My First Bonnaroo Experience

The first thing I want to say is, if you've ever contemplated going to Bonnaroo - do it. Just to say that you did. Just so you can say you were there; you were part of this dirty, beautiful, musical mess.

The second thing I want to say is, if I never have to use a friggin porta-potty again in the entirety of my life, it will be too soon.

Bonnaroo is a place like nowhere else. It's an adult amusement park, a modern-day Woodstock, a playground where everyone is your best friend and where you can whole-heartedly buy into the notion that music changes lives, makes families of strangers, and alters the way you see the world.

You can be whoever you want, wear whatever you want, do whatever you want without repercussions or judgements. It's a freedom so rare in the modern chaos of our lives that you feel like you've entered a foreign country beyond the limits of laws and normalcy. It's incredible and moving and like nothing else you've experienced.

Now, to be fair, it's also harsh and dirty and loud and overwhelming. The most extreme variants of the human condition are on display unapologetically and you are, in fact, sharing portable bathroom facilities with 100,000 of your best pals in 90 degree Tennessee summer heat. I was uncomfortable and anxious a lot of the time.

But there were other times, like when I was standing in a crowd of tens of thousands staring up at Paul McCartney singing Hey Jude, swaying and watching people raise their lighters (actual lighters, not cell phones), that I felt just how vast we all are. How vast music is. It sounds so...existential...but I felt so connected to everything. And I wasn't even under the influence of narcotics. I was just under the influence of the music and the people and the sky. Tiny lanterns floated above all of us as the show was going on and it was just so beautiful. And I felt so lucky to be apart of it.

I mean, Jesus. It's Paul McCartney. The Beatle. Best buds with Clapton, Hendrix, and Dylan. I heard Blackbird. Live. It's an experience I'll never forget as long as I live.

Paul's show also provided a stark and welcome contrast to the over-abundance of electronic sounding, synth pop, techno dub step manufactured music created by DJs that sound like same hour-long track over and over that took up most stages after 11. I've been informed by my much hipper friends that this is what's cool now. And I'm sure it is, especially if you dig glow-sticks and day-glo paint. But that part of the festival just wasn't for me.

Other highlights included Local Natives and Cat Power, laughing harder than I have ever laughed in my life around our campsite with new friends, and being reminded that people en masse are still capable of being kind, open-minded, welcoming, and good. Positivity is a force that's too often squelched by traffic jams and jobs we hate and the constant pursuit of money. Breathing it in was as refreshing as cold water in the middle of the day.

So in conclusion, I got to spend 4 days re-learning the idea of being completely present, of what community means, and how powerful patience and a sense of humor can be.

I learned how much I hate sleeping on the ground, but if I'm tired enough, I can actually sleep anywhere.

I learned I don't mind heat half as much as I mind sweat. And that make-up and showers aren't as necessary and crucial to my building relationships as I thought.

I'd say that makes me pretty fortunate.

Happy Bonnaroo!

xo.

Vampires, Vagabonds, and Voodoo

So after not nearly enough time, my mom and I have made it back from the land of no open container laws, and I must say - it was one of the cooler experiences of my life.

New Orleans is a place that sticks to your soul the same way jambalaya sticks to your ribs. And the food is a perfectly good indicator of the people. Warm, robust, loud, and so, so good.

The best part for me though was watching my mom, who hasn't even been to downtown Atlanta in 10 years, see a city that was so alive and full of spirit. It's a place that is awake and just...proud - of who they are and where they've been. There are streets, buildings, entire blocks, still in recovery from Katrina, and while the rest of us have managed to effortlessly forget, these people stare at it every single day. They don't turn away or try and cover it. It's as a part of the landscape as the lazy trees Mardi Gras beads. The air there is thick with resilience and good ol' fashioned gumption, the likes of which I desperately hope I brought home with me.

Everywhere we went, the people were so welcoming and helpful, offering bright hellos and 'come on ins.' And it was humbling to be at such a vivid cross-section of this country - black, white, gay, rich, clothed, half-naked - everyone is always welcome. It doesn't hurt that there are "cocktail-to-go" bars all over the place either, eager to serve up hurricanes in plastic cups to take with you as you wander around trying to see as much as you possibly can.

As far as the Jazz Festival itself, it was absolutely worth the trip down there. Despite the acres of knee-deep sand and mud, despite the crazy man offering my mom and I mushrooms (we regretfully declined), despite 50,000 people and no elbow room - despite all this there was music. Amazing jazz music, amazing bluegrass. There was Fleetwood Mac and singing Landslide with Stevie Nicks and my mom and almost crying because she looked so, so happy. I'd never trade being there for anything.

That's the thing about New Orleans. Whether you want it to or not, it wakes you up. It summons buried parts of yourself that you nearly let die. It taught me new things about my mom and about myself. It forced me to feel comfortable in my own skin. Their strength spills over.

But what can you expect from a people and a place that have such a strong, tight sense of community that not even a natural disaster can quell it? They offer no apologies for their scars and they welcome you in with all of yours, never a question asked.

It's a place where you can come as you are and leave better than you were, if you allow yourself to be opened up to new and crazy and amazing things. It's rich with magic and hospitality and even the streets sing.

If you ever find yourself with a chance to visit, do it. Eat the beignets, drink too much, soak up the jazz. Let it seep into you then bring it back home.

You'll be glad you did.

xo.

Blowing Off Cobwebs and Getting Ready to Go

Holy cow, the crickets were getting pretty loud over here. I wish I had some awesome excuse, but really, all I've been doing is packing and studying and taking tests and writing papers and dealing with plumbers and having no hot water.

Needless to say, my blogging inspiration had been kind of depleted.

I did want to check in though and remind everyone, because every single one of you definitely probably forgot and totally wants to know, I LEAVE FOR NEW ORLEANS IN LIKE, 36 HOURS. To see Fleetwood Mac, and Willie Nelson, and the Black Keys, and Gary Clarke, Jr and about a bajillion other amazing musicians. And, since it's May 1 (holy shit, it's May?), I can say that Bonnaroo is next month. Whoop whoop.

I'm so fucking excited. You can tell by my gratuitous use of expletives.

I'm so excited in fact, that I decided to take a break from studying and writing a paper on the forced assimilation of Native Americans to bring you guys some Summer music festival inspiration.

So yeah. Tomorrow, I'm turning in a final paper, finalizing outfits, loading up the car, and come 5am Friday, I'll be headed to Louisiana to officially start my summer.

It's a beautiful thing, folks.

Happy May Day.

xo.

By the way, none of these images belong to me and I claim no rights to them.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with festival fashion.

Yesterday, thanks to the advertising/marketing/letting-me-know-shit-I-wouldn't-have-otherwise powers of Facebook, I discovered some amazing information.

Fleetwood Mac will be playing at the 2013 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.

My first thought was, "Thanks for listening God." My second was, Mother/Daughter Road Trip of the Century.

Ever since I was cruising around in my hot pink Barbie car in nothing but a diaper, and long before that, my mom's been a Stevie Nicks fan. She and my aunt and I would lie on floor, our head against the stereo speakers, and sing as loud as we could to the likes of Pat Benetar, Heart, and Fleetwood Mac on Saturday afternoons when I was kid. And if it wasn't for my dad and some kind of desire to name me after past family members, my name would have absolutely been Rhiannon (and honestly, I wish it was).

There aren't many memories of my mom NOT singing along to Landslide in the car, thinking nobody could hear how absolutely beautiful she sounded. And her singing is still one of my favorite sounds.

So, I considered it fate that Fleetwood Mac would be at one of the greatest musical festivals of the year playing with the likes of Willie Nelson, Black Keys, and the Dave Matthews Band. And when I called her and said, "By the way, for Mother's Day we're driving to Atlanta to New Orleans on a road trip to see Fleetwood Mac play," she said, "Let's go." Because she's awesome and my best friend.

And now the planning has begun. Suitcases must be pulled down, outfits must be planned. And I'm already having a blast looking at past festival fashions for inspiration. Plus it helps distract from the cold weather and rain we've been having here all week. Here's some favorites :)

It's gonna be amazing. 

xo.

Images courtesy of BuzzNet, Tumblr, and Google images