but definitely something that taught Bruce about getting loose again. Great first set of Phish, but Trey came out off his game in the second, setlist was short and lacklustre. And all things return to normal.
We were out of there like runners in the night, with the long road home ahead, and songs about it still beating my heart, nonetheless.
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