So I'll be landing in Nashville in about 24-hours and volunteer state peeps are emailing and my space messaging their ineffable excitement and I confess it's resonating with this old road warrior. I did extra fifteen-minutes of yoga this morning and haven't eaten a stitch of meat in more than a week. Feeling vegan, pagan…how did Cornell put it? Looking California but feeling Tennessee. Now much as I live the serendipitous way when on assignments that take me into the womb of rock, this particular gathering of the harmonic tribes is so encompassing that I did something quite unusual. I drafted an outline. Rough, of course, because the acts' performance times overlap on disparate stages. But for me, this is a HUGE step toward structure.
I don't get in until around 8pm Thursday and that's pretty close to tip off time for game four of the Lakers/Celtics round ball circus, so I'm quite certain whether I get my shit together for Thursday's talent parade but my daughter will kick my ass if I don't catch at least a slice of Vampire Weekend (set time 11:30 pm), her favorite band from Coachella. After 35 years of wearing the surrogate Dead Head crown thanks to my lifelong friendship with Professor Mark from Berkeley (who will be joining me on Friday in Nashville, our first road trip together in eons) I long to finally see Dark Star Orchestra (11:45pm). Manhattan's Marsy Robinson, musicologist, Conor Oberst freak and earthen goddess, insists I see The Felice Brothers who go on at 10:15 pm but are also doing a 30 minute Soundstage bit on Friday so I’ll try and ensure our paths cross then.
When I used to do the festivals in Europe in the 1990s under the RIP aegis, I just moved about in concert with the acts I was covering, I have no such strings attached to my movements at Bonnaroo. I do plan on spending considerable hang time in the Metallica enclave on Friday, but again, the script is in pencil. There's just too much groovy shit going on to barnacle oneself anywhere at this Herculean hob knob. The next paragraph is my wish list for Friday the 13th, the day M. Knight's The Happening opens in theaters nationwide. Trust me, if I wasn't in Manchester, TN, I'd be at the Arc Light in Hollywood buzzed and brewed for my favorite modern filmmaker's latest celluloid experiment.
Brother Les Claypool at 4:15; a rocker with whom I've had a couple quirky adventures including that Denver, Colorado smoky pre-show bus moment during the Public Enemy/Anthrax/Primus tour of '91when he debuted for me an advanced clip of a new, groundbreaking animated TV
program some odd friends of his had developed-it was called Ren & Stimpy. Les still has odd cartoonish compatriots (what IS South Park without the strains of Claypool?) but to me, he remains a brilliant, eccentric musician who wields the four string with unparalleled abandon and has never really altered in personality or demeanor since the day I met him. Considering he grew up in the east bay bug of El Sobrante, California with Kirk Hammett, I shall organically weave him into the Metallica story. Or not. Like I said, I've no idea on what's ahead.
Back to the itinerary.
Rac-in' Jack White at 5:00 pm post Tegan and Sara at 2:30 pm, ramping up to Chris Rock at 7:45 pm who'll warm up the metal heads for the four horsemen at 9 pm. Somehow (and once again, I defer to my 18 year old) I will break away to catch a taste of Rilo Kiley at 6:15 pm and M.I.A. AT 6:30 pm. 'Tis a land best served by jugglers and shape shifters, Bonnaroo, but you're talking to an 11 year student of Kundalini who has astral traveled and on more than one occasion, found
himself in two places at one time. So if you see me out there, it may be me or my doppelganger. Either way...say hey.
It's the rock around the clock aspect of this festival that sets it apart from the rest. Given that insomniac fact, I have My Morning Jacket 12pm to 3 am set and Crazewire.com's former Friend Jedi intern and jam band savant, Forrest Reda's remarkable Disco Biscuits 2 am to 4 am jam in the margins. Saturday afternoon 4 pm is where I'll commence again with my pal Nick John's Mastodon and old friend Dweezil Zappa at 5:45 pm playing the tunes o' his late great papa on the even of Father's Day. Ben Folds is ON somewhere between 6:15 and 7:45 pm as is surfing' Jack Johnson, another Forrest pick from when the wave running balladeer was strumming his acoustic on the Cali sands to boards and bikinis. Pearl Jam, the band of golden words in my memoir, at 10:15 (speaking of surfers done good) -- I'll have my DVD copy of Into the Wild for Eddie to sign for Megan Rose. Then I can't in my clearest third eye imagine the transcendence of Sigur Rios at 1 am, in the wild. There will have to be a golf cart to get my ass to Phil Lesh and Kanye West for their midnight sets. How did Harrison put it on Yellow Submarine…"It's all too much."?
Depending on my plus 50 heart rate, the Sabbath holds Trombone Shorty at 1: 30 pm, Ladytron at 2: 30 pm, Jakob Dylan at 3:00 pm (getting into the bare bones warmth and rhythm of his new release, Seeing Things), the amazing Robert Randolph's Revival at 2:45 pm, Robert Plant with Mrs. Costello and old mate, T Bone B. but again, here comes the daughter factor on Father's Day, with Death Cab for Cutie at 7 pm. If there are any molecules in brain or body still left
functioning at 8:45 pm, I'll pop a Xnax and float my way into Widespread Panic.
Of course, everything I just spelled out is completely subject to alteration, modification, indoctrination and emancipation based on the universal forces in play at beautiful Bonnaroo '08. I will blog when I can if time, tide and temper permit. Lonnaroo online caretaker Tony Kuzminski has gently brow beat me to post and post often. We'll just have to see where those Tennessee breezes blow. Go Lakers! xL.
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