I kind of hate to admit it, but I’ve listened to jam bands.
I’ve attended concerts like Phish, Galactic, and Widespread Panic and I’ve driven all the way to Tennessee to go camping at Bonnaroo Music Festival. Three times!
You see, if you grow up in Lawrence and there is an unwritten mandate: at one point in your life – typically before you can legally purchase alcohol – you will think you are a hippie—a cool one, that is.
You will insist to your mother that you need five pairs of $100 Birkenstocks (your other tan pair is caked with mud from that field party last weekend). You will buy long flowy skirts and wide-leg corduroys from Urban Outfitters (just hide the bag, tell your friends they were ‘thrifted’).
You will wear graphic t-shirts that say, “I go to Free State High.”
The good thing is, this phase doesn’t always last.
The concert crowd is redundant and the scene gets old. And unless you are that guy whirling in circles, hitting everyone around him at the show with his long, sweaty ponytail, the endless guitar solos and 20-minute free-form, on-stage jam sessions lose their appeal.
You go to college, you find a different niche. You deny that you know every lyric of every Grateful Dead song, retire your Birkenstocks, and joke with your new friends about camping with a bunch of ‘hippies’ at a music festival.
So, with this in mind… I return from my lovely hiatus and plunge back into the festival scene.
You ask me, are you attending Wakarusa Music Festival? Yes I am.
You ask me, are you excited about this?
I’m sleeping on the ground people.