Roo 2010: intro

Note from the author: The following series of posts are dedicated to Thomas and Brittany Cox, who's wedding I had to miss to attend Bonnaroo. I still feel awful about bailing and figured this is the least I can do. I wish them the best on their new journey together. Miss you guys and hope to see you soon!

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It was a very merry Christmas, especially for a Jew. Well actually a half Jew. My father is a Episcopalian and the only stipulation he had to his children being raised Jewish; we would still celebrate X-Mas. It is his most beloved (and only) Christian tradition. As a result I get the best of both worlds; Christmas and Hanukkah. We aren't a terribly religious family so no one gets their toes stepped on. The actual meaning of both is pretty much irrelevant to us, like most American's who celebrate either. It's all about the pageantry, spending time together ... and presents of course. I know, bite me, you would take both too if they were given to you.

The cause for extra celebration was receiving my ticket to Bonnaroo 2010 from my old man. Hands down the best gift I had gotten in years, for any reason. He is an old school Rock 'n' Roller who likes to live vicariously through his son. Growing up, some peoples dads take them to ball games or out hunting. Maybe they work on cars together. Not mine. He took me to shows. Before I was 16 I had seen Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, AC/DC, Tom Petty and Soundgarden just to name a few.

By February I was already in the planing stages of my trip when a "save the date" arrived at my apartment. My good friend Thomas was marrying his long time girlfriend Brittany, right smack dab in the middle of the festival. My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach. Beside myself with anxiety, I called our mutual friend Charlie. He suggested trying to attend both (skipping out on the first half of Roo). I decide it was one or the other. Why pay full price for only two days? If I was going to miss any of it, I'd just sell my ticket. He was a groomsmen so he would certainly be at the ceremony, come hell or high water. The discussion was helpful but ultimately it was going to be my call.

I pretty much ignored the problem until the last minute. Maybe I wouldn't get invited. Maybe my invitation would get lost in the mail. I would be off the hook. But it finally came and after toiling and writhing over it for a week I sent my "regretfully decline" notice. Even now, I feel like an ass but Bonnaroo is my one big thing. My break from the mundane. My chance to do something I truly love; see live music. Four full days of it, once in a lifetime shows. Obviously I'm just trying to rationalize my decision. Marriage is a huge deal, and everyone involved hoped it would also be once in a lifetime. I had never wanted to be in two places at the same time more in my life. It was never meant as a slight to them, whom I hold dear, but I would understand if any size grudge was held.

With the necessary unpleasantness behind me, (only a total dick would not respond all together), I got my final plans in order. I had a brand new tent and a small armies worth of food/gear ready. I packed up my pop's truck on the afternoon of Wednesday the 10th. A light rain was falling. I hoped it wouldn't follow me to Tennessee.

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Driving solo seven hours is a bitch but I had music to keep me company. Dylan, one of the crew from last year, had given me a massive care package to get me Roo ready. Basically a bunch of tunes from people I would be seeing. I started off with The Black Keys' Rubber Factory. The Akron based blues rock duo was bar-none my top must-see. I had been a fan from the first time I heard them but hadn't seen them live. Dan Auerbach's howling vocal, Patrick Carney's powerful, abrasive drumming mixed with simple yet profound lyrics is mesmerizing. It's fun to root for the home team too.

After the Keys I blasted through most of Dr. Dog's catalog. Their psychedelic-indie rock sound is an acquired taste and I dug it, but I found myself skipping tracks often, unfamiliar with most of it. Giving them at least a once through was a must considering they were also towards the top of my list. My Morning Jacket, Black Joe Lewis, Frank Turner, KOL and Fleet Foxes got heavy play as well. All of them wouldn't be performing but they seemed to fit the various moods I was in on my long journey. It was a peaceful drive but also very boring. Other then the sunset leaving Cincinnati, I was driving at night. The scenery was rendered moot.

After grabbing a burger outside Nashville, I met up with my crew at a Walmart. It was a buddy of mine from college and two of his friends from his current place of residence, Asheville North Carolina. He has demanded to be called The Captain for the duration of these posts. One of his friends asked to be called Road Dog, and the last member of our group simply by his last name Burke. Who am I to argue?

With the last few things checked off our supply list we were ready to head out. The Captain hopped in with me and the other two followed in Road Dog's Dodge Caravan. We entered Coffee County Tennessee around 4 a.m., ignoring the massive and unmoving line facing the opposite direction. Continuing east bound, we took exit 127, same as the year before, but it was broad daylight last time. Now it was pitch black. We were the only people on the back roads and many times we thought to turn around and join the freeway line but we carried on, following "event" signs. Finally we caught up to some others.

Check in was a little hairy since the line was sparse. The cops were walking up to vehicles to look around. They seemed to be targeting large groups, randomly asking a vehicle to pull-over for a search. Other then a joint we'd already smoked and a stash hid in my shampoo bottle, we were clean. We had almost made it through when one crew cut, muscle bound, gun packing freak approached us.

"I just saw this new, beautiful Ford F150 and had to check it out," he said, resting his arm on my open window ledge. We bullshitted with him for a few minutes. I told him it was my dad's, our family was a Ford family and blah, blah, blah. He shined his flash light in the truck bed then back in our faces, pausing ever so slightly. Did he sense we had dope? Was he seeing a decade's worth of drug use in my redden eyes? Could he smell our fear? After what felt like a lifetime, he waved us on. Disaster averted.

We were huddled into the campsite, intentionally parking far apart to steal any extra bit of space we could. Springing into action with the grace and speed of gazelle, we unpacked and set-up our tents with only head lamps as our guides. Our neighbors, who were already finished, turned their headlights on to help us out. Very Roo of them. We began drinking Kentucky Tavern and PBRs by 6 a.m. and watched the sunrise. All in all, counting the time we were in line and set-up, it had only taken about 3 hours. That's half the time I spent doing the same tasks a year before.

Continuous, growing cheers sprung up amongst the revelers. Bud Lights were scattered about freely as if they had been dropped by a passerby; the Johnny Apple Seed of beer. Pulling out his guitar, Burke began playing Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound. After a pull on the handle of booze he paused.

"Woo hoo! Might be too early for that one," he said in his subtle but ever present North Carolina drawl. He settled on one of his originals Part-Time with Benefits, clever and catchy with a Rockabilly flavor. "Working part-time, in the mean time getting tore up," he sang. The Captain played a mean harp lick in tune. Spirits were high, but we were all exhausted after the drive. As I lay my head down to sleep I could hear the first whispers of, "Molly ... Headies." Drug dealers never sleep at Bonnaroo.


-J.R.