In a time where everyone is used to the instant gratification of leaked albums, live festivals are humbling experiences that require waiting on talent instead of having it handed to you. The wait is accompanied by (in Bonnaroo’s case) hours of scorching heat, foot and back pains, mud and horrible smells. But once all that is over and the last roadie clears the empty stage, all the hours of waiting, all the money spent on your big blue ticket is validated. Your idols, the one’s who’ve been living in your headphones all year walk on stage in the flesh and start singing your favorite songs in front of you.

This was my first year representing Nashville Nights in an official press related atmosphere. It was sobering to walk past NPR and CNN tents; people who have built up empires of music related media coverage. I wanted in, but this was more of an ‘observe and report’ adventure than a chance to climb the social media ladder. I’d do few things differently if there was a big ‘do-over’ button in front of me but as far as the general festival goes, I was very pleased with this year’s experience.

I was the only member of the press aboard my crew’s Bonnaroo bound yellow VW. I felt pretty dickish making them steer off course so I could pick up my wristband but most of the inconvenience came from the unfortunate way in which the festival staff coordinated will-call pickup. Several hundred people were slowly funneled from two single file lines into a tiny radio station which had one door and two employees on computers. It’d make more sense if this operation was in a bigger facility and tickets were handed out the day before instead of the day of the event.

Three and a half hours and a few new friendships later we were back on the road. Miike Snow’s whimsical piano based anthem ‘Burial’ was playing through the dashboard speakers in a triumphant ode to our upcoming destination. Windows were down. It was all very cinematic. I remember thinking how great that album is and how I should give it a thorough listening to when I got back home. Did you know the guys in that band wrote ‘Toxic‘? Amazing.

Miike Snow – Burial

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You hear tales of the infamous Bonnaroo car line but nothing can prepare you for the actual event. We finally reach the exit destination printed on our directions but a big commotion of parked police cars and traffic is blocking our next move. A strange angry bald policeman starts yelling something at us. We roll down the window and he furiously tells us that we need to go a different way.

If I had known then that this turn of events would tack on an extra eleven hours of mid day traffic with no ac I would have prompted our driver to stroll past the angry bald man onto the exit we were supposed to take. But I did not know. And we did as we were told which we later found out meant driving ten or so miles in the wrong direction and then taking an exit ramp to drive ten miles in the right direction. This is all happening in dead stopped traffic.

Our happy go lucky energy was exhausted within the first hour of us shouting repeatedly shouting ‘Bonnarooooooooo’ out the window as cars slowly passed by. After a lot of not moving at all some of the group decided to get out of the car, put the VW in neutral and push the vehicle as a way of conserving gas. It was also an excuse for a lot of dudes to take off their shirts in front of an audience of mainly traffic jammed hippies and frat boys. Imagine a giant banana being pushed slowly by sweaty half naked boys and you’ll have a picture in your head of the homoerotic nature of our journey through Bonnaroo traffic.

Meanwhile, I was relaxing in the backseat getting the full Xerxes treatment, enjoying an entire row to myself. My eye-mask was on and wax earplugs were softening the excitement that buzzed around outside the van. My plan of action was to conserve as much energy as possible for what was to be a very draining first day of standing, buying refreshments and cheering.

It was entertaining to watch girls try to sneak out of their cars and into some hidden patch of off-road territory; as if we’re all going to be tricked into thinking that they’re just sight seeing behind those bushes. There’s no way for women to appear ladylike while peeing in front of thousands of strangers. Men have it much easier in this department.

Fast-forward to a few hours later and we’ve moved about three more miles. Keep in mind we’re tragically forced to head the wrong direction. Super Troopers are zipping around, power tripping on what has to be the most eventful couple days of their lives. ‘Why not take an earlier exit?’ you ask. The sign reads ‘Local Traffic Only’ and patrolmen are parked at every exit, scrutinizing passersby. I’m guessing we’re not getting past them with a giant yellow hippy machine full of shirtless bros and camping gear.

After six hours of going the wrong way and not achieving any distance our sense of sharing the road was fully depleted. In a Darwinian style gesture we decided to get out of the shoulder, join the local traffic and search for a gap in the line that we could jump in on. We represented a caravan of about five cars, so there was a lot of teamwork involved in this amount of organized cheating.

Stevie Wonder – Superstition

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There were risks with line jumping. If you go too far without finding a gap you can overshoot your destination and possibly be pulled over by the cops. I was already stressing about missing my 11am press orientation. Images of important people exchanging valuable info and the Bonnaroo staff handing out free swag flooded my worried imagination.

Fast-Forward Fast-Forward Fast-Forward Male Bonding Fast-Forward Fast-Forward Fast-Forward get out of car for smoke break Fast-Forward Fast-Forward Fast Forward lots of risky line jumps but we finally took the exit and are now going the right way! Fast-Forward Fast-Forward Fast-Forward someone line jumps us and we all get pissed Fast-Forward Fast-Forward Fast-Forward We finally arrive next to the beautiful Bonnaroo archway.

It’s almost 5pm now. I’m supposed to attend a press dinner. I get out of the car and start power walking my way towards the low murmur of festival sized bass that echoes in the distance. If you’ve ever been to a waterpark-farm-oven then you know what Bonnaroo smells like. Big purple graffitied walls guard the outskirts of the festival grounds.

Passing through security with little time to lose, I hurry toward my destination occasionally looking down at my crumpled Bonnaroo map. More mud. More security. It’s like the first day of school and everyone is checking each other out. I’m starting to feel overdressed in a tee shirt and shorts. Finally I reach the last checkpoint. The staff let’s me enter the media section and I start looking around for a concentrated area of people eating while being spoken to. No such luck.

There are a few people sitting at tables having dinner but mostly everyone is lone-wolfing it like myself. A big white tent blankets an outdoor lounge. Decorative plants, catered food, flat screen tvs and couches make up a luxurious atmosphere.

I was terrified. I looked around. Anyone of these people could be in a band I love. I strained my eyes for some hint of famousness. Everybody looked the same! They all looked cool and most of them had beards. The girls were equally trendy. Small circles of people had formed. I turned around and spotted the Dodos being interviewed at a nearby picnic table.

After a thorough eavesdropping session I found my way over to the media tent. Inside, a handful of people were quietly clicking away on their laptops. No one was talking. The only sound I could hear was the loud hum of the air conditioning. Four empty chairs sat on a stage inside the tent, which would later be filled by various alternative celebrities.

I made a bit of small talk in this room throughout the four days I was here but most of my time was spent running around Bonnaroo’s various stages, buying four dollar lemonades (I swear they slip cocaine in those things, I’ve never tasted such sweet nectar) and ninja-ing my way to the front of the crowd. There’s something rewarding about looking at main stage from what seems like miles away and saying under your breath, ‘I’m going to be there‘ and actually doing it. It’s a vicious battle of sweaty shoulders, stink eyes and awkward hopping but If you’re ruthless enough you can find a pretty decent spot.

I could go on about the amazing things I saw and heard over those couple days, but the main points of interest would have to be walking past a conversation in which a man loudly confessed to murdering a cat, ‘after doing that to my racoon…now I’m an animal lover but I went and cut his cat’s head off…if he woulda been there I woulda picked up the god-damn shovel and smacked him right in the face’ true story. Also my friend was offered acid and sexual favors simply because she liked his VW. I don’t think he went for it.

Neon Indian – Should Have Taken Acid With You

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More Bonnaroo coverage is coming soon. Pt 2 will be a play by play of each performance I saw at the festival. Special thanks to Bonnaroo staff for including NN in this years press.You can catch up on any bands you missed out on with the Youtube Bonnaroo page.