BONNAROO MUSIC FESTIVAL: DAY 3 ///
MANCHESTER, TN ///
JUNE 14, 2008 ///
WORDS & PHOTOS: ABBEY BRADEN ///

Day 3 Saturday:

You know what's rough? Covering a festival with 'morning after' deadlines. So goes the speed of the internet, but I had an epiphany on Saturday as I was processing jpegs on my laptop backstage as Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings tore up the floor up... which basically was 'you are BACKSTAGE at Sharon Jones when you should be in FRONT taking photos. DUH.' So I texted a shrugg-y message to my editor, ditched the laptop and made sure I was front and center in the pit for Gogol Bordello.

Remember: Gypsy punks will always have cooler pants than you, and DRUM MACHINES HAVE NO SOUL.

We had to tear ourselves away from Eugene Hutz's klezmer-tastic orgy to check in on Mastodon. Their metal sound is as primal and monstrous as their name implies- and the audience was getting so out of control they were on the fence about letting people into the photopit. After a fistpump or two we were off to Cat Power- aka the clear winner in the 'Best Bangs' category. Her downtempo soul lullabies were a bit too low key for the audience though, and it was sort of sad to see people not really digging her set. Her NYC fans have seen her through thick and then... we love you Chan and will take ya come hell or highwater. And someday, someday, we will talk hair products.

From there on it was off to B.B. King. I'd never seen the man and his 'Lucille' live, so what better way to spend a sunny afternoon than landing a prime spot in the pit for an icon. The mayor of Manchester, Coffee County, was on hand to give him the keys to the city. It was really sweet. The video crew was getting out of control though. No one should have to shoot through a cameraman's crotch. Even worse, a cameraman's crotch on wheels. There was a trolley rigged on the front lip of the stage, and a team of guys would push and pull the dude and his camera in turn. LAME. It's called a ZOOM LENS. At least please humor the people that are eye-level with your asses for the first 3 songs?

We juuuuuust missed the pit cut off for Ben Folds, so we headed back to the truck, where we ran into the adorable de Novo Dahl, dressed for success. We were having just as much luck with our portraits as Danny Clinch was, snapping away in a makeshift studio across from us.

Then the members of Sigur Ros started to come through. Check out the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Pop. It's actually non-dairy, cherry in flavor, and has bubble gum eyes. I have yet to sample that one.

It was eventually established that the word of the day at the Ice Cream Truck was Aloha. It started on a hat, carried over to shirts, and then being a good keiki that I am, went about spreading it. It was only natural then that I show up for Jack Johnson. It's funny, I find his music low key and at times uninspiring (um WHY is he headlining every major festival this summer?), but will totally beat someone up if they say anything bad about him. Same goes for Obama. What can I say? It's a small island in the middle of nowhere. We kama'ainas stick together on the mainland.

Even though the powers that be swore UP and Down that the photopit wouldn't be a problem for Pearl Jam as it was for Metallica the night before, they went back on their word and put it the headlining stage on lockdown. Don't even get me started. Just... don't.

Thank you God then for Sigur Ros. One of the best sets of my entire life. Granted a lot of people are saying that (did you know that people still candyflip? WTF!), but I am saying it as witnessed by a 100% sober person. So good I will never be the same. No really, this set will haunt me. Hopelandic forever.

The only thing that can pry me away from a set like that is the promise of another photopit for a band that usually doesn't offer 'em. This is because they frequent terminally sold out sweaty clubs, rife with an escalating ratio of frat boys that just found out about the band via Perez Hilton. Does that make sense? Who cares. Chromeo killed it.

It was off to the truck to recover for a bit, and then head out for the 2:15 AM Kanye set on the main stage. Word on the street was he insisted that all the other sets wrap it up before he went on, which is mental because one of the bands contained Phil Lesh. That's like if I told Mario Batali to leave HIS kitchen because I had the munchies and wanted to make scrambled eggs and could he please remove himself from the premises. So it was pushed back to 2:45 while Ghostland Observatory wrapped up their awesomeness. What I wouldn't give to see the lead signer pistol-whip Kanye with his braids... ANYWAY while this was going on, there was a crew that kept assembling and dismantling the set. There was no giant curtain to hide behind, so tens of thousands of people were privy to the entire production nightmare. Minutes turned to hours with nothing but really lame hip-hop tracks blasting to assuage the crowd. Had I not had a seat in the media bleachers I would have left long before. The whole situation was so ridiculous I was totally in denial of how much time had passed, and gave up texting my friends because a) I felt pathetic for wanting to stay and b) ain't no way we could have found each other in that crowd. I eventually got the chills, and just as the first rays of light crept across the horizon Kanye's 'Glow in the Dark' spectacle unfurled before us. He was out of tune and unsure of himself, which is precarious when the entire production is based around an ego. The dance moves were choppy, and thanks to the magic of Jumbotron I could see flickers of self doubt in his eyes. I stayed for 3.5 songs and headed back to camp. As our questionnaire at the truck revealed the next morning, WEAKER BORING WHACKER DUMBER. Good nite.