Bonnaroo '09: Day 2

"I'm feeling rough, I'm feeling raw, I'm in the prime of my life."

-MGMT, Time to Pretend




I awoke late Friday morning to 85 degree sauna conditions in my tent and a malicious hangover. Apparently, the rain had stopped, and now it was sweltering and humid. I checked to make sure Dylan was still breathing; he was, so I crawled out to get some fresh air.

The sun felt good on my bare chest. The ground was still very moist from the monsoon conditions the day before. (We later learned a tornado actually touched down 30 miles east of us ... probably better no one knew at the time). Quickly scanning the campsite, I found last night's clothing drenched and piled beside my tent. After laying everything out on the top of the Dodge to dry, I sifted through my bag for a clean t-shirt, settling on Bob Marley.

"Buy some ice, Jackass," I heard Dylan mumble half asleep. "I bought yesterday."

Unable to argue with this logic, I slipped on my sandals and asked if anyone wanted to help me buy and carry ice back to camp. Dave ponied up and off we went, stomping through the knee-high grass Bonnaroo didn't bother to cut, bastards.

Dave was about 5"8 and thin with light brown hair fashioned into a modest Mohawk. As if reading my mind, he explained that he had cut his hair this way, for the first time, in honor of the trip. He was a Roo virgin as well, and this, combined with his easy-going nature, made me immediately take to him.

We left Pod 11 (our massive campsite) and walked down the main drag leading to the concert venue, aka Shakedown Street. Basically, it was a 2-3 mile dirt road lined with vendors selling everything from groceries to glass pipes, incense, trinkets, tapestries, even Wilco signature guitar straps ... you get the point. This is also where I first met the seedy underbelly of Bonnaroo, it's drug culture. In the 15 minutes it took Dave and me to get ice, we were approached by several pushers offering a smorgasbord of drugs.

"Headies, doses, Mollys... who wants to roll face?" one gentleman inquired to no one in particular. I figured "headies" was in reference to heady nugs or top notch marijuana and "doses" was usually hits of acid, but Mollys threw me for a loop. We both decided ice would do for now.

Walking back through our Pod, we passed a cluster of cars with Massachusetts plates. It was only 10:45 a.m. but I heard the sound of beer tabs popping. Definitely my kind of people. One of them asked a friend if she had a bowl. She didn't and neither did anyone else in the group.

"I have a pipe," I said nonchalantly, as we passed by carrying our bags of ice.

"Wanna smoke some opium?" the pipe seeker asked.

Hmmmmm, I had experimented with opium once or twice in college. I never went out of my way to seek it but I found I liked it enough, especially mixed with cannabis. Besides my head was still pounding from last night's binge.

"Sure, let me drop this off, and I'll be right back," I said after just a second of hesitation.

Dave and I filled our coolers and after he politely declined to join me (he was more of a drinker), I quickly returned to our neighbor's campsite with pot, chillum, and brew. Brice was the one looking for the pipe. He was Dave's height with brown hair, a deep tan and a half sleeve tattoo involving skulls of some kind. He pulled a clump of foil out of his pocket and peeled it back revealing the opium. It was a dark brown glob the size of two fifty-cent pieces. I packed the pipe half full with the weed I smuggled in, good shit in it's own right, and he broke a piece off his stash, adding it to the bowl. It had the consistency of tar, similar to marijuana resin. Small black bits of it stuck to his fingers. He handed me the bowl for the first hit.

"Your pipe, your ripe," he said, sipping his Steele Reserve tallboy.

I put the lighter to the bowl and inhaled deeply. Opium has a very distinct taste similar yet different from pot; its flavor is truly unique and almost indescribable to someone who has never smoked it before. Imagine trying to describe what Jagermeister tastes like to someone who has never had black licorice. Opium burns much slower than pot as well, cooking or smoldering really, since it is essentially a putty. A fragrance similar to Nag Champa incense hung in the air after I exhaled my hit. The smoke wasn't as offensive or as distinguishable to the nostril as weed smoke. I immediately start coughing uncontrollably, rushing blood to my head, ending my hangover and beginning my high. Opium is also incredibly more potent than grass.

After some laughs and a few brews, I head back to my friends, stoned out of my mind. I have to stop several times and look at the various flags/balloons erected by campers to gain my bearings. Ok, we're in between the Alligator balloon and the Union Jack flag. I eventually find camp, overjoyed to see Janis grilling burgers and brats on the portable propane grill we brought. We ate like kings and then head to our first show.

It was 2:30 p.m. 06/12/09. The sun was shining, and it was hot; easily 90 degrees. Security was still pretty tight as hundreds of revelers filtered through. We headed to Which Stage to catch Animal Collective at Dave's request. Their Radiohead inspired trance rock was perfect for my stoned state of mind. There were three of them on stage, sometimes playing instruments sometimes all on synthesizers, producing an awesome array of sounds. The bass in particular caught my attention, vibrating the air so much my nose tickled and the leg of my shorts seemed to pulsate. Maybe it was just the drugs.

After their set we sat down on our blanket and waited for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Looking around I was still very overwhelmed. All varieties of people, everywhere. I saw the VIP entrance to my left, important looking people walked in and out with That Pass (Bonnaroo's version of a backstage pass) hanging from their necks. Some guy next to me handed me a joint. I hit it and passed it to a cute, red haired girl sitting in front of me. This is what total freedom must feel like, or pretty damn close.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs rocked fucking hard. The lead singer was a ball of might and moxie, bounding around the stage and even deep-throating the mic at one point. I moved closer to get a better look. She was wearing a red, white, and blue tie-dye frock over yellow and black tiger stripe tights. Their stage was also pretty intense, with a giant glaring eyeball set as the backdrop. Gold Lion kicked ass extra hard. I must say I was very impressed. They were about to launch into Maps when the lead guitarist had a problem with his gear.

"Do it acoustic," the lead singer suggested into the mic.

He pulled out his Taylor and did a rare unplugged version that sent chills up my spine. Before their set was finished, I recruited Steve to go with me to see Al Green; a personal favorite of mine. On our way to What Stage I saw the only act of violence I would see all weekend. Not even 20 feet in front of us, some guy in aviator sunglasses was arguing with a woman. Harsh words were exchanged, and the woman tossed her beer in aviator's face. He returned the favor and out of no where, the woman's boyfriend (I'm assuming) cold cocked aviator in the jaw, knocking him to the ground.

"Whoa!" Steve said, "totally un-roo."

We walked by as quickly as possible. The Reverend was on the main stage, and he lived up to the billing. He walked out (in the heat) with a red, crush velvet jacket and black tuxedo pants, black Ray Charles shades and a smile a mile wide. He had two-dozen long stem roses in his arms, and he began passing them out to the spectators, most of whom were woman.

"We came here to do what it do!" he told an exuberant crowd.

Steve's only stipulation to seeing Reverend Green was that we make it back to Which Stage in time for TV on the Radio. One of the few problems with having so many acts booked is sets overlap, small price to pay but a price none-the-less. We left with Let's get Married as our backdrop. After a little searching, we found the others.

TV on the Radio was well worth sacrificing the second half of Al's set. They were simply amazing; best show so far hands down. The entire band had tremendous zeal, and they were all characters. The bass player was a true Rasta with long dreads and a Jamaican inspired tie-dye wardrobe. The lead singer was quite the mover and shaker, dancing up a storm the whole show, wearing a black button up and very tight white pants. But the sax player was probably my favorite. He was your typical looking white guy (lead vocalist and bass player were black as the ace of spades) who had a tremendous set of lungs, belting out blues notes the entire show. Wolf like Me and Dirtywhirl stick out the most. I didn't think things could possibly get kicked up another notch. I was wrong.

Beastie Boys were next on the main stage. I was thoroughly shocked by the energy the ageless wonders put out. All the instrumental songs in the arsenal were played by MCA, Mike D and Ad Rock perfectly. They also had some surprises up their sleeve, including bringing out Nasty Nas (one of the top 10 rappers of all-time) for a song and doing an incredible version of Paul Revere with multiple beat breaks. I rapped every word with the rest of the crowd. They closed the encore with an awe inspiring version of Sabotage that nearly melted my skull. MCA was FILTHY on the bass, but I must say Mix Master Mike stole the show. At several different points in the performance, he would stop the song and do a scratch session that left me scratching my head. True hip-hop at its finest.

The B-Boys show ended just in time for us to catch David Byrne's encore. The Talking Heads front man was strange to say the least. He had interpretive dancers "plie'ing" and hopping about his entire set. Take me to the River was sweet but performing Burning Down the House, wearing a white tuxedo and tutu (I shit you not) was just pure silliness and some how awesome at the same time.

After Byrne's antics we caught Phoenix at That Tent. They were a French pop-rock band with a great stage presence and vitality. The opening track, 1901 was stunning. They sang in perfect English but couldn't speak a lick of it in between songs. They had a very large crowd, and they looked like deer in headlights at times; like kids who have just watched their wildest dreams come true. Half the bands at Bonnaroo were just as excited to be there as the fans. At one point, some drug out degenerate behind me licked my back. To say it was strange would be oversmiplilfication. Crazy comes to mind. But the joke was on him because my shirt was dripping with the days sweat and at $15 a pop, showers were not happening.

After they finished up, sometime after midnight, we walked to This Tent to catch Public Enemy. By this time I was regretting my heavy drinking and herb smoking. I was dirty, tired. and hungry. After devouring a $5 slice of pizza I felt a little better. When I heard Flavor Flav take the stage I felt a lot better.

"Yeaaaaaaaa, booooooooooy!" he screamed at the gathered masses. "Now everyone say Flavor Flav!"

A thousand plus did as they were told. After Chuck D came out they started doing their second (and best) album It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back top to bottom. We stayed for five songs but than Chuck started getting political, asking for "prisoners" to be freed, yada, yada, yada. Needless to say I was NOT believing the hype.

Phish was playing their first of three shows but we were all too exhausted to continue. That was enough for the day. We slowly walked back to camp, debating whether or not to buy a "wonderwaffle." It was the end of Day 2 and I still had the sense that I was on borrowed time. It felt like my feet weren't on solid ground; I was in way over my head. As I lay down in my tent, I could just barley hear Phish covering Highway to Hell. I scolded myself for missing their show but sleep came too quickly for me to dwell on it for long.

J.R.