Last night, as to be expceted, the Flaming Lips played one of the best performances at Bonaroo. Just after "The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song," one that attacks President Bush, lead singer Wayne Coyne stopped and asked the audience "What is the meaning of all this?" A question he knows has been asked time and again at every music festival gathering since the 60's, and he acknowleged that, but he asked again, "But really, what does this all mean?"
Bonnaroo's not a happening, or anything like the baby boomers experienced (or coined, as they love to toot thier own horns.) It's a highly commercialized event. Everything has a brand name here. Budwiser, XboX, and iTunes are dominating sponsors. Planes fly over the festival pulling banners telling you of album release dates and XM radio. You are sold before you even get here.
Everyone knows this and no one cares. The kids of today need to collectively rage and Bonnaroo's the place to do it. It's main stream appeal draws a diverse crowd of people-- mainly jam band kids, indie rockers, and hip hop heads. Making it a really big party. It's not a protest, it's not a defining moment in youth history. It's just more entertainment than you can handle for four days. The whole event is taylored so there is no waiting around, ever. The vibe is elcetric, nonstop.
Anyway. There are 80,000 people here, and there are opportunities to connect with complete strangers left and right and all the music is phenominal. If there's any meaning behind this, it's just pure fun.
Last night was the pinnacle of the music festival. Andrew and I kept laughing because inside the venue--an expansive area with 11 stages all going on at once-- people were everywhere, even places music wasn't playing. Like, you'd walk up to a huge group of people gathered together and expect to see something going on, but it would just end up being nothing more than a mass of people hanging out together. Everyone was having a really good time.
Enjoy the photo's taken by Andrew Wyatt on the PJH homepage, he's taken over 1,000 so far.
Sam