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.