The Forty Days

I wasn’t sure that I would attend the Austin City Limits Music Festival this year.  Every year, I get a little bit older, the other attendees get a little bit younger, and the crowd gets a little bit bigger.  Pretty soon I may feel too old and hate crowds too much to go to a music festival.  Am I already one of those older gents that I would have looked at when I was 18 and think, “What’s old man river doing here?  No, it’s good, it gets him out of the house.”

At the last minute, however, I decide to buy a Print Pass over craigslist.  After the transaction is complete, I begin to wonder what would prevent a person from printing numerous Print Passes and scamming a bunch of people.  Surely Front Gate Tickets would embed some kind of security feature to prevent such an obvious scam, right?  Wrong.  Nope, the only thing preventing scams is the honesty and integrity of individual human beings–something I try never to rely upon.  Thanks, Front Gate Tickets.  If I get scammed, you are soooo going to be the recipient of one very strongly-worded letter.

Fearing that I may have purchased a fraudulent ticket, I go to my friend Karen’s pre-ACL brunch.  People ask me what I intend to blog about, and I tell them that I’m going to try and get backstage.  Or, if I get scammed, I will write about my experience, try to find the person who scammed me, and proclaim my hatred of Front Gate Tickets and all of humanity.  Either way, it should be a decent blog post.  And then, out of nowhere, the most amazing thing happens.  I’m not sure if it is out of pity or because of the blog, but my friend E. gives me his extra C3 Guest wristband, which will not only guarantee my entrance into the festival but also grant me access to some, but not all, of the backstage areas!  You are my new hero, E!!  I give my Print Pass to my friend Matt, with the caveat that it may be fraudulent.

E. and I enter the festival through a special entrance for the press.  We wander first through the press section, where various outlets are interviewing artists.  I don’t recognize any of them.  We then go through the Artist’s Village, where there is an open bar, an ice cream truck, various other samples, and private bathrooms.  Not bad.  I get a water and an Orange Dreamsicle popsicle, and then we venture out into the teeming mass of commoners.  We catch a couple of minutes of The Felice Brothers, and then go backstage at the Mute Math show.  (For the record, I have never heard of either of these bands.)  “Backstage” constitutes standing on a rafter on the side of the stage with about fifty other people, struggling to see a glimpse of the band below.  Who the heck are these other “special” people who get to go backstage and block my view?  Is that a 15 year-old girl?  How did she get a backstage pass?  I think ACL really needs to reevaluate their backstage pass policy.

My feeling of “specialness” begins to wear off until we find the real VIP tent–the large tent my friends bring every year, even though such tents are technically “prohibited.”  The tent contains most of my friends, provides an easy way to meet up with people at a festival where finding your friends is almost impossible, and affords great shade from the sun when it’s hot.  Oh, and it provides excellent shelter from the storming rain that descends upon the festival starting around 4 pm.  While we are warm, dry, and happy under the tent’s protective covering, people outside are getting absolutely drenched.  It’s interesting to watch people’s reactions as they notice us under the tent–most are jealous, some are downright pissed, and some have nothing but admiration for our ingenuity.  We listen to the righteous beats of Citizen Cope from our protective cocoon.  Is it wrong that my enjoyment of being warm and dry is increased by the fact that the masses outside our tent are wet and miserable?

Eventually, my friend Josh and I venture out into the rain to see Mos Def.  I am wearing my recently-purchased rain gear from my Kilimanjaro climb, so I am well protected from any rain that wants to come my way.  These pants were on the top of Kilimanjaro, damnit!  Anyone want to touch them?  No?  Ok.

Mos Def is so-so.  Unfortunately, his beats do not seem to take control of my body or make me a slave to his hip-hop groove.  We catch a couple of songs from the Sound Tribe Sector 9 show, and then head back to the tent for the Dave Matthews Band.  At this point, I am a little underwhelmed by the shows I have seen so far.  I have yet to see a show that rocks my body in the way which I prefer it to be rocked at a concert of this magnitude.  Until Dave hits the stage.  I have never seen Dave Matthews live before and haven’t listened to him since Crash, which was in 1996.  (Apparently, he’s released six albums since that time.  Who knew?)  Even though I only know the older songs, it doesn’t matter–Dave is high energy and his music rocks my body the way it needs and deserves to be rocked.  I sure hope it’s still cool to like Dave Matthews Band.  (The following terrible, terrible video does not do the concert justice, but I’m including it anyway.)

Oh, and at some point during the day I get a text from Matt–the friend I gave my Print Pass to–and he said that it worked.  Hallelujah–there are still good and honest people left in the universe!  Overall, it is a good ACL experience–a little music, a feeling of backstage specialness, a cozy, dry tent, two free Dreamsicle popsicles, and a restored faith in humanity.  I still don’t know if I’ll go again next year . . .