Bonnaroo Wrap Up: All Good Things Must Come To An End

By J.P. Gorman: 2007-06-23 19:30:37

Letting go is difficult.

When planning our Bonnaroo coverage, my editor and I outlined a list of four articles for this week that would wrap things up on Bonnaroo 2007 once and for all. Here we are, ladies and gentlemen, at the end of the road. Hard to believe.

Last week at this time, I was standing in back of The Hold Steady’s set wondering if anyone was actually paying attention to Craig Finn’s lyrics and, if they were, why everyone wasn’t crying. Then I went back to the tent and hung out for a couple hours, eating PB&Js and having a few beers, preparing myself for the onslaught to come that evening. The prep time was worth it, as I made it alive and wonderfully through the entirety of that amazing evening.

Now, the fest is gone and not coming back. Rest assured I, along with everyone else, lived those four days in middle Tennessee to the fullest. If there’s one thing the Bonnaroo experience teaches you, it’s that doing so is imperative. Every day, all the time.

The festival is a corporate entity now, make no mistake. They’ve sponsored or commercialized every possible square inch. Six years into this bad boy, the people behind Bonnaroo know what they have to do to turn a profit. The experience will never again be what I’m told it was that first year, when all these people showed up on the outskirts of a tiny town called Manchester with no idea what to expect other than, with any luck, a couple good shows. Legend has it there was a moment of recognition among the thousands present, a moment when, all at once, everyone looked around and realized the eternal beauty of what they were experiencing.

It will never be like that again. We should all know by now that nothing is ever as good as it was. And still, there’s no denying the feeling of everlasting happiness I’ve been left with.

***

It’s easy to be overwhelmed by the experience at first. After waiting in line for five and a half hours on a HOT Tennessee morning, driving 10 miles past the festival entrance only to be turned around and sent back in the direction from which we came, everyone spilled out of their cars and immediately declared their campsite in the biggest land-grab I’ve ever been a part of (sort of like the end of Far and Away).

After passing some bowls around once camp was set, the time came to explore the grounds and see what’s what. For a first-timer like myself and some of those I was with, the experience of casing the joint was at once intimidating and ecstatic. The rabbit hole swallows you entirely, and there you are for four days. It takes some getting used to.

You feel lucky to be a part of it. There’s almost no instance in societal living where 80,000 people pay good money to live on a field for four days, right up next to each other, unable to really plan their neighbors (believe me, we tried), with enough supplies for whatever survival means to each individual and enough money or paraphernalia to pursue whatever high.

Families, junkies, indie kids, hippies, the handicapped, the rich, the poor, any kind of person you can imagine, crammed together on a plot of drought-stricken land in the middle of nowhere, for one central reason:

Music.

There are plenty of peripheral reasons people attend Bonnaroo, but the main thread tying every single person together is the music. The topic of conversation between strangers focused on exactly that: “What shows have you seen?” or “Who are you here to see?” or “Oh man, I wanted to see that! Anything crazy happen?”

My group alone had people from Milwaukee, Chicago, Ohio, New Hampshire and Miami, each doing their own thing but each, at the same time, doing the exact same thing, i.e., celebrating being alive by being a part of this community and going to these shows.

Upon entering the festival for the first time, my friend Jamie remarked, “Isn’t this the best adult carnival ever?” Some random dude stood on the path to the festival wishing everyone a “Happy Bonnaroo,” undeniably excited to do so. For the first three days, the festival pulsated with the good vibes possible when everyone is committed to celebration. And what’s a celebration without music and dancing?

By the last day, the dust reached choking proportions, everyone worn down by it to the point that people were tying bandanas or T-shirts around their faces in an effort to stem the growth of the mud puddle on the bottom of their lungs. That still didn’t stop most from turning out in full force for Widespread Panic’s closing set, the weekend’s rapturous final salvo.

I, for one, was determined not to let the party end, doing everything within my power to keep things going until they made us leave. The time eventually came for just such a move, and almost without realizing it the time warp chucked my buddy Diego and I back to his apartment, and, once again, we were on our own in the cruel world.

But not without a ton of memories.

***

Around 7:15 Sunday night, as the mob milled about and the dust threatened to asphyxiate us all, I sat down to try and encapsulate the experience, on the spot, as best I could. North Mississippi All-Stars were on stage directly in front of me; the White Stripes had just started off in the distance to my right. An ethereal atmosphere enveloped all I could see. North Mississippi leader Luther Dickinson was giving a spiel about how important Bonnaroo was to him and his band, and looking around you could see in the faces shuffling about, in the eyes of those with bandanas over their noses, how important it had been to the crowd as well.

There’s only so much that can be written on the spot, only so much one can capture with a pen and a page, furious scribbling in a mass of humanity, dust and dirt. But watching the hazy sun set beyond the Ferris Wheel, slowly consumed by the darkening sky, the last time the sun would shine on Bonnaroo 2007, you just knew this was a special event in a special place, and whatever cynical analysis anyone came up with afterward, that simple fact would always rise above. That special feeling is the engine that runs the machine, and the engine runs on music.

There is something primal at work during Bonnaroo that should never, under any circumstances, be taken for granted. Whoever you are and whatever you’re into, the festival is there for the taking. The buzz, as all buzzes do (even the good ones), wears off in time. But that feeling of community and sense of oneness has stayed at the back of my consciousness since I left Monday morning.

My wise friend Tony, as usual, was right all along. Lollapalooza and festivals like it are a good time, but Bonnaroo is an experience, in the truest sense of the word, one I can’t possibly recommend any higher.

Many thanks to the staff and organizers behind Bonnaroo 2007. You gave us an incredible weekend, and you’ve earned one more devoted follower. As long as circumstances permit, I’ll be down in Manchester this same time next year, and for many years to come.

Here comes a deep breath.

And another.

And another.

Latest Headlines:

Remembering Estelle Bennett Of The Ronettes

Rant: Stop Defending Chris Brown

The Setty Smooth Challenge: Are You Smooth Enough?

51st Grammy Award Winners

Pearl Jam Hits Up The Studio

CD Review: The BPA's I Think We're Gonna Need A Bigger Boat

Super Bowl Half Time: Bruce Springsteen Always Rocks, Never Ages

Super Bowl: How Will Bruce Do?

blog comments powered by Disqus

Back to Bonnaroo Wrap Up: All Good Things Must Come To An End