Blistered in the Sun

Bonnaroo '07

by Jesse Delaney

THAT TIME: Bronx singer-songwriter Regina Spektor dared to play country at Bonnaroo; her carefree set captured the spirit of the festival. (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

Comedian John Bowman was partially right when he noted that getting into the Bonnaroo music festival felt a lot like being born: a long wait, but once you're through the gate it's time to go crazy. No one was ever born trying to smuggle contraband into the world though.

Cars inched along the back roads leading to the entrance as security issued wristbands and guidebooks and searched for pickle jars, fireworks and other verboten items. After enduring mile-an-hour traffic for three-plus hours, vehicles burst from the final checkpoint like the Oklahoma land rush, bouncing across a dusty cow pasture jockeying for the best place to stake a claim.

Easing into the marathon event, music on opening night didn't start until 7:15, which allowed attendees time to make camp, get their bearings, kill some brain cells, and lose their bearings, all in the span of a couple hours. Maps, issued one per car, were essential for navigating the vast 700-acre festival and, of course, the information booth ran out of extra maps within hours. Second only to not losing your shit, the maps were also the Rosetta Stone for deciphering the Seuss-like stage naming convention (What Stage, Which Stage, This Tent, That Tent, The Other Tent, Yet Another Tent), which was amusing for a hot second before it became confusing and tiring. Not once the entire weekend did anyone within earshot refer to a campsite location by its official name (Camp Boba Fett, Camp Claire Standish, Camp Clubber Lang, etc.). For most, the distance from pitched tent to the stage was a more-than-one-beer walk through multiple shopping bazaars past every hippie with a still-hot engine block hocking French bread pizza.

Now in its sixth year, the "greatest hippie festival in the world," according to Wolfmother's Andrew Stockdale, has expanded beyond its jam band beginnings to include indie rock, hip-hop, blues, jazz, comedy and reunited '80s icons. The diverse lineup catered to all tastes while encouraging musical exploration and discovery. Strolling casually past That Tent en route to What Stage for The Roots, it was evident that many listeners didn't know Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine (and yes, sigh, Audioslave) moonlighted as the troubadour known as The Nightwatchman.

Of all the acts on the bill, Tool was the great uniter of the splintered crowd, successfully bridging the rift between Hatfield hippie and metalhead McCoy. Illuminated by a showering rainbow of glowsticks, thousands nodded in unison to the beat of just one drum during "Stinkfist." His piercing vocals punctuating the songs, antifrontman Maynard James Keenan lurked in the back out of reach of the spotlights (and lasers) and let the music take center stage. This emphasis of the music over individual glory made Tool the perfect fit for a festival that celebrates the essence of musicianship.

Throughout the weekend, Bonnaroo performers name checked their fellow artists and made frequent guest appearances. Bass master John Paul Jones played the field more than anyone, making no fewer than four cameos during the course of the festival (Uncle Earl, Gillian Welsh, Gov't Mule, and Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals). When he wasn't dropping by unannounced, Jones was part of SuperJam, the annual Bonnaroo tradition of throwing musicians together and turning them loose on the au dience. This 2007 lineup consisted of Jones, The Roots' ?uestlove and Ben Harper performing a set primarily of Led Zeppelin songs, but with a cover of Stevie Wonder's "Superstitious" thrown in for good measure. It was the definitive Bonnaroo experience, and they needed a bigger tent.

It's no small feat to keep 80,000 people entertained for four days straight (with or without chemical assistance), but there was no shortage of entertainment or ways to beat the 90-degree Tennessee heat, although the air-conditioned options usually involved long lines with no guarantee of admission; there was even a "wait at your own risk" sign posted outside the Something Else jazz lounge. Slightly less crowded was the Bonnaroo cinema, where it was possible to catch a flick, scarf free popcorn, pass out on a couch, and hear director D.A. Pennebaker gush about working with David Bowie on Ziggy Stardust, "He was like a man and a woman at the same time. He was so sexy."

The only lulls in the festival came in the hour after a main stage act performed when no other acts were scheduled. The curious dead space after The Police played could have been used to ease Day Three's alternarock clusterfuck when Franz Ferdinand, Spoon, Ween and Ben Harper were all scheduled at the same time. Otherwise there was so much stimuli at Bonnaroo that it overpopulated the senses and took something as mind-blowing as landing a spaceship on stage to begin the Flaming Lips' set to make the crowd catch its breath and gasp a collective, "oh my god."

The festival had its more terrestrial treats, too, among them was Mavis Staples' uplifting performance on Sunday afternoon. Her powerful outpouring of joy stood in stark contrast to Pete Yorn's self-absorbed navel gazing on an adjacent stage. It takes remarkable courage to sing songs chronicling the struggle against segregation and recount anecdotes about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. with confederate flags marring the otherwise sunny sky.

Fearless in her own fashion, Regina Spektor didn't wilt for the heat or her own missteps. She pushed through an a cappella rendition of "Silly Eye Color Generalizations" and made no apologies ("I'm from Moscow and the Bronx, so I can do whatever the fuck I want") when tackling a country song so close to Nashville. Her carefree set reflected the fest's musical spirit and spit in the eye of those who would judge her. And as the unshowered, blue body-painted, half-naked off-beat dancers in the audience can attest: That's what makes being unselfconscious so beautiful.

(j_delaney@citypaper.net)