Bonnaroo 2024 Sunday | Jason's Journal

Sunday

We linger in the tent until the heat makes lounging hazardous. The afterglow of a perfect penultimate day promises a beautiful finale. S.G. Goodman plays at 1:00. I’ve been looking forward to her set for months. But first, I have work to do. 

When I started this Marinade thing, I hoped to chat with a few of my favorite creatives, learn about what makes them special, and grow as a creative person myself. I figured covering shows and festivals would be a natural consequence of the work. I could not have predicted the opportunity I’m gearing up for this morning. 

The media tent is quiet this early, as are the festival grounds. Note to self, be better prepared to make coffee at camp next year as none of the vendors are open at 9:00 am. A few familiar faces tap away at laptops. I have my airpods in listening to the most recent Milky Chance record Living in a Haze and reading a few last minute interviews. Seems like most folks ask the guys the same questions and I want to avoid that as much as possible.

True to my interactions with their team, Philipp and Clemens are right on time. There’s a panel in the air conditioned media tent but the outdoor area is set up nicely with fans. Artists walk through on their way to catering. Philipp and Clemens warmly greet me and we sit at a high top table. Charles Wesley Godwin, a former Marinade guest who is playing the main stage later, strolls by as I plug in the mics and set up for one of the bigger moments of my creative life.

The guys from Milky Chance couldn’t be sweeter and more engaging. We hug and say our parting pleasantries. I am ready for lunch and some music. Back at camp we crack open a couple of Ale-8s and plot our day. It’s getting close to 1:00. S.G. Goodman is about to start and I don’t want to miss a note. 

My love and I have pretty much decided we are gonna take it all in together. S.G. Goodman is making spine-tingling music these days. Her two solo records are unlike anything I have come across in recent memory. I am of the belief that we are living among musical legends, especially when it comes to sounds that fall under the Americana umbrella. 

The This Tent fills slow. Some of us are clearly there with a purpose, but there are also converts to the Church of Goodman in this crowd. S.G. Goodman handles the stage with an unassuming stance. She makes a joke about festivals and festival culture that might come across as offensive if not for the respect underlying her delivery. 

She introduces her arresting song “Space and Time” by telling the story of how Tyler Childers came to cover it. This Tent erupts at the mention of Childers, and for good reason. I think folks sleep on Kentucky and how much incredible music comes from the Bluegrass State. 

A state with less than twice the population of the greater Orlando metro area churns out talent and these are two of the best.

Greensky Bluegrass and The Beaches are up soon, but so is Milky Chance and Charles Wesley Godwin. Remember the rules we laid out in previous Jason’s Journals? No FOMO.

Yesterday was incredible, but also action packed. We need a break so back to camp it is. Always take a break. Always take care of yourself. 

The feeling of seeing an artist you just interviewed wow a crowd afterward is one that will never get old. In this case, it’s global pop stars Milky Chance. Just hours ago I told them the live show that hooked me on their music. Now they are wowing another crowd on one of the biggest stages in the world.

Pace Thyself says rule number two for festival enjoyment. Milky Chance brings an energy that could deplete one’s battery for the rest of a weekend. Not energy for energy’s sake. Good songs delivered earnestly.

The skies are threatening as Badbadnotgood takes the That Tent. They feel like a band whose following is bulging just beyond the reaches of this space. A delightful group of folks set up a “sprint” competition way over stage left complete with a finish line. Adorable feats of athleticism ensue.

Charles Wesley Godwin is up next on the What Stage and despite how good Badbadnotgood sounds, I don’t want to miss him. Charles was first on my radar from a publicist I work with regularly several years ago. Rachel Hurley told me he was gonna be big way back when.

Charles and his band rip through a set of bangers culminating with his tradition of playing “Country Roads.” The sky begins to simmer. Thousands sing along with John Denver’s legendary chorus. A warning comes across the public address system. Seek shelter, it says.

Charles ain’t having it. The soaring singalong can’t be stopped even as a member of the Bonnaroo team comes out and the band’s sound is cut. Undeterred, Charles Wesley Godwin comes out to the front of the stage and leads us in one last a capella run through the chorus. 

I have goosebumps thinking about it. Charles was visibly frustrated and refused to deprive his fans. Shades of Willie and Waylon. 

The two acts my love and I most want to see are up in a little while which calls for a break and regroup at camp. Freshen up. Change clothes. Sit a spell. 

I am going into Megan Thee Stallion blind. Sure, I know the name but that’s where my knowledge ends. My love is a mega fan and I’m excited to see her in that element. 

It is no secret to anyone who has read or listened to anything I’ve ever produced, that I believe Jason Isbell is a once in a lifetime genius. These are the acts that will provide a climax to our Bonnaroo.

Megan comes on to a roar. I’ve seen my love this excited for a performance before. When we saw Bob Dylan it was a spiritual experience. But, the tenor here is different. The Dylan show was about us and the moment seeing a legend. This is unbridled joy!

I have no expectations for this other than I want her to have fun. Did not expect that I’m now ranking the experience among my favorite sets of the weekend. Every step of the production is on point. Megan Thee Stallion sounds great and has command of the stage. There is almost zero chance of me dialing up any of these songs after today, but that is not the point. In this moment I am a Megan Thee Stallion fan along with the tens of thousands of fellow Bonnaroovians taking in the same.

Megan’s set ends in perfect time to see Isbell and the 400 Unit on the Which Stage. I have seen Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit an average of at least twice a year since 2007. My first 400 Unit show was at a barbecue joint in Jacksonville, FL, circa 2007. I sat eating burnt ends while they cooked. 

Every Jason Isbell show leads to an inventory of my adult life. The memories are incalculable. The life choices that have transpired. The lovers gained and lost. Here my love gets to see what I have been preaching since we met. It would be impossible to think that this relationship will end in just a few short weeks. For now, she is holding me, crying, to one of my two or three favorite Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit sets ever.

My pearl snap flies open along with the undershirt my love ripped during Megan’s set. The evening is sexy and sultry, tender and sweet.

As we put a cap on perhaps my favorite festival day anywhere, anytime, I take a second to process the gratitude I feel for this festival, this woman, this moment. 

The morning is slow going but the heat does not afford too much dragging of feet. My car battery is dead. A neighbor can’t get his tent packed up. This being Roo we help each other get on the road. 

My love sleeps most of the way to Nashville, our hands intertwined. We have a room at Waymore’s Guesthouse in East Nashville that will serve as my home for the night and our space for a proper send off until we reunite in a week and a half. My grounded summer tour rolls on and there is much more to discover.

Bonnaroo 2024 Friday | Jason's Journal

Friday

The sun is preying on us almost as soon as it makes its first appearance. I learned a lot of lessons last year, our first covering Bonnaroo. One being to make sure you have shade. I also brought along a fan. My circadian rhythm is pretty tuned to be up with the sun most of the time anyway. I head to the media tent, which is quite comfortable at Bonnaroo. Some festivals put you in a tailgate canopy with some spotty wifi. Bonnaroo makes sure there is plenty of Liquid Death on hand and an air conditioner blowing, which makes coverage easier on so many levels. 

I set out to finish my conversation with Alisa Amador which was recorded before the Grounded Summer Tour. This summer off from my day job as a teacher has been more creatively fruitful than any other in my life. I have been treating creative work as my full time job and it is paying off in ways I did not expect. 

A couple of episodes are in the can. My talk with Alisa as well as one I recorded with Drayton Farley at the wonderful - if very different - Laurel Cove Festival the previous weekend just need some light editing. Plus, we are due to record with Milky Chance on Sunday.   

Friday’s schedule is much more in my wheelhouse. This is where I need to remember my own advice. First, no FOMO. Second, pace thyself. 49 Winchester goes on at 2:00. Lead singer and principal songwriter Isaac Gibson was a guest on my podcast The Marinade a couple of years ago. We had one of those talks where Ieft an even bigger fan of the band than before we met. Somehow, their live show has evaded me and I am ready to remedy that today.

Isaac is a natural country rock and roll front man. He’s got the look, the swagger, and a little of the mystique. The day is young and festival goers are still arriving. I feel grateful I called things early last night. 49 Winchester is absolutely ripping apart the What Stage. Several 49 hats are visible, but there has to be a boat load of converts in this crowd. 

With due respect for what some of the cross over country stars have done - that sweet spot between country that appeals to the masses and good songwriting - many of the folks who are selling out stadiums don’t do it quite like 49 Winchester. Next time your buddy says he really isn’t into country music but he likes Zach Bryan, spin some tunes by Isaac and the boys.

FOMO check. Bonny Light Horseman kicks off right after the last note of 49 Winchester’s set. I know what I said earlier, but I’m not missing this set. A full hour of the boys from Virginia was good medicine. Let’s ride this wave. 

SShitty cell phone video of Bonny Light Horseman

Bonny Light Horseman is Anais Mitchell, Eric D. Johnson (Fruit Bats), and Josh Kaufman (Josh Ritter.) Supergroup is the term often used to describe the band on account of the success of the individual members apart from this project. Supergroup is a term that both encompasses the enormity of Bonny Light Horseman and skips over the special synergy of these souls. 

Anais Mitchell is a quasar. Even in such illustrious company she occupies the space in a way that makes everyone else present fall from relevance. This is the kind of set that reminds you to go to the show. 

I am tired. The heat is bleeding energy but the festival is giving life. Gary Clark, Jr. has a set on the way and I need to rest for a minute so as to be present for that. He’s an artist I’ve loved for years but somehow have yet to see. 

At some point one wakes up and finds that artists they’ve followed for much of their lives have been at it for a couple of decades. The realization is shocking but necessary.

I have no idea what Gary Clark, Jr. sounded like live in 2000 whatever year he sang “You gonna know my name by the end of the night” which he’s doing right now. Right now he sounds like the coolest mother fucker on the planet. Looks like it too. 

But I need shade. Faye Webster is a name I sort of know. She’s playing in the “That Tent” and providing a respite from the sun. And she is slaying her set. 

This is why we go to festivals. Megan Thee Stallion still has a set on the way. Red Hot Chili Peppers. Post Malone. Yet, Faye Webster has a hold on me. 

Back at camp resting for a few before Khrauangbin and Interpol I meet my camp neighbors. People make a festival. Live music is always going to hit. The moments of connection with fellow music lovers. Organic discoveries go beyond sonic scapes on The Farm. 

I have two sets left in me and one of those is a bucket list opportunity. Khraungbin would be a set I must consume in full with most conflicts. On this day, I have to see Interpol. Interpol is a late-twenties band for me. That period of life where you are hyper in tune with new experiences and music is near the center of your universe. 

In my twenties there was a culture of blogs writing about and sharing music. Each generation has its ways of spreading the word. For us there were some very cool websites. Social media was still young so you had to pick the right spot, which surprisingly kept us out of lanes. I think of eMusic, No Depression, and Blender as examples of spaces that turned me on to new stuff. In one of those places I learned about Interpol. 

shitty cell phone photo of Interpol

They were singing about things that felt so far from my existence yet hit for me. I was swimming in the feeling of being hit by new sensations and that’s the state I find myself in now. 

It’s a bit of a slow start that almost immediately shifts to the kind of groove Paul Banks and the boys achieve on record. When you wait this long to see a band, it’s natural to be patient with the results. I’m probably being generous with my assessment, but there’s no question this is my favorite set of the weekend thus far. 

Might be nostalgia. Might be the moment. I’m here either way and it is a special experience. 

The evening is full of big sets but I need to be in Nashville tomorrow to pick up my love. And I can’t wait. She has never been to a camping festival. Introducing someone to that magic is priceless. Post Malone is about to play. T-Pain. The Mars Volta! Thundercat! I remind myself of the big maxim. No FOMO. Gotta get some sleep to make the most of the next two days.

Bonnaroo 2024 Saturday | Jason's Journal

Saturday

By: Jason Earle

I’ve been on the road for a week and a half- up with the sun and on the way to Music City. 

The few hours between leaving Bonnaroo and returning are a blissful scene in slow motion. My love is staying at a cool, quirky hotel in East Nashville. I love this town and don’t know why I keep talking myself out of moving here. Holding what you got is easier but not always right.

For this moment, I am holding lightning in a bottle. We hit a Mexican grocery and load up on snacks I wouldn’t have considered otherwise. Water, coffee, wine, some beer- that’s been my beverage rotation for many years. I am borderline obsessed with the chips I like but rarely venture outside my go to brands.

Today my cart is loaded with chicken wings, orange sodas, and flavors of chips my limited Spanish is powerless to speculate as to their impact on my taste buds.

Lost in a blissful haze we head back to the hotel to catch up on the last week of time together. We are starving and these snacks are not going to get the job done. I look up places to eat lunch and find a funky, very East Nashville eatery. The chicken wings are the size of an actual wing of a bird. A man walks in with baby miniature quails he lets my love hold. It’s an odd juxtaposition, eating fowl while holding the most adorable example of it.

There is a vintage store across the street with a bar in it. We have sets to catch back on The Farm but also there’s cash to be hemorrhaged on outfits. An hour later, and several hundred dollars poorer, we are on the road back to Bonnaroo.

The author in a fabulous hat.

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I spend a lot of time alone at festivals. Some of that is by choice. I like to be able to do what I want when I want and have missed opportunities chasing someone else’s desires. There is also a lot to be said for going to a show with someone who is passionate about an act you know nothing or little about and otherwise would not have cared to see. 

My love wants to see Sean Paul. There are some scheduling conflicts for me, most notably Jon Batiste. We could do our own thing for an hour or two, but I am interested in this swell. Sean Paul is playing the This Tent and his crowd is doing the same. You know more Sean Paul songs than you think you know and they are a blast live. 

There are two non-negotiables left on the schedule- Gregory Alan Isakov and Cigarettes After Sex. The latter is a shared interest in present company. The former is one of those bucket list acts like Interpol a day earlier. No FOMO and pace thyself. There is an hour between those last two must dos. Anything else is gravy. 

Gregory Alan Isakov’s drummer is in sepia. The rest of the band in other various states of equally charming lighting. What stands out in this moment is the love being exchanged. Isakaov is the maestro of romance here tonight. Couples gazing into each others’ eyes, embracing. When people rave about the culture of Bonnaroo, this is what I think they mean. It is for sure what I mean.

My love brought stick-on googly eyes with her. She is gifting them to people as a “third eye.” We grab dinner and of course her choice is significantly better than mine. I grab some lackluster chicken tenders while she charms the pizza slingers with optical accessories- pressing these plastic eyes into their foreheads and posing for pictures. 

Cigarettes After Sex is up soon. We both need a change of clothes and a quick rest. As part of my lessons learned from last year I bought foldable rocking chairs and can’t overstate the benefits of this decision. Set up your camp to be comfortable.

Cigarettes After Sex sits draped in black and white in accordance with their well known aesthetic. She nuzzles her nose into my neck as we share drinking in one of several bands that overlay our taste. There is little in this world more blissful than being in love while sharing live music. 

Tomorrow is another big day and we just want some time together. Quick stop at Red Hot Chili Peppers, who are outstanding in this moment, then headed back to camp. Damn near perfect day.

Bonnaroo 2024 Thursday | Jason's Journal

By: Jason Earle

What a difference a year makes. When the 2024 Bonnaroo lineup was announced, I was elated. Not just because Jason Isbell, S.G. Goodman, Interpol, Gregory Alan Isakov, and so many of my favorite artists were playing, but also life for me is so much different from our first trip last year. 

Festivals of this magnitude become touchstones in life and art. For the artists, it’s a huge accomplishment to be included. For me as media covering Bonnaroo, the opportunity is an honor. 

Huge names are on the bill this year as always. Chappell Roan. Jason Isbell. Megan Thee Stallion. Post Malone. Red Hot Chili Peppers. Pretty Lights.

Bands that don’t tour as much like Interpol are there as well. I head into Bonnaroo with an open heart and mind, ready to take the lessons I learned last year and capitalize on the personal growth I have gone through in the intervening months. 

This year’s Bonnaroo is the climax to my Grounded Summer Tour, so named because I am spending almost three weeks on the road getting back to my roots. Since last year I have lost my job, found another one. Gone through the breakup of a ten year relationship, and fallen in love again. I needed to get out of town and reconnect with aspects of my personality that lay dormant for the better part of a decade. 

I am later than expected arriving at the venue. If I have one gripe with Bonnaroo it is that the arrival is difficult. Security is inconsistent, often confused about where to point you, and all too often rude. Once you are inside the venue, it is a first class experience. But, getting there can be a frustrating adventure. 

Arriving at the wrong gate is a cardinal sin. This time it is my fault. I did not properly read the email with arrival instructions- a mistake I pledge not to repeat. No one was quite sure where to send me but someone had an address. There wasn’t a good place to pull over and re-read the instructions so I quickly typed in the offered address and headed that way. 

Traffic is re-routed by Tennessee cops, who are like an ex with an alcohol problem and the short fuse to accompany it. They set unreasonable and unclear expectations then threaten harm when you inevitably fall short of the set bar. 

Pulling into my second stop on the entry tour I am met by a maze of cones, a gauntlet of pigs, and a glaring lack of signage explaining anything. By the time I realize I should be turning left I have a cop screaming and wildly gesturing in my direction. He screams at his abusive buddy who pulls in behind me equally livid, sirens blazing. There’s a confused group at the security checkpoint trying to help narrate the behavior I should be exhibiting but no one seems to know anything.

“You gettin’ pulled over. Oh wait, he gettin’ out of the car. I don’t know what to tell you.”

A red faced constable rushes up to my car window screaming admonitions. Yells, “You do that again you’ll get a ticket!” 

“Okay, man” is all I manage, still at a loss as to which statutes were perceived to be violated.

Security checkpoint number two brought even more aggression. An aloof guard shepherds me to a stocky, indignant man about ten years my junior who turns me around without any guidance as to where I should go, then threatens physical violence when I pull over to finally read the email with the care it deserves.

Perhaps all of this could have been avoided if I had just spent some more time reading the directions, and the middle school teacher in me is annoyed I did not. Still, getting to Bonnaroo could be easier. 

Navigating Bonnaroo on the other hand is pretty damn sweet once you are on the grounds. This being our second year covering the festival, I knew the lay of the land going into the weekend. My goal was to get there in time to see Medium Build who has been receiving some much due buzz of late. The rest of the day has some fun moments but no one I just can’t miss. 

The security debacle has me a little shook. I despise the police. Even seeing an officer sets off my nervous system. Plus, I’m later than normal because of an emotional day.

This Grounded Summer Tour wound through Kentucky, the land of my birth and that of my ancestors. I started Thursday in Bowling Green, where my grandmother lived for much of my childhood. After my parents and I moved to Florida, we would go back and visit Grandmama every summer. She lived in a tiny duplex that contained such wonders my only child imagination could barely comprehend. 

There was a stereo with an 8-track player and turntable. I would spend hours sitting in front of the stereo playing the albums and looking at their sleeves. Neil Diamond. Johnny Cash Live at San Quentin. Jerry Lee Lewis. Merle Haggard. We caught fireflies and kept them in jars. She made biscuits and gravy every morning and painted scenes from my favorite books.

Earlier today I stood on the road outside that unchanged dwelling as a young family peeked through the blinds in the living room where I used to sit on the floor and play Duck Hunt on Nintendo.

All good memories to be sure, but by this point an emotional day. It’s nearly 9:00 pm and I do not recognize anyone other than GWAR left on the schedule. Better to spend time setting up camp then wander the festival and see what I can discover. 

Bonnaroo’s stages have initially annoying names like “What Tent,” “Which Stage,” and “This,” “That,” and “The Other.” Once you get the hang of things, it all makes sense. “What” and “Which” are the big ones with the huge names.

The only act playing either tonight is Pretty Lights, which is an artist I just do not understand no matter how hard I try. Folks will explain how he mixes sounds and whatnot but it always just sounds like the musical manifestation of a panic attack to my ears. The smaller stages have a similarly EDM leaning bent for the most part. 

The Bonnaroovian code

Prepare Thyself

Play as a Team

Radiate Positivity

Respect the Farm

Don't Be That Person

Stay True Roo

I drag myself up to see The Heavy Heavy who sound delightful but my stomach is clamoring for sustenance. I have wanted to see the five piece British rock band and their throwback sound for a while. This is the first example of a rule I have developed for excellent festival attendance after years of experience. No FOMO. 

There is no way to see everything at a festival like Bonnaroo. It is bigger than your imagination. There are going to be points in the weekend where you have to miss a set and go rest at camp. Or, you may need to stay for the entire hour at one tent so you do not miss a band that only tours once every ten years. Accept that you are going to miss out on some things. Do not fear it.

I catch a few minutes of an act called BIGXTHAPLUG. Folks are really into it but I can’t quite put my finger on what is happening. My thoughts are starting to sound like that of an old man and it is time to head back to camp. GWAR is not until 1:00 and Roisin Murphy even later. It is only day one and best for me to have a night cap then get some sleep. Which brings me to rule number two for excellent festival attendance experience- pace thyself.

Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit do not play until the end of the weekend Sunday night. Get some rest. Drink water. Eat enough calories. Pace thyself.

Stay tuned to this website and our social media accounts for more stories from Bonnaroo 2024, including an interview with global pop stars Milky Chance!

JJ Grey and Mofro's Blackwater Sol Revue 2024 | Thoughts by Jason Earle and Photos by Alycia Pollock

Photo by Alycia Pollock

Day One

JJ Grey and Mofro’s Blackwater Sol Revue took over the St. Augustine Amphitheater this Memorial Day weekend for two distinct days of incredible music. It was a tale of two lineups, each anchored by the powerhouse curator. 

It is edifying to see a band you have loved for years and seen in tiny rock clubs play a stage like the St. Augustine Amphitheatre. Something stood out to me from the jump in St. Augustine. I have been watching several of these bands for the better part of two decades and can’t think of a night where they phoned it in or were not their best. This weekend would be no exception.  

Satsang opens the main stage. Acoustic. Barefoot. He has the kind of aesthetic that might lead to dismissal or pigeonholing if not for the welcoming feel of the festival. A couple of songs in he’s covering the Bee Gees and rewarding the open minded. Tells us he’s from Montana, which is a wonderful, wild, weird as hell part of the world that seems to frame Satsang’s set beautifully. 

He recounts coming off of tour and having to pass off his baby because he had a song idea.  There is a fella in front of me. Let’s call him Phil. He’s very Florida. Day one of Blackwater Sol Revue is very Florida, which makes sense given JJ Grey is Florida personified. 

Phil’s doing that dip pack thing. How many of you pictured exactly what I’m talking about as soon as I said it? Put your thumb and middle finger together. Let your index finger fly loose and flick your wrist in a celebratory fashion. Does it have a name? Is it a Southern thing? 

Satsang introduces a song about being smitten. “After a while you forget what that feels like then it happens again as you are about to turn forty.” His words and the following song skewer the near capacity crowd. 

American Aquarium follows to a smattering ovation. The boys open with their new single “Crier” which is a teeth kicking rock tune. There is a woman next to me who’s chasing the shade on this sweltering Florida night. She is unsure of these rock n’ rollers. Much of the crowd seems to not know American Aquarium yet. Phil does. He’s belting every song. I don’t feel bad about singing along with him. It’s a freeing feeling and Phil and I are bonding.

American Aquarium’s setlist is perfect. As the set progresses, BJ and the boys are making friends. This band is undeniable live. “Casualties of Rock n’ Roll,” “St. Mary’s,” “Losin’ Side of 25,” “Lonely Ain’t Easy,” just song after song of stunning work. 

American Aquarium ends with “Jacksonville,” which is always hits in this part of the world for obvious reasons, and “Burn. Flickr. Die.” There is no question the crowd is now in their hands. 

Photo by Alycia Pollock

Lucero follows, coming out to a roar. “At JJ Grey’s show, I don’t stand a chance at being good,” frontman Ben Nichols quips. Phil is having a blast. He only takes his arm away from his lady’s shoulders long enough to dap me up or do the dip pack celebration. 

The boys from Memphis play “Chain Link Fence” and “Sweet Little Thing” in succession. Haven’t heard either of those in a minute. A wave of gratitude settles on me. As they do every night, BJ Barham and Ben Nichols are both available for autographs and photos at the merch table. Two of the coolest rock bands on the planet fronted by guys who make a huge effort to connect with fans on a personal level.

There’s a bit of a break to set up Mofro. Looks like he’s gonna have twenty people on stage. The wave breaks out in the crowd. The Florida sky starts to threaten.

JJ Grey has a fervent fan base. It is wild to see how much that base has grown over the decades and how passionate folks are. The live show is always a blast and tonight is an exemplar of that reality.

Unfortunately, the heavens have their own performance to conduct. The sky opens into a downpour. 

Undeterred, after nearly an hour delay, JJ Grey and Mofro come back to satisfy a thinned out crowd and put a swampy bow on day one of Blackwater Sol Revue.

Day Two

The St. Augustine Amphitheatre is a setting that makes even a festival feel like hanging out on a giant porch with 4,000 of your closest friends. The only thing missing is rocking chairs. Shows at The Amp are a communal affair and a celebration of North Florida, a place often misunderstood but well-represented in the music of JJ Grey.

Day two of JJ Grey and Mofro’s Blackwater Sol Revue is another scorcher. The Florida heat is oppressive but the lineup’s brand of heat helps distract and sooth. 

Anders Osborne opens the main stage as a duo with a saxophonist. The vibe feels divergent from yesterday. Not better or worse, just different. Lots of Grateful Dead shirts and tattoos. It is still very Florida in here but less like a documentary on the culture of the Sunshine State. Osborne’s gorgeous melodies awaken our appetites. 

There is no one quite like G.Love who is up next. The set opens with a few songs from his Grammy nominated, Keb’ Mo’ produced 2020 release The Juice and makes its way through his catalog. He brings out Devon Allman and Duane Betts. I notice a cop who looks like a transformer to my left. Kind of snaps me out of my bliss for a second. Why do you need to be dressed like you are entering a war zone while G.Love sings about having a “Soul B Que?” 

Photo by Alycia Pollock

Even Coptimus Prime can’t put a damper on this day. G.’s set includes some of his classics. “My Baby’s Got Sauce” gets everyone out of their seats. I notice a couple near the front bumping their butts into one another. It’s adorable and G. Love has run with the vibe in that direction.

“Cold Beverages” may be a tick campy but it’s a blast live. Hard not to smile. I head to the restroom and grab one of my own between sets. A fella grabs my arm and claps his other hand against my chest as I walk out of the row, “good work!” he says. I’m not sure what I’ve done but thank him nonetheless. 

The Allman Betts Band takes the stage to an enthusiastic welcome. Duane Betts and Devon Allman manage to balance carrying on the legacy of their legendary fathers with forging their own path. This set includes ten songs including crowd favorites “King Crawler” and “Savannah’s Dream,” along with a blistering cover of the Dickey Betts (father of Duane) penned Allman Brothers classic “Blue Sky.” 

All leading up to the Sonny Boy Williamson tune “One Way Out” with G.Love. Duane is shredding. G. playing harmonica. The band has fully opened the throttle and we are all along for the ride. 

JJ Grey and Mofro opens their second set of the weekend with “Country Ghetto,” a song that speaks to this place with precision. There is a comfort in these songs for those of us who grew up here and a universality to the themes that burrows into the depths of the human condition. This set, like last night's, draws thousands of souls in for a big, sweaty hug. Such was the weekend at Blackwater Sol Revue.

Jason's Journal | Bonnaroo 2023 Day 2

The Marinade covered the Bonnaroo music festival in Manchester, TN. This is Jason’s Journal documenting the experience, part 2 of 4.

Day 2

Jackson

Manchester, Tennessee, is just three-ish hours from High Falls State Park. Last night has me shook. I need some coffee and a breakfast sandwich. The nearest non-Starbucks spot is in Jackson, Georgia. It is off the route but I am in no hurry at 7:00 in the morning with a slate of unknown acts playing later today. Lucy Lu’s Coffee Cafe looks to check the boxes. 

A Stranger Things-themed mural adorns the space next door. Across the street there is an escape room patterned after the popular Netflix series. Google confirms this is the town that serves as the setting for Hawkins, Indiana, in the Netflix series. 

Oh how Florida would do well to court Hollywood. My home state once served as a hub for the film industry. Now it is run by fascists who are more focused on quashing free-thought than promoting economic prosperity and creativity.

Nothing to do about politics at the moment. With breakfast sandwich and coffee helping stabilize my mood, I walk around downtown “Hawkins.” The fictional world of a beloved show and the practical realities of making it come to life merge in my imagination. 

The sky is flirting with disaster again but so far holding off from awakening The Upside Down. Strange things have characterized the trip thus far, yet it feels like we are headed in a brighter direction.

To stave off the illusion that this is all romantic, I have to confess my anxiety is at a twenty-plus-year high. To the point that I drank a small dark coffee to limit my caffeine intake and did not finish the cup. The sources of this anxiety are beginning to take shape as I get farther down the road.

Chattanooga

The majesty of Appalachia takes shape. My family is from Kentucky. I was born there and we spent my upbringing headed up this route to visit my grandmother in Bowling Green. The See Rock City and Lookout Mountain signs bring a deluge of memories. 

Twitter is a good place to turn for advice about eats and drinks and things to do. Songwriter Will Payne Harrison, the Tioga Titan himself is there to assist. 

Yellow Racket Records sits in a beautiful old building in what looks like it used to be an industrial area of Chattanooga. There is a sign on the door reminding folks to go easy on the old building. Adjacent to the register is a tattoo parlor. A fella seeking to get tatted swings the door open like a toddler chasing a dog. I’m able to turn and catch it just before the relic slams against a wall, much to the gratitude of the shopkeeper.

The selection is robust and I’m tempted to round out my Jason Isbell vinyl collection with an on sale Sirens of the Ditch, but that’ll spoil in the heat and I don’t own a CD copy of his brilliant Weathervanes. Yellow Racket has it at a reasonable price and it’s almost exactly the length of two spins from this instant classic until I get to The Farm.

The weather is following me but nothing like South Georgia has materialized. Just a bunch of clouds and threats.

One last stop at Wal-Mart nestled between the mountains. I don’t need beer and probably will not make much of a dent in it but I would rather have it than not. Plus some easy to eat fruit will be clutch. 

Big corporations juxtaposed with nature’s majesty on the way to an increasingly corporate music festival is something to process. Every chain in America is represented in this holler.

This trip is about a lot of things, the most prevalent of them being a desire to let go of things outside my control. Traffic is backed up and I’ve been rerouted by my GPS. 

The Tennessee countryside is something else. My people are all from Kentucky. I’m an Appalachian by birth. Being in this place will always send me back to a long ago life and the ghosts of my ancestors. My life went in a much different direction through no choice of my own. I often wonder how different I would be if Kentucky finished raising me instead of Florida.

Roo Arrival

Credential pickup is at a nearby school’s cafeteria. The weather won’t quit so we all have to wait. Bonnaroo understandably does not want to have more bodies than necessary on The Farm. Folks mingle in the parking lot cracking open White Claws and relaying updates about the delay. Two fraternity boys make their loud arrival and brashly hit on a trio of girls straddling the line between high school and college.

The wait is maybe a half hour and I am now headed to Bonnaroo for the first time in its twenty years. While searching for direction as to where I’m supposed to live for the next few days I spot the great songwriter Kendell Marvel walking back to his own campsite. Seems like a good sign.

No one directs my Mazda so I try to set up camp as close to the entrance as possible. My plan is thwarted when a parking attendant politely informs me that the world does not start and stop at my convenience.

I end up much deeper into the campground. The sun is threatening to go down soon. I don’t have any pressing sets to catch and just hope to get my bearings. The folks to one side are about ten years younger than me and expressing excitement over acts whose names are foreign to my ears. 

A quick glance at the schedule reveals I’m in for a late night with my camp neighbors having such tastes. To my other side is a man closer to my demographic. We are all either media, staff, or guests of artists. George Maifair is a writer and photographer (East of 8th and Mother Church Pew) and a veteran of Bonnaroo. His insight and willingness to share is already proving valuable. 

The grounds are huge. George puts it in perspective for me. I need to just spend the evening figuring out where everything is located. Catching some inspiring music will be unexpected gravy.

This is my umpteenth festival. The Marinade has covered Suwannee and Gasparilla Music Festival for nearly a decade now and before that I was a regular spectator at both. I once saw a Magnolia Fest in Live Oak that included - I shit you not - Willie Nelson, Mavis Staples, John Prine, Kris Kristofferson, Stephen Marley, and Drive-by Truckers to name a few. Big Guava festival in Tampa a while back featured The Pixies, Hozier, Ryan Adams, Run the Jewels, The Strokes, Pretty Lights, Passion Pit, and more. None of those experiences could have prepared me for the size and scope of Bonnaroo. 

Petey

Enter the roo

There are two enormous stages for the top of the bill acts. A step down from that brings venues fit for headliners at some big productions. Fleet Foxes and Charley Crockett are due on them tomorrow. I don’t think I have ever seen this many humans at one event. The numbers say I am wrong. The Daytona 500 draws way more. Hell, a University of Florida football game is more well attended. But, the 700 acres at Bonnaroo, of which I am only touching a fraction feel more crowded. Perhaps that’s due to the energy. Football and NASCAR focus attention on one spot. Here the attention and energy are chaotic. 

Petey is one of the few names I recognize. I’ve missed Molly Tuttle and Abraham Alexander. Cimafunk is going on around my bedtime. If I catch Petey’s 8:00 set, today will be a success.

Petey was the subject of my What We’re Gettin’ Down On cohost Peter Haroldson’s fourth episode offering for our Patreon-exclusive show. Turns out I knew of his presence on social media but was not familiar with the music.

A surfboard-shaped video display broadcast’s his name. He wears a tie-dyed shirt and dad hat. The four piece band leans more pop punk than I expected, which provides a hint of early 2000s nostalgia. Petey is deft at providing comic relief to bracket his otherwise often pointed social commentary. The video board broadcasting water-themed scenes including Olympic swimming apropos of seemingly nothing helps add some bizarre relief. 

It is 9:00 and I am out of gas. Just walking the grounds is a lot. I have seen as much as I can see and it is time to sleep. Tomorrow is gonna be a long one. I need to type up some thoughts and try to nail down the remainder of my schedule. Plus, Kung Fu Kenny himself Kendrick Lamar does not go on until 11:00 and his presence was the tipping point in my decision to make the trip. I try to scribble some notes from the day but sleep is here almost before my head hits my makeshift pillow.

Jason's Journal | Bonnaroo 2023 Day 1

Downtown Jackson, Georgia

The Marinade was approved to cover the Bonnaroo music festival in Manchester, TN this year. This is Jason’s Journal documenting the experience, part 1 of 4.

Georgia seems to be conspiring against me getting to Bonnaroo. Just across the Georgia line and the tornado warnings are beginning. My first attempt to find shelter is an abandoned gas station that appears to have served as a home for the unhoused. Broken windows reveal a sad menagerie of furniture. There are four of us executing this ill-fated plan.

A rest stop relocation and thirty minutes of wait time lets the weather clear enough to keep driving. High Falls State Park is home for the night. Marinade Twitter came through with the suggestion. It is a beautiful slice of North Georgia. I am the only tent camper and due to the tornadoes I’m late setting up camp.

A family moving at the pace of zombies in a horror film passes by on my way to the campground. When you live with generalized anxiety, and are experiencing a heightened bout, the innocuous can be viewed as threatening. There are maybe a dozen of them staying in a two-campground wide compound just down the row from me. As I set up camp it feels like I am on display. Members of the zombie party passing by at an unsettling, disorienting clip.

Anxiety has not left me alone of late. Its specter is constant, but usually I know how to keep the worst of it at bay. Not so in the days leading up to Bonnaroo.

Setting up camp is a breeze. I head to the Dollar General on the hill for a few last second supplies- water and toilet paper just in case. The weather has calmed but is still threatening. Fireflies dance, taking me back to childhood in Kentucky.

It is muggy and I’m beat. There is a bottle of Spanish wine in the car that would normally call my name but not tonight. I need sleep in the worst way.

My fitful rest is disrupted by a flash and loud crackling. I can hear something falling above me and cover my head for protection. The thud shakes the tent. I peek out of the half zipped tent entrance and see two zombie partiers strolling by as if nothing has happened. Deep breaths to get my bearings. The ground outside my tent is littered with splinters of the lightning struck tree towering overhead. 

This is where anxiety is such a bear. Did the zombie family have something to do with this? It’s not raining. There’s no thunder. How the fuck did lightning make its way through the pines and hit just above my tent? 

I get out to survey the damage and use the restroom. What seems like a near death experience to me goes unnoticed by the rest of the campground. Should I sleep in the car? Maybe it’s best to just break camp and get on down the road. 

Tossing and turning some more leads to a bit of rest just before daylight. Tent camping plays tricks on the mind, less so in a state park than the back country but it’s still wild. Any noise can sound like a threat, and it might just be that. 

Four hours later the sound of falling branches is repeating, this time resulting in a strike on the top of my tent. Now is the time to break camp. The sun is peeking out and I’m sick of this place. 

Orange Blossom Revue 2022 | An Exercise in Radical Love

Words by Jason Earle
Photos by Jenn Ross

Photo by Jenn Ross

Friday, December 2, 2022

It’s Friday, the first week in December 2022. The stream of folks filing into the venue has slowed to a trickle as everyone stakes their vantage point. Lake Wales, FL, is a stunning if surprising place for a firepower filled festival. Allison Russell, The Wood Brothers, Katie Pruitt- the list of roots music luminaries reads suited for a destination like Durango or Asheville. Nine years in, Orange Blossom Revue (OBR) is more than up to the task of hosting such talent but the festival is nonetheless playing second fiddle tonight. 

Perhaps no cultural event save college football takes precedence over the high school variety of pigskin in Florida. Tonight, the local team is deep into the state playoffs with the game kicking off just before Langhorne Slim takes the stage. Camping, which was offered for the first time this year, has been moved to accommodate the considerable need for parking a traffic flow. The Lake Wales Highlanders public address announcer and OBR emcee Garrett Woodward are dueling with good news. The home team is walloping their opponent and OBR is welcoming standout after standout to the stage.

Langhorne Slim surveys the landscape. Katie Pruitt and Neal Francis have more than primed the crowd with spectacular sets. The weather is stunning. Jeans and a light jacket weather typical of Central Florida in the short days between Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

Slim jumps down from the stage and walks over to the barricade that creates a photo pit. He exchanges a few pleasantries with folks along the barrier, then starts to dismantle it. A concerned security guard hustles to thwart Slim’s benevolent plans.

“These are my friends,” he protests.

Langhorne Slim’s objections are met with a stern head shake as he retreats back to the stage. He wears a white linen suit. His jacket drapes over a t-shirt emblazoned with an air-brushed muscle car. He looks like one of Wes Anderson's protagonists. He opens his mouth and sings like only he is directing. 

Slim is a show stealer. He can write circles around most great songwriters. His stage presence is worthy of your favorite British rock stars. And, he is able to connect with an audience like almost no other. That last bit was evidenced by his actions for his “friends.” If that evidence was insufficient, he is now climbing over the barricade to mingle with the same fans from which he was barred. If the fans can’t come to him, he will go to the fans. 

Photo by Jenn Ross

Jenn Ross is there capturing his movements with her deft eye. Ross’s reputation as a premier concert photographer continues to grow. She grabs the smile on Slim’s face as he hugs a fan. The bliss on the mugs of the crowd as they await a generous high-five. The passion our star exudes as he strums his guitar.

“Where do the great ones go when they die?” Slim sings during fan favorite Song for Sid. 

As if the two events have merged, nearby Lake Wales Highlanders fans erupt to cheer their team. Or are those screams for Sid and the loved ones he represents in each of our hearts? There is no line at the moment. We are synced - us here on the festival grounds and those pulling for their friends and family on the field. It is all one sound.

Langhorne Slim’s set would be an impossible follow for even the most seasoned performer. Margo Price is up next and she is more than the most seasoned performer. Price is a force for all the good bits we want to see in the world. She and her band are also one of the better live acts you’ll see. This set includes a costume change and a performance delivered with chip firm on shoulder. 

“Country music won’t play my ass so we’ll just play like Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers,” she exclaims to applause.

Country radio is missing out on a lot of incredible musicians, Margo and her band being among the royalty of that list. 

PPhoto by Jenn Ross

Camping being moved to the parking lot is a sweet turn of events. The camp hosts are on top of their game. The town’s namesake is within eyesight, a calming body of water adding accent to what is shaping up to be another perfect festival. The folks who organize this gathering are professionals. No scheduling conflicts. One stage. Thirty minutes between performances. Getting a drink or some food is a breeze. Everyone is kind and accommodating.

Always feels good to crawl into the tent after a night like this. Bearing witness to such beauty is a blessing.

Saturday, December 3, 2022

Saturday morning comes at just the right time. Up with the sun in the way nature intended. Its rise over Lake Wailes promises another gorgeous day. 

There are exactly two places to get breakfast right now. Lake Wales Family Restaurant sounds perfect. It is a busy place. Southern hospitality and standard fare. Laney Jones comes on at noon. Then we get Cat Ridgeway, John R. Miller, Son Little, the incomparable Allison Russell, and The Wood Brothers. Better to tackle such bounty on a full stomach.

This day, like the one before, is special, and the anticipation building for Allison Russell could not ask for better shepherds. Every performance is incredible.

Understanding the allure of Allison Russell requires context, including her presence as a member of Brandi Carlile’s Bramily. They are fanatic in the best sense of the word. Passionately inclusive. Filled with love and light. Evangelical in their support of all that is good in the world and steadfast in their rebuke of the things that are wrong.

Russell being embraced by Brandi and her Bramily is no happenstance and they are here along the rail, all the way from as far as Idaho. The group arrived as gates opened at noon and have been here for every stirring performance all day. Now they get to bask in the glow that is Allison Russell and her incredible band. 

Allison moves with an ethereal cadence- simultaneously hyper present and occupying a space outside of this world. To meet her is to feel love personified. The first time we met, she was on the other end of an internet connection graciously sitting down for an episode of The Marinade. At the end of that conversation her partner JT Nero interrupted with the thrilling, well-deserved news that her masterpiece Outside Child was nominated for three Grammy awards. 

Laney Jones, Cat Ridgeway, John R. Miller, and Son Little have all put on headline-worthy performances. On any other day they may be the centerpiece of a written recap. This is not any other day. Today is all about Allison Russell.

Earlier today we met in person and she revealed herself to be the embodiment of love, empathy, and joy she projects in interviews and on record. This singular essence permeates every aspect of her work as displayed by the grace she is now displaying on stage.

Orange Blossom Revue has been a near perfect experience but there has been an ongoing challenge with the sound. Many of the sets have started late as a result. 

Allison Russell is a master of her craft. This work matters a great deal and she wants to deliver for her audience. The band is chomping at the bit to play. The expectancy is palpable.

She closes her eyes, perhaps in commune with whatever spirit shepherds her unique connection to the music and the people who make it come to life. Her eyes open and she addresses us. Allison brings the passionate crowd into the moment. 

She explains the difficulty, thanks us for being patient, and invites us to be a part of the process. This is not a band fumbling through soundcheck as eager fans grow impatient. It is a shared moment where we are all actors in the performance.

Photo by Jenn Ross

Allison Russell and her incredible band slide into an a cappella version of her breathtaking tune “Hy-Brasil.” What could have been a frustrating few minutes is transformed into a beautiful expression of what makes her chosen family so special. 

This high moment ushers in another and another as we witness one of the most arresting musical performances this writer has ever experienced.

Orange Blossom Revue is cemented as a must attend the first week of December each year. Every performance is outstanding. Every moment is beautiful. We could write volumes about this weekend and the impact it has on so many, but the performances speak louder than these words.

The festival is happening just a couple of weeks after Florida’s incumbent governor won reelection in a landslide on the back of an anti-queer, anti-Black, anti-woman, anti-immigrant platform. The presence of Allison Russell - a queer, Black, immigrant woman - standing on stage near the center of the state, at one of its highest elevations, with her all female band, is a statement to be immortalized. 

Russell is steadfast in her pushback against bigotry but it is her refusal to let hate enter the equation that makes her a leader for our time. Music is so much more than great fun with perfect weather in a stunning locale. It is the sensational love and community of Langhorne Slim; and the radical empathy of Allison Russell. It is the defiance of Margo Price who refuses to be anyone but Margo. It is the intentionality of The Wood Brothers who use their platform to uplift diverse voices. It is embodied by the embrace of disparate worlds coming together in the radiant expression of Orange Blossom Revue.

Photo by Jenn Ross

Photo by Jenn Ross

Necessary Smiles | American Aquarium, Blackberry Smoke, and Turnpike Troubadours in Jacksonville, FL

American Aquarium, Blackberry Smoke, and Turnpike Troubadours may show up in the same section of the record store but they each bring something special to the table. American Aquarium frontman BJ Barham writes introspective, often painful songs, BlackBerry Smoke is a chart-topping radio-friendly machine, and Turnpike Troubadours have developed a cult-like following by being masters of melody. Saturday, November 5, 2022, joins all three to bring buckets of joy at Daily’s Place amphitheater in Jacksonville, FL.

The previous weekend saw the annual Florida-Georgia game in Duval County marred by a rousing ovation for Florida’s fascist governor followed by anti-Semitic messages being projected around downtown. Hate was palpable that night. This is a state and a city in need of the healing balm of live music and these three bands feel like the perfect prescription.

On the way into the amphitheater one cannot help but guess who each tailgater is there to see. The older folks are probably ready for Blackberry Smoke? Girls in sundresses and boots are fired up for Turnpike Troubadours? Bearded guys in trucker hats and pearl snaps got there early for American Aquarium? No matter who the motivating us all to be here, the general vibe feels celebratory and loving. Smiles abound.

American Aquarium takes the stage at a prompt 7:00. Folks are still filing in with some unaware of this opener and others scream singing lyrics on the way to their seats. BJ and the boys open with a new one, the gorgeous “All I Needed” from their latest record Chicamacomico. As the opener, they only have about forty minutes to cover a catalog spanning back to 2006. It is a tall order for most bands but American Aquarium is up to the task. We are getting newer songs, an obligatory “Jacksonville” which never gets old in this setting, and of course the loud singalongs for which an American Aquarium show is known. 

During one of these communal performances, “I Hope He Breaks Your Heart,” two guys with wide-eyed grins shuffle into their seats.

“Who IS this?!” 

“The band on stage? That’s American Aquarium.”

“Damn, they are great! I’ve never heard of them. Gonna look it up on Spotify. Oh, shit! I’ve liked a bunch of their songs already. Hell yeah. By the way, don’t you think it’s weird Blackberry Smoke isn’t the headliner?”

“I mean, maybe from a record sales perspective, but for my taste American Aquarium is the best band on this bill with all due respect to the others.”

“No shit?!”

“No shit.”

By the end of Burn. Flickr. Die. both men are singing along with the chorus, drunk on the discovery of a new favorite band. 

BJ Barham has been at this music making thing for a long time. The crowds have steadily grown and so have the lines waiting to meet him at the merch table. It is a time honored tradition at American Aquarium and BJ Barham solo shows. He shakes every hand he can. Signs every record. Takes every picture. Tonight the line to say hello spans what looks like fifty feet and keeps replenishing itself. Not a melancholy look in sight waiting to meet the sultan of sad songs. 

Blackberry Smoke is playing a stripped down set with one of their members recovering from a health scare. They are a dextrous band. Clearly full of talented musicians, Blackberry Smoke can start off the night with a bro country radio hit and then drop into a psychedelic jam. Tonight feels like they got together for a pickin’ circle and the venue contributes to that vibe. Their songs make a lot of sense in this context and they are an ideal bridge between American Aquarium’s heart wrenching lyrics and Turnpike’s own brand of Americana. 

The sound, coming off of American Aquarium’s burning rock n’ roll set, is dialed in for this quieter affair. There does not seem to be a bad seat in the 5,500 capacity amphitheater. It is a Florida November night. The kind where you leave the house unsure of whether to wear jeans or shorts. The slight breeze carries Blackberry Smokes tales of backroad driving into contented ears. 

As we wait for Turnpike Troubadours to take the stage, that positive energy begins to swell. Regardless of whoever got each of us in the door, we are now there for one band. A band that has not been to Florida in way too long. A band that has drawn 5,500 rabid fans to this wonderful amphitheater on this gorgeous night. A band that seems poised to put a boisterous bow on this beautiful experience. 

The ovation is deafening as they saunter on stage. Ear plugs have not been necessary to this point but from the first note Turnpike and their fans make it clear that is about to end. Unlike American Aquarium, Turnpike has only produced five records so if you want to hear something your wish is probably gonna come true. This has been the kind of night where most of us feel satisfied.

Turnpike Troubadours took a well-publicized break a few years ago and have only been back on the road a few short months. If there is any rust from that hiatus, it is not on display tonight. This is a boot stomping production without a throw away song or performance. The band looks like they are having as much fun as we are.

As the last note of the encore rings and we shuffle unimpeded from the venue, those smiles that were ever-present as we all started the night have grown into billboards of love. 

Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit, Sheryl Crow, and Waxahatchee Live Review and Photos | St. Augustine Amphitheatre | June 10, 2022

Katie Crutchfield (Waxahatchee) and her band take the stage as folks file into the St. Augustine Amphitheatre. It’s a balmy June night like so many before in this perfect venue. She takes the stage as a lion. A multi-talented cultural force who has sold more than 50 million albums and our greatest living songwriter are up next in succession. Titans who have thirteen Grammy awards between them.

Waxahatchee may not yet have the same name recognition as Jason Isbell or Sheryl Crow but what she lacks in notoriety she makes up for with stage presence and songwriting chops.

No matter how powerful the performer, there is often no way around a few folks talking through the opener. For every cluster of chatter tonight there is an equal or opposite bundle of boosters standing, swaying, stomping, and singing every lyric as Waxahatchee rips through songs from her five wonderful records.

By the time the crowd begins to settle at the end of Waxahatchee’s set, her merch table has a line to rival Sheryl Crow and Jason Isbell. New fans have been made. Existing relationships fortified. 

Photo by Jenn Ross

Sheryl Crow is due on stage at 7:30 and arrives not a second overdue. It is easy to take her greatness for granted. Nine Grammy awards and hit after hit for thirty plus years. For many of us in attendance, Sheryl Crow has been making cool stuff for damn near our entire lives. That kind of consistency and longevity of excellence can lead to supportive complacency. Tonight is a reminder of her brilliance. 

“Let’s take it back to when your kids were born,” Crow ribs as she finishes “If It Makes You Happy” and launches into “All I wanna Do.” As you read those titles, each tune made an immediate appearance in your mind’s eye. For folks in their thirties and forties, our childish crushes have turned to admiration for this woman and the contributions she has made to our popular culture.

Sheryl Crow is so damn cool. Every song in the set is a hit, and not just a tune that charted well. These are songs with generational staying power. Every word of the entire set is cemented in our popular consciousness.

Ten songs in, the hit parade still marching, Sheryl Crow announces Jason Isbell is going to join her for a cover of Bob Dylan’s “Everything is Broken.” Out of all the Dylan songs, this one from his mid-period seems like a curious choice at first. Halfway through the first verse it is clear “Everything is Broken” is the perfect duet for Crow and Isbell. 

Photo by Jenn Ross

Sheryl Crow and Jason Isbell share the rare combination of commercial connectability and artistic integrity. “Everything is Broken” feels meant for a duet in their hands. It is a mainstream chart worthy tune that dives deep. The song dabbles in the blues without trying to sound like it is from the Delta. It is a folk song and a rock song. A singalong. In so many ways “Everything is Broken” showcases the qualities that made us fall in love with Sheryl Crow and later Jason Isbell.

Crow closes out the set with a performance of her smash hit “Soak Up the Sun.” We needn’t wait too long for Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit to take the stage a few minutes ahead of schedule. Jason Isbell opening songs have become an event in themselves. At this point in his still rising career, he has released four classic studio records of original music preceded by three great efforts. His contributions to Drive-by Truckers remain some of the best in their illustrious catalog. How does he fill the leadoff spot from that roster?

Photo by Jenn Ross

Most folks have settled in their rows for the closing set. When Isbell and The 400 Unit played this same venue in 2021, the pit was general admission, standing room only. Right now it feels like we should all have an agreement to treat the amphitheatre like one big pit. 

Alas, this is a mixed crowd. Some folks are here for Sheryl and stayed for Jason. On the whole, this group skews older than a typical Isbell show. While many of us may selfishly wish we were on our feet, compromises must be made in the name of rock.

“What Have I Done To Help” kicks off the set. The song captures the energy of a live Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit show better than any piece of music journalism could. 

Isbell does so much well. Perhaps his most powerful skill is pointing a lens at society in a way that is personal and pointed, yet unpretentious and hopeful. “What Have I Done To Help” and its follow up in this set “Hope the High Road” capture the energy of the band’s community. 

Photo by Jenn Ross

During a Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit show, the doubts that plague so many of us right now are replaced by a sense that there “can’t be more of them than us.” The concert is not an escape. Problems are not swept under the rug. It’s just that here you feel less alone. You feel like we can do better. We can acknowledge the nasty bits and not get so bogged down in them that progress feels impossible. 

At the end of the night we have heard songs from the beginning of Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit’s catalog. They have played “Elephant” and “24 Frames” and “Cover Me Up.” There was even a performance of Drivin’ N Cryin’s “Honeysuckle Blue” from the excellent Georgia Blue record- Sadler Vaden owning the vocals. 

The encore included “Tour of Duty” played by Sadler and Jason like they were a progressive bluegrass duo. All of that goodness yet nothing from Jason Isbell’s time with the Drive-by Truckers. No matter. This band has come a long way since the “Stop Fucking Around and Play Outfit” tour.

Photo by Jenn Ross

Jason's Journal | Gasparilla Music Festival Day 3

Amy Ray

Jason Earle and Jenn Ross are covering Gasparilla Music Festival 2022. This is the fourth installment of Jason’s Journal which chronicles the experiences in and around the festival. To read about the lead-up to the festival, click here. For the Day 1 journal click here. Day two can be found here.

All photos by Jenn Ross Photography

Van Plating texts with an invitation to brunch right about the time my body reaches the end of its sleeping-in allowance. I am a tick tired but the trundle bed in our FearBnB treated me okay. Nine hours of sleep in a strange bed after a busy day on my feet is sufficient so long as I drink enough water and eat well.

I make sure to take advantage of any opportunity to hang with Van. She is a bright light and a good friend. I come away with each interaction a better person. She must be feeling on top of the world after yesterday’s performance.

Finding brunch in Tampa is more complicated than I remember it being years ago. Not sure if that is a function of things in town changing or me not paying as much attention to brunch spots. 

Van is on the case and of course she finds a hip place in Ybor City. I hung out in Ybor for many years before Jason Isbell wrote “Traveling Alone” or Craig Finn referenced the legendary neighborhood twice on one Hold Steady album. Still, the lyrics get stuck in my head every time I visit and they shape my memories of those times.

Sitting at this table with Van, Emily Smith, Jenn Ross, and Noan Partly, I feel enormous gratitude. I get to break bread and exchange ideas with impressive folks before we head to Gasparilla Music Festival (GMF.) 

Sunday is my favorite of Gasparilla Music Festival’s now three days. A hallmark of GMF is the lack of scheduling conflicts. Sunday is even easier than Friday and Saturday.

Amy Ray is the first must-see for us today. I have been a casual Indigo Girls fan over the years but have yet to dive in the way diehard fans swear one should. Leading up to GMF I started spending more time with their work and Amy’s solo records. There is so much to love about this set. Amy Ray is grateful for the crowd. A mix of folks who look like Amy Ray clones and middle aged men are up front hanging on every word.

Her band is on fire! It is just after 2:00 in the afternoon but the Amy Ray Band is bringing headliner energy. I had sort of figured this would be a good warm up set for me. Maybe have a few minutes to finish and publish my day two recap. Not gonna happen. She launches into “Laramie,” a tune that takes the energy up and in a different direction. I am excited to get to the merch table and buy some physical copies. 

There were few physical copies at the merch tables all weekend this year. I’m not sure why that’s the case. Lots of shirts, a few hats, almost no CDs or records. The only disappointment of the weekend.

The Legendary Mavis Staples

Kenzie Wheeler is mid-set in Kiley Gardens. Radio country sound. Not really my thing but a good example of GMF’s commitment to a diverse lineup. I think my time will be best spent hydrating and getting ready for the legend Mavis Staples! The first time I saw America’s queen was at a legendary Magnolia Fest (Mavis, Willie, Prine, Kristofferson, Stephen Marley, DBT) at Spirit of the Suwannee Music Park in 2013.

All of the obvious things you would expect from this moment are true. Mavis is full of light and love. She is revered by peers, fans, and folks who have never heard her name alike. The hive makes its way to the main stage well ahead of her set.

What I should have expected but did not consider until this moment halfway through her set is how Mavis keeps folks smiling while addressing the gravity of the moment. She is making statements about war, social justice, and women’s rights- all while keeping heads popping and smiles stretching. 

Mavis is an American pop culture hero. A person whose accomplishments are and continue to be unassailable. Thankfully, she tells us she “Ain’t done yet.” 

Mavis Staples Forever

I don’t envy anyone who has to follow an icon. Neal Francis seems up to the task in Kiley Gardens. Aaron Lee Tasjan tweeted about him yesterday so I knew I needed to prioritize his set. The songs are layered, haunting bits of world-building. World-building through texture is my first impression. 

These moments are the essence of Gasparilla Music Festival and I love them. Neal Francis does not make music that would normally seek out but his work is well within my passion wheelhouse. Without GMF I would have seen that tweet from Aaron, wrote it down to revisit, and then not thought about Neal Francis again until someone else mentioned him down the line. 

Instead he is in my deep dive queue right after I spend a couple of weeks with Amy Ray. 

This being Sunday, and me missing my partner and our pups, I am ready to get home. Allman Betts Band is up next. I don’t know that Jenn or I have much left but I also want to get at least a little taste of the band. 

My uncle turned me onto The Allman Brothers when I was about thirteen. It sounded cooler than anything I had ever heard. Felt like the country music I grew up on but untethered from the same structure. 

Jenn is shooting the first three and then we are heading out. I wish I could stick it out longer. Pinegrove and Trombone Shorty are up next. I would love to see all three sets. It’s just not in the cards at the moment. One lesson I learned a few years ago is to celebrate what you get to see and do not sweat what you miss. 

Allman Betts Band

I got to see great music and great friends at one of my favorite festivals. Cheers to Gasparilla Music Festival. Thank you for having us.

Finally, thank you to my good friend and collaborator, Jenn Ross. I am grateful for you.

Allman Betts Band Huddle

Jenn and Jason

Jason's Journal | Gasparilla Music Festival Day 2

Van Plating

Jason Earle and Jenn Ross are covering Gasparilla Music Festival 2022. This is the second installment of Jason’s Journal which chronicles the experiences in and around the festival. To read about the lead-up to the festival, click here. For the Day 1 journal click here.

All photos by Jenn Ross Photography

I did not sleep well last night. In hindsight, yesterday’s journal went a little easy on this AirBnB host. Dude said his “Don’t Say AirBnB” rule was for our “safety.” It’s not as if I expected someone to burst through the door and take us away at any moment, but I do not like being in places I’m not welcome. Also, are we technically trespassing? 

Gasparilla Music Festival (GMF) used to start a bit early in the day. The start time being pushed back a tick is nice. I am all about an 11:00 am set at a camping festival, but if I have to find parking or a ride to the venue give me more like 2:00. Which is what we are looking at today. Everything is lining up in favor of a great day. Plus, my buddy Van Plating is making her GMF debut this afternoon! Kick me out if you wanna, BnB police. Ain’t a thing to kill my vibe. 

Van is playing the amphitheater, which is a special experience. It is hot and packed. She has her band with her and they are blowing through a scorching set. This is my third or fourth time seeing her and by far my favorite set. She looks like she is feeling pure bliss and the crowd is giving back the energy.

Jenn Ross is capturing stunning photos of Van and her band. It is about 15,000 degrees in the Florida sun but folks undeterred from rocking step-for-step with Van Plating.

Van Plating

Have Gun Will Travel begins at the end of Van’s set - the first of three Marinade guests who are playing GMF today. Have Gun is a bunch of pros. Well respected by fellow musicians and loved by fans. Lots of folks are mouthing along to every word. The heat is starting to impose its will. Gotta keep in mind that in an hour or two things will be perfect.

There is a blissful spot in the day on Saturday at GMF. The Spark, let’s call it. Folks have discovered a new favorite band early on and are gearing up for the headliners. We are in that pocket right now. Cha Wa has just played to a joyful crowd, many of whom look like they are not quite sure how this unique sound is supposed to move their bodies. Margo Price is about to take the GMF stage for the first time in seven years. Smiles and hugs abound.

Cha Wa

Margo’s ascent from playing a noon slot to earning an early evening draw has been a long time coming. In recent years, when artists play Florida they understandably make a political statement or two. Margo has never been one to shy away from speaking her mind about important issues. Right now is no exception. And, because you know Margo is going to do it her way, the choice to take a stance about women’s rights by covering Lesley Gore’s “You Don’t Own Me” is a powerful one. 

Margo Price

I would be fine if this was it for today, but GMF’s spark is burning into a flame and Band of Horses is up next. Band of Horses is the kind of artist I enjoy when they come on a station but I do not own copies of any of their music. 

One song in and it seems that is going to change. These are great songs. They led with “Great Salt Lake,” which I would have considered their best known tune until hearing the rest of the set. “Is There a Ghost,” “Funeral,” the list goes on throughout the evening. 

It has been a great night but I am done. Jenn still wants to get some shots of The Revivalists so I’ll wait in this pizza line and hydrate before we head back to our home for the night.

The walk back to our ScareBnB is another delight. We are pretty tired but it’s always helpful to debrief and enjoy a glass of gas station wine after a day like today. We are near exhausted but content on the sixth floor balcony. It’s not quite an hour shy of midnight. Several folks are still awake and moving about in the sister building across the street. Windows are open in many of the apartments.

There’s a pup out sniffing the air and making me nervous for his safety. A guy playing video games. And…someone watching anal porn on his huge projector screen. He’s cycling through some options. Is it okay that we are spectators in his quest? Should we look away? Can we look away?

Do I want this angle or that angle? That won’t do. Yes, there’s the winner. Two minutes after settling on the right plot my man flips to an NBA game. Keep living your best life, buddy. It’s late. I gotta get to sleep.

Jason's Journal | Gasparilla Music Festival Day 1 Recap

Grouplove

Jason Earle and Jenn Ross are covering Gasparilla Music Festival 2022. This is the second installment of Jason’s Journal which chronicles the experiences in and around the festival. To read about the lead-up to the festival, click here.

All photos by Jenn Ross Photography

Getting into this AirBnB feels like an episode of Mission Impossible. There are three codes. One is for the gate and the building, which will expire in thirty minutes. The instructions are almost cryptic and very long. At the bottom of the instructions resides the code to the apartment door, along with an admonishment to not speak with anyone in the building. Not exactly a relaxing start to a getaway weekend. 

I am starving so all of this feels like even more of an imposition. I feel kind of dirty that I’m breaking the rules of this place by paying to stay here. It’s messed up that this guy lists his place as if it’s all good and then adds a layer of stress to the conditions. 

The Aces

Good news is, we are just under a mile from Gasparilla Music Festival (GMF) and in the grand scheme of things my life is pretty damn easy. It’s too hot to walk now, but on the way home Florida will be dishing out one of those 60 degree winter nights. It’s Friday, opening day of Gasparilla Music Festival 2022. If I open Twitter right now the world will feel on fire. On the way to GMF all feels right with the world.

Food is our first priority, then we have a full slate of interesting bands. Today’s offering includes some acts that are somewhat unfamiliar to me- big and not-so-big names alike. Such is the beauty of GMF. 

Hearty Har, which features the sons of John Fogerty, is playing as I sit down with my perogies and french fries from The Independent. At this point in my life I often like to hang back at a festival. If I am shooting photos I will do my time up front in the pit, but today I have the great Jenn Ross with me so no need to tax my ears too much. 

Grouplove

This being opening night, and Friday being a new thing for the festival, the crowd is robust but not overwhelming. Finding a comfy spot on the lawn may be a little tougher tomorrow but tonight there’s enough room to spread out and soak in the experience. 

The sun is beginning its descent behind the main stage, with The University of Tampa framed by its halo. It is one of those views that never get old. Hearty Har feels part garage rock, part psychedelic. Fun, high energy music. They are the tone setters for the day.

As The Aces take the stage it begins to become clear how many die hard fans of these bands are in attendance. GMF has grown from a hyper-local festival to a destination. Local culture remains the centerpiece but when a band like Grouplove or Black Pumas is in town, folks come from all over the place. 

I can see the end of this four cheese pesto pizza from Shadrach’s Fiery Furnace and my eyelids are starting to get heavy. Black Pumas is up next. My first experience seeing them live, and their first in Florida, is not disappointing. I’m trying to hold on but these days I don’t have quite the stamina I did during my first GMF ten years ago.

Grouplove

The walk back to our clandestine AirBnB is an easy stroll in perfect weather. Nights like these are one of the many reasons why I live in Florida despite the fuckery that endures in our legislature.

Jenn and I are both exhausted. A few more social media posts, a glass of wine, and sleep are on the docket. Tomorrow is a big day.

Black Pumas

Jason's Journal | Gasparilla Music Festival Day 1

It is the day before Gasparilla Music Festival (GMF) 2022 and I am stoked for the weekend. This year will be the eleventh iteration of a scrappy upstart turned destination. I was not there for the first year, but have missed only one since. 

Getting ready for covering a festival is a bit of work. As an almost entirely DIY podcast, and not a traditional media outlet, we have to be a speedboat instead of an ocean liner. The day before a festival may reveal an artist can or cannot sit down for an interview. Hours of notes might get thrown out, or hours may need to be put in that were not. 

There is a bit of a thrill to the uncertainty. We go into the weekend with a plan. If I am lucky enough to have a collaborator like Jenn Ross with me - as I do on this trip - I also have the responsibility to make sure their work is properly represented. Jenn is going to knock it out of the park with her photos and I need to make sure whatever I create is up to that standard.

After several years of doing this work, the constant the night before is that I am grateful for the opportunity. I might sit down with some heroes this weekend. I might get to take some amazing photos of said heroes. Or, I might just have a great time and spill some words on the page.

As we head to Tampa, we have a couple of soft maybes in our pocket. It seems like folks are less willing to commit to an on-site interview and I don’t blame them. Zoom makes it easy to connect at a time when the artist is not quite as busy and folks are still uncomfortable about COVID.
Whether we sit down with some guests this weekend or not, it’s going to be fun. For me, the foremost draw of GMF is the homecoming. Gasparilla Music Festival has been around for a quarter of my life. Its lineups are diverse and balanced. The setting is damn near unrivaled. But, the people - friends old and new - bring me back each year.

Live Review | The Kernal with Jordan Foley and the Wheelhouse | Tuffy's Music Box in Sanford, FL | Friday, February 4, 2022

The Kernal is running late. Real late. The old church bus that gets the band from gig to gig had engine trouble and then a flat tire, leading to the guys limping into the venue a short while before Jordan Foley and The Wheelhouse takes the stage. 

The garage door is open at Tuffy’s Music Box in Sanford, FL. It is a gorgeous Florida winter’s night. Jeans and rolled up sleeves weather. The kind of evening that reminds one why we choose to live in this wild swamp.

Foley and his band* take the stage to a crowded, rowdy room. These are the days of plague, yet it feels safe here. Well-attended but not packed. Folks having fun but mindful of each other.

The gamut of Sanford, Florida’s slice of America is in attendance. A country girl boot scootin’ in a Daytona t-shirt. A couple of old hippies. Some young sorority girls just out of college. A smattering of aging hipsters.

Foley and the boys kick off the night with an ass-shaking, foot-stomping set. Smiles exploding around the room. The band adding their contributions to his growing catalog of evolving songs.

This does not feel like an opening set. Not a scene-stealer - hell, one would have to be engaged in intricate sabotage to steal from The Kernal - but a performance worth the price of admission on its own.

Earlier in the night, Foley was talking about these songs with The Marinade. He gives such deference to them as being their own entities and to his band’s ability to make the tunes something special. All of that is true, but Foley’s sincerity in his love of these people, these characters, these moments, deserves the most credit for driving the live Wheelhouse experience. 

By the end of Jordan Foley and The Wheelhouse’s set, the crowd is enjoying a solid buzz, both alcohol and music induced. Some folks have been devouring The Kernal’s Listen to the Blood record since its recent release. Others have no idea what to make of this quirky looking foursome.

The Kernal is hard to miss. Well over six feet tall. Slicked back hair. Lightbulb eyes with a hint of mischief in them. He strides like a stallion, taking five steps to every one of a normal person.

The buzz in the room simmers awaiting what The Kernal has in store. They open with “U Do U,” the first track on Listen to the Blood. It’s the song with the unmistakable crowd-favorite line, “When the only Chic-fil-a back in the day was in the mall.”

Folks here for The Kernal shuffle forward. Most are thirty or forty-somethings who grew up on 90s and classic country, maybe went through a punk phase, and know every word to Master P’s “Bourbons & Lacs.” 

We are alone in singing along but have plenty of company feeling the music. The Kernal is controlled chaos. If Kern and his band are feeling an impact from the trying trip here, no one in this room would know it. His verbose, layered tunes finding universal acclaim in a group of folks who came here open to the idea of being transported.

Sent to tales of therapy in the country and “Wrong Turns to Tupelo.” By the end of the fifth song, when The Kern himself opens up the floor for questions, he has brought any strangers in the audience to the flock of believers. 

The Kernal is known for his performances and this night shows how that reputation was earned. Unpredictable but professional. Heady yet focused on having a good time.

From the first note of Jordan Foley and The Wheelhouse through the airy energy of The Kernal, Tuffy’s Music Box was aflame with the good medicine of great performances.

*Jordan Foley and The Wheelhouse is: Jordan Foley, Tyler Hood, Cris Faustmann, Mikey Guzman, and Matt Wassum 

Review Under Two: Orange Blossom Revue Music Festival

Review Under Two is a segment of The Marinade with Jason Earle podcast where host Jason Earle reviews an artistic work he finds inspiring in under two minutes.

Our Review Under Two for Episode 101 with singer-songwriter Tennessee Jet focuses on the Orange Blossom Revue music festival.

All Photos by Jenn Ross.

Legend has it a local Indian chief once fought an alligator to the death in Lake Wales, FL. As the story goes, if you put your car in neutral at the bottom of nearby Spook Hill, as your death machine rolls backward it will appear as though you are actually travelling uphill rather than down. Make sense? 

We are sitting at the foot of Spook Hill just before heading to the Orange Bloosom Revue, a two day festival boasting headliners The Wood Brothers and Blackberry Smoke, along with headline-worthy artists like Devon Gilfillian, Hayes Carll, and the Steeldrivers. 

We follow the directions on the garish sign marking this hallowed spot. Pull up to the line, put the car in neutral, and marvel at the magic that ensues. My creative partner Jenn Ross drops the car in neutral, the vessel begins to roll backward, and it feels like…a car in neutral rolling backward. 

Life during the COVID-19 pandemic has felt like a trip to Spook Hill- build up and excitement for what is around the corner just to feel like a car rolling downhill and back from whence it came. Truth felt like fiction and fiction closer to truth.

The Orange Blossom Revue festival in Lake Wales, FL, just about a mile from Spook Hill, bucked this trend. Rather than feeling like a car rolling downhill, Orange Blossom Revue was more akin to a drive down the Pacific Coast Highway- gorgeous scenery all around with the windows down. Not a care in the world. 

The healing power of music acting as a coupler to hold frayed parts of society together for two glorious days. After a quick glance around Lake Wales, FL, one would be forgiven for thinking this was little more than the birthplace of Florida Man. There is the Endtime: Christian School of Excellence, a bevy of flags supporting the 45th president, a handful in favor of the long-defunct Confederate States of America, and more than a few indications that the messages of folks like Hayes Carll and the Steeldrivers may not be welcome around these parts. And yet, it all made so much sense. 

Everyone checked their bullshit at the gate to enjoy a rush of performances by artists on top of their game. The lineup fitting within the parameters of the Americana genre while stretching from the blues-influence of Gilfillian, to the heady lyrics of Carll, jumping up against the grooves of The Wood Brothers, and venturing into the mass appeal of Blackberry Smoke. 

Orange Blossom Revue was an intimate festival in a forgotten part of the world. For those two days, Lake Wales and Orange Blossom Revue allowed attendees and artists to pause and be entertained by some of the finest musicians in Americana. A strong lineup, with no scheduling conflicts, and a low bright burn of beautiful performances.