By Shawn Perry
“Approved.” That’s what it said in an email I received a month before Bonnaroo. “Approved” was in there three times, as in a general “you’re approved,” followed by “approved” for a media credential. And one final “approved” for a parking pass. Yep, even my vehicle was “approved.”
Well…damn. This isn’t what I expected at all. In the aftermath of an active concert month in May, I’d almost forgotten about Bonnaroo. My request for credentials was done on a lark. I’d asked before, only to get turned down. This time, with the concert site less 100 miles from home, I thought I’d give it another shot. I didn’t hear a peep about it until interview requests started rolling in. Then I checked my SPAM box and there it was: “Approved.”
For me, at this point of the game, I was a little apprehensive about going. Bonnaroo had changed considerably in 20 years. Coming into existence after an annual music festival in Knoxville was cancelled, Bonnaroo began as a festival bubbling over with jam bands. Widespread Panic, String Cheese incident, Trey Anastasio from Phish, and Phil Lesh and Bob Weir from the Grateful Dead, were all on hand for the inaugural three-day Bonnaroo in 2002.
From there, the Bonnaroo ethos pushed the bounds of classification. Artists from every genre imaginable got on the bill — ranging from alternative, independent bands like Tiny Animals, to up-and-coming pop bands like LANY and singer-songwriters like Caroline Rose, all the way up the ladder to major headliners like Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, Billy Joel, U2, Metallica and Paul McCartney. The basic premise of Bonnaroo is still intact, though it’s evolved and engaging a new generation with ideas, views and artistic tastes all their own.
The headliners for 2022 stretched the gamut with industrial heavy-hitters Tool topping a bill that also featured Stevie Nicks, The Chicks (formerly the Dixie Chicks), Herbie Hancock, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, J. Cole and Machine Gun Kelly. In between the big names were dozens of smaller ones, each with their own cadres of supporters, hoping to win over new converts.
An audience will always have certain demands. Any performer who dares to occupy one of the festival’s sacred venues — be it the What Stage, the Which Stage, the Who Stage, This Tent, That Tent, The Now Stage, The Other Stage — must be prepared to move Bonnaroovians, transport them, take them to an ethereal land of honey dew where everything is in perfect harmony with the universe and beyond. It started happening every year on this 700-acre farm in Tennessee until the pandemic and too much flooding put Bonnaroo on hold in 2020 and 2021. Life as we know it would never be the same.
Could the same be said of Bonnaroo? I was about to find out.
Instead of attending the full four-day festival, I opted for one day. It was too late to book a room within reasonable distance of Manchester, and I wasn’t too keen on camping out, even within the confines of Eddie’s Park, where media has a spot of their own. I wasn’t going to fully experience the festival like I was supposed to; I was going to get a sense of it, function as an observer, and see what a day in the life of Bonnaroo was like.
I made the trek on Saturday, June 18. It just so happens that Paul McCartney, a one-time Bonnaroo performer, was turning 80 on this day, so that gave it a little more meaning. I thought about walking up to random Bonnaroovians and asking them if they knew who Paul McCartney was and that today was his birthday. “Pardon me, do you know who the Beatles are?” That idea quickly lost traction once I made my way inside.
There was other reconnaissance I did to help orientate myself. Beginning on Thursday, Hulu started broadcasting segments, interviews and other footage from Bonnaroo, so I tuned in, hoping to gain some insight. I watched singer and guitarist Adam Melchor and his band play a few songs. He sings like Jeff Buckley and plays fast and furious rhythm guitar on a hollow body electric. He mentioned that one of his songs was inspired by Jimi Hendrix and the parrots of London. On Friday, I caught a little bit of Shabaka Hutchings soloing away on saxophone. Hutchings, another player on tenor horn, and two drummers were spinning out Dead-like jams for what seemed like an eternity.
Robert Plant and Alison Krauss also played on Friday night. At one point, they pulled out a bluesy, swampy version of Led Zeppelin’s “When The Levee Breaks” with a slice of “Friends” inserted at the breaks. The duo appeared at the festival once before in 2008, and Plant brought his own band, the Sensational Space Shifters, to Manchester for a Sunday slot in 2015. It’s fairly obvious at this point that Robert Plant has an ongoing love affair with the music of Tennessee, and is a fixture in Americana circles. The fact that he’s British and sang for one of the greatest rock and roll bands in history are beside the point.
Other groups I missed on Friday but heard about were Goose and King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. These two and others like Pigeons Playing Ping Pong and Lettuce, who both appeared Sunday, are keeping the jam-band spirit alive at Bonnaroo.
Basically, my day at Bonnaroo was about seeing who else there was, walk the grounds, soak up the positive vibes, people watch and stay cool and out of the way. After catching full sets by Billy Strings and Tool, my plan was to make a swift and clean exit, and be in my own bed just before Pigeons Playing Ping Pong started their 90-minute set at That Tent. Was it an “if only I stayed” moment? I’ll never know.
Enduring a traffic-free, hassle-free check-in, I was standing in front of the What Stage just before noon. There wasn’t a soul around aside from a couple technicians testing sound and lighting. In the distance, a few enterprising early birds were strolling around Centeroo, near where the Ferris wheel was. I ventured over, hearing music, and found my way over to the Now Stage where School of Rock members were bashing away at songs by Phish, Steve Miller, Soundgarden and Deep Purple. “A little ‘Space Truckin’’ for y’all.” Just when I was starting to wonder where the rock and roll was, in comes this ray of sunshine, a fountain of youth spewing it all out from this tiny corner.
It was time for refreshments, so I scanned the chip in my wristband and enjoyed the first of many frosty beverages to keep me going. That and plenty of water were essential to make it through the day. A hydration pack would have been ideal. A lot of Bonnaroovians were using them as vaporizers. You have to admire their ingenuity. Once I found Who’s Broos Pub with the only beer tabs around, I was in IPA nirvana — twisted and hydrated. Only between sets.
I wandered over to the Which Stage to check out New Zealand pop singer Benee. Harmless enough I suppose, but then I heard guitars in the distance and booked it over to That Tent to check out the Backseat Lovers. Hailing from Utah, the four-piece came out rocking, then went long into a hybrid of basic indy rock and borderline Radiohead territory, simultaneously engaging and mystifying. They plodded through a song called “Pool House,” which had everyone chiming in on parts of the chorus. Among the numerous totems poking at the sky, I spied at least three women hula hooping to the song’s roving rhythm. That’s always a good sign of things to come.
By mid-afternoon, Bonnaroo was in full swing. Bodies huddled under trees for shade if they weren’t catching moisture at the Bonnaroo Fountain, the Oasis, the Big Ass waterslide, or the ominous chamois tree, which I walked by but stayed clear from. I did make a stop at the Jack Daniel tent, one of the site’s many shaded areas to relax, beat the heat and refuel on energy. I spoke with Jed Lirette, a Jack Daniel rep, who told me this was the company’s first time at Bonnaroo. Unfortunately, aside from cans of pre-mixed JD concoctions, there wasn’t a drop of whiskey to be had.
In an ongoing search for something familiar, the heaving notes of Van Halen’s “Jump” caught my ear. Without taking another step, I was suddenly in the midst Bonnaroo’s annual SuperJam. Known for following some sort of theme, this year’s SuperJam, led by Jack Antonoff, celebrated the music of 1984. As one of the first new songs a lot of people heard in 1984, “Jump” certainly belonged in the set. As did a couple of Madonna numbers. Rick Mitarotonda from Goose sang Talk Talk’s “It’s My Life” and A-ha’s “Take On Me.” Joy Oladokun took a stab at Phil Collins’ “Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now.” Versions of Bruce Springteen’s “I’m Goin’ Down’,” Echo & the Bunnymen’s “The Killing Moon,” The Smith’s “What Difference Does It Make?” and Prince’s “When Doves Cry” all revved up the crowd before surprise guest, pop sensation Carly Rae Jepsen, delivered honorable renditions of Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” and Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do With It.”
If you stand in certain spots on the Bonnaroo grounds, you can hear multiple performances at once. Based on what was going around, I can only imagine what other people were hearing. In a break from the music, you’ll see all kinds at Bonnaroo — some dressed to the nines or the bare minimum; some wearing platforms, some combat boots, others with no shoes at all; and there’s no end to those basking in glitter, fishnet stockings, tattoos, rainbows, and colors of all kinds. It’s a free-for-all, a place to be yourself — the crazy streak in Bonnaroo encourages everyone to bring their inner weird out into the open. It makes for some fresh perspectives on so many things.
As night fell, I had my eye on the main event — actually two main events, one following the other on the What Stage. In a conversation I had with vendor, Nate Duval, I was told to not miss Billy Strings. Here was someone, he said, who lived up to the Bonnaroo promise. Strings had played the Ryman in May, and Bob Weir came up and sat in for a song. That alone gained credibility in these circles. “No drums either,” Nate added.
I found a spot beside the soundboard to watch Billy Strings. And here he was — a longhaired kid in a t-shirt and jeans with tattoos and black nail polish, ready to rip away on his acoustic. He was accompanied by a fiddle player, a banjo player, a standup bass player and a mandolin player. Together, they were about to shower the audience with a heavy dose of psychedelic bluegrass, the likes of which no one had ever seen or heard before. Well, at least me. “We’re so glad to be with y’all,” Strings said in between puffs on a cigarette butt. After he put it out, the band fell into “Dust In A Baggie.”
What began as a lovely country ditty with Strings drawling through the lyrics slowly transformed into a finger picking tour de force. Strings played his acoustic like a man possessed, peeling off lightning fast arpeggios, changing his tone over to dirty distortion, then tailing back to allow room for the others to run with. The cooperation on that stage was symbiotic and intoxicating.
It carried on through to “While I’m Waiting Here” and “Pyramid Country,” all the way to the beatific “Away From The Mire,” lifted by a melody and cadence that spread gleaming smiles over everyone within spittin’ distance of the What Stage. Nothing but collective “oohs” and “ahhs” for over an hour. “We’re happy to bring you folks some bluegrass,” Strings shared. “We only have time for one more…before Danny Carey hits me over the head with a fuckin’ drumstick or we piss off Maynard.” Indeed, even Strings was anxious about the prospect of Tool following.
The dark, brooding music of Tool is hardly a way to radiate positivity, though there seemed no shortage of Toolheads who scrambled to the front for a glimpse. Unlike Billy Strings, the members of Tool would not be on the big screen. Instead a collage of quirky angles, colorful fractals, twisting torsos and floating skulls would be the visuals while the musicians collided in a unison of progressive tempos and chunky chord changes.
Through it all, moving to and fro in the shadows, was singer Maynard James Keenan, bigger than life with his black Mohawk and imposing presence. But even he couldn’t fully turn off the bright vibe. “We’ve been through a lot. Today, we deserve a break,” he said as totems rose up and the crowd surrendered their weary selves to the rest of the night. Too compelling to turn away, Tool served up a feisty feast of new (“Fear Inoculum”) and old (“Opiate” and the ever-delightful “Hooker With A Penis”) as midnight yawned without blinking. That was my cue to make my escape.
I’d have to pass on the 2 AM Pigeons Playing Ping Pong set. I totally missed out on the camp sites and their hidden bush parties and raves. Stevie Nicks and Herbie Hancock were a couple acts on Sunday I would have liked to have seen. To really do Bonnaroo right, you have to go all four days, explore every corner, see as many shows as possible, and be prepared to live with the savages. Ten years earlier, the music at Bonnaroo would have been more in line with my tastes. Still, I couldn’t deny how well organized it all was. Having access to areas where I could get away from the heat and stay hydrated was what kept me there for 12 hours. While everyone carried on into the night, I snuck out and drove home. Next time, I’ll bring a tent, a sleeping bag, maybe a friend or two, and stick around a little longer.
