acl festival: September 2005 Archives

In our family, we make up song lyrics all the time, especially in times of great stress. Yesterday wandering through the ACL dust bowl, punch drunk from the heat, we kept giggling our way through this one:

"Whoa black boogies
Bam a lam
Whoa black boogies
Bam a lam""

Which version varied from person to person. Leadbelly? Ram Jam? Myself, I had Nick Cave stuck in my head.

The heat and the dust were awful. By sundown Zilker Park looked like lower Manhattan on 9/11. A thick cloud of dust over everything, crowds of people with bandanas over their faces, coughing and spitting and pretending to have a good time.

Cass and Gina saw the Bravery and Arcade Fire, and then I joined them later for the Decemberists (only the Magnetic Fields can stoke my geek love any higher), a little Bob Mould (just the Husker Du songs), a little Wilco, Franz Ferdinand, and Tortoise (who were much more aggressive live than I expected).

Then I left them early while they checked out yet-another Coldplay clone called, uh, Coldplay.

The record heat and the dust made this more of a death march than previous years. Honestly, if they keep having it in September, I'm not completely sure I'm going to keep going back. I understand that they don't want to have it in October because the weather is so unpredictable. But in mid-September, the weather is all too predictable, and it's guaranteed to suck. New Orleans manages to hold Jazz Fest in April, and tell me April in New Orleans isn't a volatile weather season.

I say move it or lose it. The festival should be a weekend of fun, not a test of human endurance.

Pictures on the Flickr page, as usual.

"I gave you the warning
But you never heeded it
How can you say you miss my loving
When you never needed it

You're gonna wake up wondering
Find yourself all alone
But what's gonna stop me, baby
I'm not coming home
I'm not coming home"

Day two of ACL. As Gregg pointed out, much to Cassidy's dismay, Tegan and Sara cancelled. But the other highlight of the day would turn out to be transcendant.

We saw bits and pieces of Aqualung (OK, this Coldplay shit has got to stop...how about a moratorium on pianos for a few years), Shields of Faith (my soul was saved), The Frames (who fucking ROCKED), Death Cab for Cutie (I'm noticing a theme here of bands who would sound great at night in a club, but who are completely out of their element playing on the surface of the sun), some replacement gospel band for the AWOL Betty Lavette (who we dubbed the Gospel Family Doofus Hour), Jet (see Death Cab...although they did do their Beatles-y song AND their Stones-y song AND their White Stripes-y song), and the Dirty Dozen Brass Band (Cassidy was mortified to see dad shaking his ass, but there were clearly lots of NOLA refugees there and it was a hell of a party).

And then there was Roky.

I saw Roky in one of his ill-advised nights out about ten years ago, at Antone's, when he was clearly not in possession of all his faculties. They did three songs, Roky only sang, he didn't seem to know where he was, and he meandered off in the middle of the set, confused, never to return. It was painful to watch. It was sad to see such a brilliant mind wandering in the wasteland of mental illness.

Well, tonight was not that Roky Erickson.

"I told you I'd come back....
I don't look like him, but I am him.
Don't you recognize the voice, Jim?
I promised to see you die, and I will."

It was fantastic. Cassidy and I got there early enough to be front row center right in front of him. And when he came out, after being introduced by Kinky Friedman himself, it was paparazzi mayhem. There were over twenty media cameras in front of the barricades and more cameras going nuts in the audience. Roky smiled the whole time. Played guitar and sang the whole time. Joked between songs. They played a full hour. The audience sang along with every word. Roky songs. Elevators songs.

It was fucking glorious.

Lots and lots of pictures on the flickr page.

I picked Cassidy up from school today and we headed straight to the festival. This was kind of a practice run, since most of our favorite bands aren't playing til tomorrow. It was hot, like last year, with a few passing clouds from the outermost edge of Rita, and every once in a while a strong wind gust. Hopefully we'll get at least a few sprinkles tomorrow to tamp down on the dust storms.

I tried not to think about hurricanes today, I really did. Every once in a while, though, the wind would blow while I was sitting in my chair looking east and I'd get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, thinking about the Ninth Ward filling up with water again and tornados tearing through Cajun country, just over the horizon past the beautiful sunset reflecting off the Frost Bank building.

Music we saw: Morgan Heritage, Lucinda Williams, Thievery Corporation, Spoon, and Keane. Nothing too special, although Cass really liked Keane, who struck me as one of those overly-earnest post-Coldplay Brit pop bands. They were nice enough.

Food: Quail and andouille gumbo from Prejean's (apparently it took the Prejean's crew 26 hours to drive over here from Lafayette), bratwurst, veggie burger from Waterloo, ice cream from Amy's, and a total of 11 pints of water between the two of us.

Back in the car after dark, I couldn't pick up 870 AM out of New Orleans. They've been broadcasting from Baton Rouge since Katrina, probably just lost power. Radio silence never gives you a good feeling, though.

Tomorrow we'll take the Triumph, weather permitting. The day is bookended by Tegan & Sara in the morning and Roky Erickson at night. Everything in between is up for grabs, but sweet Jesus let it not be so damn hot.

Pictures in the flickr page.