Readers, and festival foes, after ten years, we finally have our man on the inside. The random interactions of web-life have brought the M.E. staff to a new (but scratchy) talent who will be attending Bonnaroo this weekend and reporting the ups, downs and sideways of course.
Music Emissions say hello to Jerry G (Grillo), our man on the inside of Bonnaroo 2009.
She says to me, “Seems like a long way to go just to swing at a baseball.”
Notice she didn’t say “hit a baseball.” The wife is a stickler for accuracy and details, so she doesn’t make the leap to “hit,” knowing full well that there will be a “swing” nonetheless, because there are batting cages at Bonnaroo.
Yeah, that’s right. In addition to Phish, Springsteen, Gomez, David Grisman, the Beastie Boys, Grizzly Bear, Portugal. The Man, Elvis Costello, Wilco, Katzenjammer, the Heartless Bastards, Band of Horses, Bela Fleck, David Byrne and all of the other people and stuff I want to see and hear and drink, there are batting cages. There is even a ‘Silent Disco,’ which is wonderful because I’ve wanted to silence Disco for decades.
Anyway, it occurs to me that this festival brings together my two favorite pastimes, music and baseball. So I definitely will take my cuts, and I will make contact – with what or who, I’m not quite sure – but I’ll make contact and report back to you.
I’ve been an ink-stained wretch for nigh on 25 years. I’m paid to research, observe and tell stories, mostly in the realms of business, energy, the environment, politics, health-care, with the occasional play thrown in to maintain sanity. You know. Jacking off.
But this, my pixel crazed friends, is the real deal. At 40-something-ish, I might be the oldest Roo-kie in the media ranks. I’ve never covered a music festival – been to one or two, but they weren’t much bigger than a front-porch jam. Nothing like this monster. This is for real. This is removing the training wheels from the proverbial piecycle and learning to work the child-proof door locks. This is the VIP tour at Neverland, humping the shark, throwing out the first pitch.
I’m a wide-eyed, middle-class, middle-aged, tax-paying, mini-van driving, music-freak, tenderfoot sailor on shore leave, losing my virginity in 21st century Gomorroh. Over the next few days I’ll share with you the bumping and grinding as I land the Martian probe on Venus and conquer this massive music motherf*cker.
And I promise not to cry afterward.