A Rothbury Recap - Part V: Day 4 (Fin)

Sleeping in a tent overnight requires a strategic approach to staying warm, which involves closing all the flaps, pulling up the blankets, and huddling close together. Sleeping in a tent once the sun rises requires a considerable shift in tactics. Flaps come down, fans go on, damp covers are tossed to the floor, and the goal is to generally avoid baking as the sun quickly and unbearably heats the stale air. Sunday was the hottest morning yet (maybe because we hadn't gone to bed until the sun was getting ready to come up), and as it was the last day of the festival, it gave me the same feeling as the last day of college: it all went so fast; I wish I could do it all over again; and I'm somehow ready to move on.

And so, it was with a heavy heart that we ventured out of our stifling shelter and proceeded to break down the tent, pack up the car, and prepare for our long trip home. By the time we'd finished breaking camp, Day 4 was about to begin.

Most of the day was spent at The Odeum mainstage, with an all-too-brief aside at the Ranch Arena for John Mayer (more on this later). It was a day of some of the best guitarists out there: Rodrigo y Gabriela, Trey Anastasio, John Mayer, Warren Haynes, and Phil Lesh all took the stage on Sunday. Rodrigo y Gabriela kicked off the day's festivities with a set of their lightning-fast Spanish classical guitar meets acoustic heavy metal. Other than those positioned near the stage, the crowd was lazy, and the duo would have benefited greatly from a nighttime set that could have gotten the audience more involved. Their fingerwork, which seems impossible on their album and even more so in person, was impeccable. As if to make sure we believed what we saw, cameras were mounted and pointed downward from atop their guitar heads, picking up every intricate slap and scale for all to marvel at. In their thick Mexican accents, Rodrigo y Gabriela successfully woke up the slumberous crowd with such endearingly lost-in-translation phrases as, "I'm going to play crazy music for you now! Later gator." Crazy indeed. Some call it "just finger tapping," but as is proven by their debut Rodrigo y Gabriela, they have a sense of build and composition that other tappers like Justin King just haven't attained. And, in improving upon their record during the performance, both Rodrigo Sanchez and Gabriela Quintero traded long, jerky, often multi-part (though obviously scripted) solos that were simply awesome.

As the crowd poured out of The Odeum by the thousands to go see Colbie Caillat (just kidding, no one saw her...Trey was on next, after all!), we managed to push our way towards the front in preparation for Trey Anastasio's first official performance in eighteen months, following his many well-documented drug-related law enforcement struggles. The audience's mood was unlike anything I've ever experienced. I think the prevailing emotion was sympathy for Trey's situation and simple gratitude to have him back on the touring circuit. Of course, it didn't hurt that Phish members Mike Gordon and Jon Fishman were also at Rothbury, though Page McConnell made a point before the festival to assure fans that the imminent Phish reunion would NOT be happening at Rothbury. Still, the fans swayed and yelled and showed undying appreciation for Trey's release from house arrest. The set was very subdued, with Trey strumming shyly on his acoustic guitar for all seventeen songs. Phish "covers" were the focus, from an opener of Farmhouse's "Back on the Train" to A Picture of Nectar's "Chalkdust Torture" (featuring Phish bassist Mike Gordon), and Gordon was also featured on Anastasio's new tune "Alaska" and the Tom Marshall penned "Backwards Down the Number Line." The smile never left Trey's face, and his sheer bliss at playing to tens-of-thousands of adoring fans seemed to humble him to the point of shyness.

Regrettably, I never attended a legendary Phish concert, but Trey and Mike seemed to enjoy each others' company so much on stage that it made a reunion seem inevitable. This was nothing less than confirmed when Trey teased, "All we need now is a drummer and keyboardist." And they got it when Trey joined Gordon and his band to play during the entire set later in the day, and drummer Fishman guested during the finale on the sloppiest, most disjointed and inharmonious cover I've ever heard...and of The Beatle's "She Said, She Said" no less! It wasn’t a promising three-quarters reunion, and it was definitely unpracticed, but Phish has never shied away from exploring new things on stage. Regardless of quality, it was a welcome impromptu hoedown, and the next time the three are all on stage together it will hopefully be with McConnell, as a reunited Phish.

And then came the moment I'd been waiting for since February. John Mayer was finally getting the chance to prove himself to all of the doubters! People constantly link his arrogance and pretentiousness to their own uncertainty about his pop-turned-blues career, but Mayer was playing a festival, the one place where people are certain to show up with at least somewhat open minds. So how did he capitalize upon this golden opportunity? He started his set early! Though slotted to go on at 6:45pm, Mayer took the stage at about 6:15pm and played a range of his early songs, including the stagnant-since-2002 "Why Georgia" (a great song on the record, a dud live) and the most overplayed song of 2001 - 2003, "No Such Thing." Mayer also performed a weak and sololess interpretation of Clapton's classic "Crossroads," and an emotionless rendition of George Harrison's usually deeply moving "My Sweet Lord," which conspicuously lacked Harrison's proclamations of love and devotion to Hare Krishna. Despite his early start, the only one of the entire festival by any artist that I know of, Mayer was able to redeem himself at times, though they were few and far between. His new favorite tune, "Gravity," had a distinctly fresh feel and soaring solo. Other than that, the blues tune "Mercy," complete with more fiery solos, was the only song that really stood out in the set. And, to add insult to injury, Mayer cut the show short, ending at 8:10pm instead of his scheduled end time of 8:45pm. Again, he was the only artist I saw over four days of music who didn't play out the entire time slot. If you've read my blog before, you know that I am unequivocally a devout Mayer fan, and have never been one of the doubters. I've seen him several times, and was at his first ever blues-trio show in 2004. I know what he can do with a guitar. He has so much control over it, it becomes like his third arm. I also know that he has countless epic Hendrix jams in his repertoire, including "Red House," "Little Wing," Continuum's "Axis: Bold As Love," and TRY!'s "Wait Until Tomorrow." The skeptics in the crowd would have welcomed some hard blues, which was clearly lacking throughout the entire festival, but instead Mayer played to the girls-in-the-front-row types with more pop hits than anyone behind that front row cared to hear. There was a single beacon of hope when Mayer said, just before his premature encore break, that we were a "pull-it-out-of-you type of crowd." My heart leaped. What would it be? Who would come and play with him? Trey? Warren Haynes? What Hendrix tune did we extract from his catalog? He quickly doused the flame when he launched into a studio-replica of his latest chart topping single, "Say," which he didn't even attempt to spice up for the live show. If that's what we pulled out of him -- if that's what he thought we wanted to pull out of him -- he completely misread his audience and made some true mistakes by pandering (like McCain) instead of reaching across the aisle to convert the haters (like Obama). I know Mayer is the type to claim that he plays what he feels like playing and never does things just to impress the crowd, but anyone who prefers his more recent material had to feel very disappointed, as I did, by his performance on Sunday. The only positive of the entire performance was the encore, which consisted of the previously mentioned "Gravity" and "Stitched Up" from Herbie Hancock's duet album, Possibilities.

I left the Mayer show bitter and dejected. Hadn't I driven hundreds of miles to see him play? And he brings me what? Colbie Caillat, Brett Dennen, a bunch of old pop tunes, and two sub-sub-subpar covers of two incredible songs.

I waited near the backstage area, wishing I had a baseball bat, but the coward never showed to fight me like a man, so we moved on to the final concert of the festival. Phil Lesh & Friends, including a sit-in by Warren Haynes for the first handful of songs, provided a fitting atmosphere for the festival's end. The energy was high the closer you got to the stage and died as the more exhausted festivalgoers lay spent in the grass, alongside so many cigarette butts. The vibe was not at all like that during the Widepsread Panic sets, which had had the entire field of thousands dancing on the 4th of July until midnight. Lesh & Friends were smooth and easy to listen to, and the twinkling night sky was a peaceful backdrop. At midnight, after two hours of Lesh and almost fifty hours of music over four days, we barely had the energy to get up off the still lush grass on the field of The Odeum.

As we walked to the car, I couldn't shake that end-of-college feeling. I knew I had a struggle ahead in that twelve hour drive home, and also that I'd had the time of my life over the past four days. When I got home, the first thing I did was reset my countdown clock to July 2, 2009.

A Rothbury Recap - Part I: The Mission

"Rothbury is committed to harnessing the spirit of the music festival community into a durable social movement. Rothbury is created by people who are passionate about music, and about live music in particular. We are captivated by the unique experience that a perfect musical moment offers; when we transcend beyond individuals and into a collective. It's a connectedness that invites palpable inspiration and real opportunity to create a lasting change. This is the Rothbury mission."

A twelve-hour car ride from DC, through Maryland, West Virgina, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Michigan, including a 9-hour-plus chronological discography of The Beatles (a la the trip to Bonnaroo 2007), thunderstorms, fireworks, coffee, and Cheez-its...

Thus began a journey to the Double JJ Ranch in Rothbury, Michigan. In its inaugural year, the Rothbury Festival 2008 set out to improve upon the modern festival's massive environmental impact and, even further, on the festivalgoers’ overall consciousness of our collective and individual environmental footprints. Rothbury’s goal to "throw a HUGE party...with a purpose" showed through in every aspect – from the hundreds of composting and recycling bins, to the sugarcane and corn-based cutlery (compostable), to the pocket ash trays, to the use of clean energy and carbon-offsetting, to the daily Think Tanks with popular artists...You can find the entire extensive and impressive commitment here: http://rothburyfestival.com/festival/our_commitment.php

Thousands of tons of garbage and millions of tons of cigarette butts are generated each year at Bonnaroo, Lollapalooza, et al., and given the current hot-button issues of climate change/global warming/overall planetary destruction via human ignorance and ineptitude, Rothbury attempted something truly valiant: get a bunch of people together who talk the talk, and get them to walk the walk.

Despite the environmentally sound premise, Rothbury was a party and festival first, and a forum for social change second. For four days in early July, upwards of 50,000 people from all 50 states met on Michigan's west coast and partied hard. Drugs were overabundant, beer and liquor flowed from dawn to well beyond dusk, and glow sticks littered the air and ground in the hundreds of thousands. (I'll get to the music in due time – see Parts II – V, soon to come, for day-by-day breakdowns.)

Producer Jeremy Stein and Madison House worked hard to follow through on their promises of eco-consciousness and thoughtful celebration, and people seemed willing to comply at least with the simplest aspects of enviro-friendliness. Listening to artists speak during Think Tanks, properly disposing of waste in compost and recycling cans, and making do with the mere one napkin that came with each food purchase came easily to the masses. But cigarette-butts, used glowsticks, and Nitrous Oxide balloon waste were rampant in the campgrounds and the venues.

I was surprised to see how easily people made small adjustments, but also how difficult it was for us to stop our own self-destructive behaviors at the behest of our environment. I'm not sure that there's a remedy for the Nitrous balloon problem (other than...not inhaling Nitrous from balloons or even (GASP) throwing them away after using them?), but the aforementioned ash trays were not as accessible as they could have been. If the festival provides an ashtray to every participant upon entering the site next year, that will be one less thing – or, rather, thousands fewer things -- they'll have to clean up.

For a first-year festival, the organizers did well to provide enough shade (via "Sherwood Forest" and tents scattered across the site) and interactive elements (creating "recycled" artwork over the course of the four days, providing batting cages and other sports, having a Guitar Hero RV...the list could go on for days) to keep the entertainment-hungry crowd more than occupied. Between six stages (and one secret stage in the forest), hundreds of organic food and clothing shops, and spinning monkeys (you'll have to attend next year to figure that one out), even the most weathered and cynical festivalgoer was entertained and swept up in the Rothbury moment.

I hardly consider myself a wily veteran when it comes to music festivals. This was my second, and almost certainly not my last. The "come as you are" and "love everyone as you love yourself" vibe was spiritually infectious, to the point of non-drug-induced euphoria. I only hope that Stein manages to keep the same feel for next year's festival (which is confirmed in the planning stages as of today). Rothbury is undoubtedly a new institution in American music festivals, and it has improved on key components that other festivals lack: fantastic weather, environmental sustainability, and four days of non-stop, mindblowing music.

Tomorrow -- Part II: Day 1

Little Wing

Listening to my iPod on my hour-long commute to work, I took a break from NPR Podcasts (about which I will undoubtedly write in the near future) to listen to some good old fashioned music. I hit the seemingly not-so-random "Shuffle Songs" on my menu, and was thrown into a musical reverie the likes of which I can usually only dream of attaining. As Jimi hits the first note of "Little Wing" and slides it down the guitar, I close my eyes and shut out the noise of the rush hour A express...143 seconds of pure bliss are underway.

Though it originally appeared on Axis: Bold As Love in 1967 (see: coolest album cover ever...and a poster in my house, compliments of Doug), the version I have is from The Ultimate Experience (compliments of Adam Baker in 7th Grade), a collection of 22 of the best rock songs you'll ever hear.

"Little Wing" went largely unnoticed by me for years until, in the winter of 2004 I had the excellent fortune of seeing a certain John Mayer play his first ever trio show at Webster Hall in New York (he also wrote on the song for Rolling Stone back in 2004...any plagiarism on my part is completely coincidental, I swear). The club is tiny, holding under 1,000, and when Mayer launched into his Hendrix-zone I knew we were all in for a treat. His version that night (which is also on my iPod) exceeded the original by about 6 minutes, and would forever change the way I view both a) the song and b) guitarists. But...enough about John Mayer (is that possible?). We're talkin Hendrix here, so let's focus.

As I mentioned before, "Little Wing" runs at 2:23, a short song even by the standards of the 1960s. The only band that could make 2:23 work more effectively than Hendrix does with "Little Wing" was The Beatles with...oh, I don't know...90% of their songs written before 1965.

From the first aforementioned guitar-slide, to the too-soon fadeout, "Little Wing" is a truly musical and lyrical psychedelic experience.

"Well she's walking through the clouds
With a circus mind that's running round
Butterflies and zebras
And moonbeams and fairy tales
That's all she ever thinks about
Riding with the wind.

When I'm sad, she comes to me
With a thousand smiles, she gives to me free
It's alright, she say's
It's alright
Take anything you want from me
Anything.

Fly on little wing,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, little wing"

At this point there is only :36 left in the song. For half a minute, Hendrix lets go in a way unlike he does in any other song. His guitar moves and soars, and he shakes you to the bone with a most sensual guitar solo (other than possibly Clapton, who has been excluded for reasons of unfair sensuality). Just as the song is looping and spiraling out of control, it begins its inevitable but premature fadeout.

Where did the solo go? How much pure Hendrixian brilliance was cut from the tape? In subsequent live performances he cuts it just as short, but the album version shows no signs of ending until it is ripped away from us.

(Isn't this just perfect, though? The ultimate allegory for Hendrix's life and death...an eerie premonition. A song, just like the man, made of spectacular passion, cut down in its prime when there was endless potential for things to come.)

I can imagine that his solo lasted for three hours past the 2:23. I can see the producer (Chas Chandler) sitting there, Mitch Mitchell pounding away on the drums and Noel Redding punching in his bass, just awestruck. What could he do with that solo? THREE HOURS OF A HENDRIX SOLO? So he decided, in a move of sheer douchebaggery, to cut the solo at 36 seconds just because he had no idea where else to cut it. It got way too intense after that. So, 2:59:24 of the best solo ever played is history.

On the other hand, I can imagine that the solo rambled on and on for a dozen more minutes before Hendrix realized that what had started as the greatest solo of all time became a stoned, unfocused mess after about 40 seconds so he'd better keep it at 36 just to be safe. This is, needless to say, NOT the version of imaginary history that I choose to accept. If you've ever heard "Machine Gun" or any of the Live at Berkeley recordings, you know that Hendrix was not one to shy away from longwinded and dissonant guitar solos.

So, because of Chas Chandler's inability to cope with the longest guitar solo in imaginary history, we are stuck and blessed with the smallest taste...an amouse-bouche, if you will...of what could have been. Mayer's rendition in 2004 brings us close, and sometimes at The Cutting Room Richie Cannata and the guests on stage will play "Little Wing" and bring us ever closer (one in particular 3 weeks ago, Joe __?__, a bear of a man with ass-length hair and a big beard actually appeared to channel Jimi from the stage for about 5 minutes), but in reality all I can really do is hope that Hendrix comes back to life and finishes his masterpiece with me at the production helm.