bigger, better

What is it about music festivals that instill such high hopes within us? Maybe it’s the tradition and memories of years past. Maybe it’s watching the bands you grew up with [either listening to or being surrounded by], and seeing how much they’ve grown. Or maybe it’s knowing that you will see everyone you don’t get to see often together in one place. Whatever it is, I for one find myself here every year in complete amazement of how time changes everything, and sometimes nothing at all.
For the first time in years I was without a camera for the entire weekend. I attempted to take in everything with my eyes, contemplating how to use words to re-create the visual experience. Whether I was successful or not is debatable. But here goes.

Each year it gets bigger. And I suppose in that effect, it also becomes “better”. As that type of music becomes more and more trendy, those who attend become younger and more impressionable. I looked at these kids with their short shorts, low tops, and bare stomachs and a sadness overcame me. These days morals seem non-existent, and it’s no wonder with most of the influences that are around. Everything is so accessible, maybe too accessible. If they want ____ [insert anything from drugs and sex to attention and false promises here], they can nine times out of ten get it. These kids are angry and sad about something, and it reflects in the music they listen to, the actions they perform, and the decisions they make. Maybe it’s just a generation gap, and it’s time to face the fact that I’m getting older. But I’d like to think that when I was their age, I still found such things [that were still around, just in smaller doses] disturbing.

This year there were carnival rides to further secure in my mind the fact that this is more of a circus than a festival that was, indeed, getting bigger and “better”. Energy drinks were being distributed to further intensify the already uncertain mindsets of this ADD generation, while parents sat around lounging in a section devoted to them where they could retain their own sanity away from all the action. Lines were long to sit in metal contraptions that would inevitably cause a person to vomit up the energy drink they probably just downed. Vendors set up in tiny tents spread out methodically [or as much so as possible] in attempts to take hold of this weeks allowances burning in the pockets of suburban kids ready and willing to spend it on any and everything black or distressed.

As for nutrition, the lines were just as long for low quality high cost fried food as they were for carnival rides. Used ketchup packets, napkins, plates, and beer bottles lay scattered everywhere along with festival newspapers and flyers, tinting shoes red and black. I couldn’t help but kick a piece of trash or drag it along with every step I took, each one making me feel sorrier and sorrier for those on clean-up duty.
Despite the trash, the low morals, and sometimes disgusting behavior, I’m happy to say that those who were actually there for the music and not just to hang out really did make the most of the plethora of bands playing. Fans were completely devoted: screaming every single word, jumping up and down, energy was high and they became as much a part of the show as the artists themselves.

On the other side of the security line lay the all access world. This is the world of no lines, free food and alcohol, real bathrooms, and copious amounts of mingling and schmoozing. Each of which can be found past the pass, and in a colorful assortment of bracelets and tokens [one for each option]. It is here that you will, for certain, run into at least twenty people you know. Attempting to engage in any kind of serious conversation past business would be useless, as eyes are constantly wandering to find someone bigger and “better” to socialize with. It is, after all, who you know and not what you know.
To become a part of this elite sect, you must be one of the following: in a band, working in the industry, related to someone in a band or working in the industry, close friends to someone in a band or working in the industry, or sleeping with someone in a band or working in the industry [or at least giving the impression that you will sleep with them if you are hooked up with the coveted all access pass].
Sometimes I’m not sure how I fit into this world, as I always seem to be balancing along that fine line (the formers rather than the latter), wobbling from side to side but never quite falling fully into either.

No matter how you view music festivals, whether you love them or you hate them, or whether you like the music involved or not, every year there is at least one run-in that will warm your heart. The music, the memories, and the personalities that have, at one time in your life, [no matter how short or long] changed you in some profound way are suddenly placed in front of you. Even if the interaction may only last a few minutes, it is here that egos and status are pushed to the side, and you know that the hugs and inquiries are genuine. It is here that the whole day becomes absolutely worthwhile.

And I suppose it is because of these few cases that the hopes and anticipations for the next year are formed. There are pros and there are cons, as there are in any situation. But somehow, at the end of the weekend, it is the pros that find their way to the top of the list of things to be remembered. Sun kissed and exhausted, I sit and take in the fact that another year has passed. For better or for worse.

I wonder what’s in store for next year.