No Sleep Til Bonnaroo: Step by Step in Tennessee
Wednesday, June 11th, 2003
I left work at one thirty in the afternoon, a couple of hours off of my usual five PM quitting time. My coworker Shannon asked, "You're leaving?" with that questionable look on her face of someone who had to stay until close. "Yes I am" I replied with a huge smile broadening my face. "And I'm not coming back for a week". Nothing felt better than getting ready to go to Bonnaroo. After a few last minute preparations, I set out from my house in Morgantown, West Virginia for Charlottesville, Virginia. Not exactly on the way to Tennessee, in fact a few hours out of the way, but that was where I met my sister, her boyfriend Pete, and Pearl, his 1972 Volkswagen camper we'd be riding to the show in. The excitement level was high and we were soon on our way, southward bound, almost bursting with anxiousness. We all had missed out on the festivities the year prior and couldn't wait to get this show on the road.
Thursday June 12th, 2003
The thing about meeting people on the road is that something always comes up. The plan was that we were going to meet some friends of theirs in Chattanooga. They had a hotel, and we were going to park Pearl in the parking lot for a few hours, and then leave for Manchester by six in the morning. The thing was, we didn't know the name of their hotel. We had a room number (126), and finally tracked them down at a Days Inn that featured a full on lot scene of heads drinking in the parking lot. People were streaming towards Tennessee, that much was completely obvious. Our party bloomed in numbers, and cars. Along with this came the typical infighting that often comes with going to a show in large numbers. Nonetheless, I curled up and got an hour of sleep. By ten, we were on the road again, and we stopped at a Wal Mart about thirty miles south of Manchester. The lot scene at Wal Mart had more hippies than some shows I've seen. The locals seemed pretty shocked as people changed and cooked in the parking lot, but most of us just iced coolers and stocked up on last minute goods. We hit the traffic shortly there after, and we began the wait. Things went smoothly for awhile, until Pearl started to get a bit cantankerous. Our crew pushed for awhile, while Pete walked along tinkering like a mad scientist in the blazing southern sun. It wasn't long before she was running again and we were back inside, and on our way through the festival gates.
From the get go, everything about Bonnaroo was better than expected. This started immediately as they handed me the festival map and schedule. Much to my amazement there was music Thursday night. The bands weren't nearly as well known as their weekend counterparts and a number of cover bands played, all in all it was an unexpected treat. We set up camp and everyone settled in. Those friends who hadn't arrived were contacted, and we made friends with the neighbors, some cool cats from up in Bret Favre country. The good spirits were flowing. Those who did the driving used this time to catch up on sleep, the rest of us got into the spirit of the weekend and headed down to Centeroo to get it on.
Centeroo, the bustling center of the sprawling festival grounds, was like a dream-world to behold. There were mysterious and exciting things everywhere. The Globe of Death, a steel globe featuring a death-defying motorcycle act enticed onlookers into shrieks of amazement. Food and craft vendors hawked their wares, and people strode everywhere checking everything out. The huge glowing red fountain sent streams of water high into the night sky as all the girls and boys danced in its cool water. The three tents, This Tent, That Tent, and The Other Tent, were spread about all within a quick dash. In the distance, the Which Stage and What Stage glowed. Evidence of the massive event that was only now in it's opening stanza. Due to the University of Virginia crowd I was camping with, I followed them down to That Tent to check out the Hackensaw Boys. The band was fantastic, and the perfect appetizer for the mammoth festival to come. For nearly two hours they whipped the crowd into a frenzy with their savory blend of Appalachian sounds. The audience danced up a storm, and the Boys stepped it up. This was the tip of the iceberg. Their encore of Dylan's "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere" was well done and fitting. I smiled to myself and thought ahead. I was in for the show of a lifetime, and I wasn't going anywhere.
Friday, June 13th, 2003 (A better Friday the thirteenth, I cannot think of.)
I slept well in the cool Tennesee night and awoke excitedly.I wasn't too excited about the first round of acts so I spent my time hanging at the campsite making friends with the random assortment of my sister's friends and wandering about. The campground was gigantic. Sprawling hills of tents in every which direction. On one end a grain silo rose out of the seas of tents. The campground was divided into sections, each with it's own hairstyle name, with a heavy mullet theme. We were camped in Camp Ultimullet, an easy walk down Seventh Street to Centeroo. I wandered most of the afternoon.
I took in some Yonder Mountain String Band on the Which Stage for awhile, when I ran into old friends from Morgantown. My horoscope in the Bonnaroo Beacon had said that would happen, and though I don't put much credence in the stars, it was pretty on point. I caught a little bit of Joshua Redman's set, but mostly spent my time in the Arcade tent. Many in the cramped sweaty tent chose to focus their attention on the wide array of video games and other entertainment. I checked out Kid Koala, spinning feverishly to a packed dance area of kids ready to get down. He was great fun, though I'm not really one to get excited about a DJ. It was energizing, and packed. Those in the arcade were enthralled, and I thought about the jam packed afternoon that lay ahead while Koala mixed tracks back and forth to a pulsating beat.
My first mad dash of the weekend started in the Other Tent, with Ekoostik Hookah. The Other Tent, the smallest of the three was just too small. In a crowd that large, it doesn't matter who you put in there, but it will be full. For the best of the bunch, it would be literally overflowing, and in the case of Ekoostik Hookah, the massed crowd outside of the tent was enormous, the devoted Hookah faithful clamoring to get a look at their band. The band delivered a tight set with lots of impact packed into their brief timeslot. A band who wants to play, they were on a few minutes early, and left the stage a couple of minutes late. In between Steve Sweney and company delivered their upbeat Ohio grown jam rock, and featured fan favorites "Hookahville" and "Abdega Gaga". They played like a band trying to prove a point and their cult of devoted followers lapped it up with glee and many new hookah fans were created. When they finished up, I hustled to This Tent to catch New York City No Wave icons Sonic Youth. Make no mistake, Sonic Youth is a jamband, but they are a band that invented their own unique style of jamming before the "j-word" was ever coined. Thurston Moore, Kim Gordon, and Lee Renaldo rotated guitar and bass duties, but in all cases, delivered a full on assault of sizzling guitar noise and riveting distortion. I couldn't believe my eyes. By far, one of the weekend's many highlights. The fact that the festival's promoters inclusion of a richly diverse slate of talented and influential artists was Bonnaroo's greatest asset. The crowd in This Tent wouldn't let Sonic Youth leave and they were one of the few bands to be allowed back to do an encore.
I was buzzing from the high of seeing such an exciting performance as I hustled to This Tent to find it overflowing with people. The crowd was filled with many who were seeing Keller Williams for the first time and were dazzled by his looping wizardry. The tent was filled with an explosive energy, quite the feat for a one-man band. The set featured a climactic "Freeker By the Speaker > Sultans of Swing > Freeker By the Speaker". Keller made reference to "Bonnaroo-town", and the crowd exploded. They also delighted at the line about "competition in other places" as Bela picked away to the left, and the arcade thumped to the right. "Saving it up for Friday night" was right. As I stood near the front edge of the stage I was reminded of the sound of thunder. To my right, Keller would provide the intial crackle, and to my left, the audience would provide the resonant boom. With each explosion, I could feel the audience's energy hit me like shockwave. Keller started up "Novelty Song" and I took my cue. He told me not to listen, and I didn't, instead I took off, racing over to Which Stage to catch the tail end of Bela Fleck and the Flecktones. They never fail to amaze, but due to the incredible inensity of Sonic Youth and the exuberant energy of Keller Williams I caught only the very end of their set. Still, it was a blissful feeling to be surrounded by so much incredible music that you had to literally run to catch up with it.
I had a pre-arranged meeting time with my sister and Pete, but like almost all of my meetings at Bonnaroo, it got bungled. It was better that way, and I would spend most of the weekend flying solo, the only way to do a festival with so many choices to make at all times. I hiked all the way back to the campsite only to find out that I just missed them. Not willing to miss a second of Neil Young, I turned on my heels and trekked back down to the main stage area, picking up a sack of mother nature's finest on the way. Most of the people I know just don't relate to Neil like I do, and I was overly excited for this set, as evidenced by my essay in that day's Bonnaroo Beacon. I sat down on the ground underneath the light of one of the many omnipresent lemonade stands and rolled a blunt for my head. Flying solo, I tucked my smoke behind my ear and determined to make it as close to the stage as I could. The What Stage was a dominant force on the horizon of the Tennessee night, to the left green trees lit by a brilliant full moon. Young and Crazy Horse emerged and tore into a twenty minute version of "Love to Burn" followed by a crashing "Sedan Delivery". By the set's third song, "Powderfinger" I was euphoric, a climactic moment among a day already chock full of once in a lifetime moments. The thought that it was just the beginning made my heart sing and my feet dance furiously. Neil and Crazy Horse blazed through a searing set, which built it's momentum from his mid seventies classics "Hey Hey, My My", "Cortez the Killer" and "Like a Hurricane". The later featured an extended sonic jam full of crunching distortion and screaming feedback. They were a quartet full of searing and explosive rock and roll, abrasive at times, but always from the heart. The "Down By the River" encore was icing on the cake, and was what many in my neck of the audience wanted to hear. At the song's end Young repeated the first line, "be on my side" over and over, each time the audience echo of the second line "be your side" grew louder. By the time Neil and the Horse had rolled out of town, I thought it just couldn't get any better.
Saturday, June 14th, 2003
Friday flowed effortlessly into Saturday as I began to come down off of the incredible rush of Young's smoldering set of sonic fire and brimstone. I decided to take in the Funky Meters' late night set in This Tent. I was surprised to find that the Meters' were not nearly as funky as their name implied. George Porter, Jr. still locks into a funky bass groove, but the groups' guitar players spend most of their time in full-on classic rock mode. As I wandered up the crowd was singing along boisterously with their rendition of Dylan's "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35", myself agreeing heartily. The Meters then tore into "Purple Haze", and I began to wonder when the funk would come. It came, but before you knew it Warren Haynes was brought out and the band tore through "Voodoo Chile". Haynes' appearance garnered a huge reaction from the crowd, excited to see Warren, who would be hustling from stage to stage with guitar in hand most of the weekend. I boogied down, but then hauled my weary bones back to my tent for a well earned night of sleep in perfect cool camping weather. On the way back, encountered a Mardi Gras float carrying Charlie Hunter and the members of Galactic. Oh the things you'll see at Bonnaroo, I thought to myself. One day down, two to go.
I awoke around ten and hung out with my fellow campsite inhabitants and traded excited stories of the night prior. Just about everyone had seen something that blew their mind. My sister excitedly described the appearance of Mike Gordon at the Sound Tribe Sector 9 show. I wished I could have caught it. I also began to realize that you can't spend a minute mulling on the great music you miss. At any moment, when you are held enrapt at one of the site's five stages, every other stage is also blasting out such good music, that you should have been their too. Music was in excess and it was the way life should be. I walked down to This Tent to catch Liz Phair, and was blown away. A fan of her Exile in Guyville and Whip Smart albums since High School, I'd never seen her live, and felt blessed to have the opportunity. Phair, augmented by an acoustic guitar player and an electric bassist, slung her Fender Jaguar low and strummed out many of her most beloved songs such as "Six Foot One" and "Supernova". She took requests from the audience, and "Fuck and Run" from her debut album was the most often shouted demand. She complied, apologizing that the band didn't know it. It was, in fact, Phair who was unsure of the key. Nonetheless, she laughed it off and they barreled through in good spirits to the delight of the gracious and forgiving audience. For an artist who once refused to tour due to stage fright, Phair seemed completely at ease in front of the crowd and conveyed a relaxation and fun attitude that put a smile on the face of all within the sound of her voice.
After Phair's set wrapped up, I thought about checking out Emmylou Harris or the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players, but instead perused the vendors area and wandered about the campsite checking out the real sight: the people. Every show or festival comes with it's own colorful array of characters, and Bonnaroo exemplified this to the extreme. From spaceman gear to painted bodies, fairy wings to tattoos, to the omnipresent bright blue hookah bear, the crowd at Bonnaroo was the real show and was worth watching at all times. I made it back to the music in time for a hyperactive set of high-octane pedal steel courtesy of Robert Randolph and the Family Band. His band was locked into a groove, and Randolph is mind bending at what he does. His vocals can get repetitive at times, but the ensemble provides as good a reason to rage as any. Randolph subtly pointed out one of the perks of being a rock star by surrounding himself onstage with a bevy of beautiful women for "Shake Your Hips". Susan Tedeschi emerged, baby in arms, for a sweet "I'll Take You There" and provided yet another memorable Bonnaroo moment for the crowd boogieing in the bright Tennessee sun.
I headed over to the main stage and only had to sit for a moment before the Allman Brothers Band emerged. Immediately Gregg Allman's piano led the band into "Ain't Wasting Time No More", and we were off. This being my all time favorite Brothers song, I took it as a sign. I would have loved to catch the whole show, but I took that as a sign I should bounce early, so I did. I hustled over to Garage A Trois for a brief moment dazzled by the funktastic super-group. That Tent was jam packed, so I only stayed a minute in route to Mike and Leo's set in This Tent. Folks clamored for a view of Cactus and were treated to a special set of intricate dueling bass and acoustic guitar melodies. I went into the photographer's pit to take a few pictures and watch a couple of songs. As I scooted into an open spot I looked over and noticed none other than Keller Williams taking in the set from the same vantage point. K-Dub was in awe of Kottke, as was everyone in the house, and all weekend it was a treat to watch other artists watch some of their favorite musicians. Kottke and Gordon, whose busy unique styles play well off of each other ran through most of the songs from their debut release Clone. Mike made a joke about the noise level of the Arcade Tent next door, introducing them as their backing band. "We told them to play a little something funky here," he quipped before dropping into the next tune. The set closed with an enticing "YaMar", everyone in attendance smiling with glee and noting the irony of shouting "Play it Leo!" to someone actually named Leo. The set finished up and many headed off towards the main stage to grab a spot for the upcoming Panic set, but I rolled back to the campground.
Though I may have stated earlier that traveling en masse has a downside, it does have an upside, and a campsite feast was slated to be Saturday night's headliner. London broil, corn on the cob, squash, sausage, and ganja were a hearty dinner to all in attendance for our feast. Nearly everyone who Pete had run into heard about the steak and our campsite was full of visitors. Everyone ate their fill, and I topped it off with some fractal third eye enhancement and trudged back towards the action to catch the tail end of the Panic set. As I wandered through Centeroo I passed That Tent where a crowd a few hundred strong had already begun to gather in anticipation of the Flaming Lips late night set. Lead singer Wayne Coyne was onstage and the band was getting ready to sound check, so I stopped by for a preview of what was to come. As the opening drumbeat kicked in "The Race For the Prize" the crowd roared and I got super excited, before the song was aborted after barely ten seconds. The crowd was disappointed until they kicked it up again and people got ready to get down, again stopping at the very same point. I took that as my cue, and headed towards the sound of Widespread, despite the chance to hear my favorite Flaming Lips tune. I had hedge my bets, and the music that was going on was a sure thing, the Lips weren't.
I made my way to the What Stage area as Panic drove though "Imitation Leather Shoes" southern audience lapping up every sweet note of Georgia twang. Within moments my tasty dessert treat began to kick in, and Warren Haynes and Robert Randolph took the stage for the electric combination of "Ride Me High" and "Chilly Water". Like gunslingers of the old west Haynes and Randolph dueled back and forth trading one shrill ear-piercing note for another while the Panic boys provided the foundation for an explosive freight train of a jam. It rocked so hard it put me on my ass. Their set finished up with a three song encore, the appropriate "Down on the Farm", followed by "Pilgrims" and "Space Wrangler" to close out the evening's main stage music. Spreadheads all around me began jabbering excitedly about what a great show they'd just seen, and I wish I'd caught more of it. But the fun was just beginning, and things were starting to get weird.
Sunday, June 15th, 2003
I hustled to This Tent, which was overstuffed with kids already getting down to the spacey jazz beats of Medeski, Martin and Wood as glowsticks filled the air. I managed to maneuver myself down into the fray and found a sweet spot right in the center. Some complained of the sound overflow from the Arcade Tent, but in the heart of the action the sound was fine. The trio delivered one of the most powerful performances that I have ever seen, and ended up being the most fun I had at the whole festival. Rarely do I feel that the artist has the audience completely in the palm of their hand but tonight was different. Billy Martin, the engine that powers this groove machine could manipulate the audience at will with his dizzying arsenal of nasty beats. Medeski provided the frantic hodgepodge of keyboard sounds that has become the band's trademark, and Chris Wood, the low-end leader of the pack was locked in and cooking. Many special guests graced their stage, including Luther Dickinson, for most of the night. Cyro Baptista brought his entire percussion ensemble with him, and he and Martin led them through a textured percussion breakdown. The Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra Horns also came out and added pops and runs aplenty. Medeski frantically directed the horns throughout the jams, a sight to behold, like a free jazz mad scientist hard at work. At some point during their two set extravaganza, the skies opened, and water rushed dramatically from the edges of the tent. A mammoth balloon (presumably a stray from the Flaming Lips set across the way) drifted into the tent, dwarfing the band before bursting above the stage in dramatic fashion. And the band drove on. By the time they cooled it down with a "Moti Mo" encore just after four in the morning there wasn't a mind left un-blown and not an ass left unshaken.
I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but once I got within earshot of the Particle show in That Tent, my mind was made up. The band was raging as I arrived, and would proceed to do so until the sun was well up. Al Schneir from moe. stopped by, and added some guitar to the mix. Al seemed obviously pumped up to be playing with one of the most exciting young bands on the scene right now and delivered a few exuberant shouts of "Particle!" as he exited to leave the quartet to do what they do best: jam. They went off and took the audience with them on a psychedelic journey anchored by a thumping danceable drumbeat. Their lighting designer was working overtime and delivered the most brilliant light display of the entire festival, drenching the band, ceiling, and audience in a splendid palate of colors and shapes. As the sun began to rise, keyboardist Steve Molitz appeared to be as dumbfounded as anyone, and in awe of the spectacle his band had created. "Holy shit." Molitz pronounced, slapping his palm to his cheek as the audience beckoned for more, before the band tore into their top-notch rendition of "Another Brick in the Wall". Particle didn't leave the stage until after eight o'clock in the morning, and were only band all weekend allowed to play past their prescribed timeslot, which they did with reckless abandon. I slinked back towards my tent as the dark of night had given way to an overcast morning. Some sleepy heads were sprawled out in the movie tent enthralled with Ewoks locked in battle with Stormtroopers. Me, I went back to the campsite and cleaned myself up after a long night of raging and began to prepare for the day that had already begun.
I was still pretty unable to wrap my mind around what I had just seen and didn't manage to catch any shuteye. I dragged my folding chair down to the main stage area to catch that day's opening set from Warren Haynes. Warren won the hardest working man at the festival award again this year, but his solo set was a chance to simply hold court and prove why he's so great: he's got soul. Accompanied by an acoustic guitar for the first half of his set, and a gold Les Paul for the second half, Warren mesmerized the afternoon crowd with a bevy of covers and originals. His "To Lay Me Down" and haunting "Stella Blue" were simply a small taste of Grateful Dead music to come. His songwriting shone nearly as brightly as the afternoon sun which was burning my forearms. "I'll Be the One", "The Real Thing" and "Beautifully Broken" were all standout performances. Warren brought out South African singer Vusi Mahlasela for his trademark anthem, "Soulshine". Mahlasela's voice was sweet and high and he added a beautiful touch to the tune, drawing a tremendous response from the What Stage audience.
When Warren finished up, I dragged the chair over to the Which Stage area and found a shady spot beneath a huge tree. I sat contentedly as I let the sound of the North Mississippi All Stars pummel me like a southbound freight train. The Dickinson Brothers, along with Chris Chew and Duwayne Burnside play a rough and tumble southern blues that reeks with authenticity. Their songs tend to focus on living like a rock and roller, hitting the road, and leaving the women behind. I spent a good deal of my time just people watching and lazily nodding off in my chair cooled by a shady Tennessee breeze. I skipped out on the next round of performances in order to begin packing up the campsite and resting up for what would be the grand finale. By the time I met up with my sister and Pete, we strolled over to the main stage area to check out the godfather of soul, James Brown. Soul Brother Number One's stage show has lost its touch over the years, and I left disappointed. One of his backing vocalists sang over half the songs. I was pleased to see him sing "Living In America" and "I Feel Good", but bailed the second I heard John Popper's harmonica wafting over from the Which Stage.
We made it over just in time to see Popper wailing with them good ole moe. boys on "Bring It Back Home". I've been recently getting back into moe. after a significant hiatus, and would have loved to catch their set. I think their most recent release, Wormwood, is one of the finest jamband records out there. We decided however, to move on to the Superjam, and we were not disappointed. Stanton Moore, Mike Gordon, Luther Dickenson, and Dr. John were tearing through a spicy blues jam, and my mouth just about hit the sand. This combo was tight, and when they added Duwayne Burnside to the mix, things just kept on cookin'. I immediately began kicking myself for languishing so long with James Brown, but managed to savor every second. G. Love emerged for the last song, and frankly, was in the way. His harmonica playing was nice, but his calling out of all the solos sapped the energy of the jam. To top it off, he was clueless as to who Mike was, introducing him first as "bass-man" and then as "Matt Gordon." Either way, seeing the quartet that anchored the superjam work was a once in a lifetime treat.
Finally, after one last sweep of the campsite to make sure everything was packed, we headed off to What Stage for Bonnaroo 2003's last hurrah: the Dead. The band was already bouncing through "Touch of Grey" by the time we made it through the checkpoint and we found a spot halfway back in the field area. Mickey did his "Fire on the Mountain" rap, which goes over with some, but not others. Joan Osbourne took over vocal duties on "Sugaree" and did a fantastic job. I predict that, with time, she will develop into a tremendous asset for the group. Bobby strapped on an acoustic guitar and picked out a sweet "Friend of the Devil" that turned the sprawling concert field into one big sing along. Phil stepped up next for a thumping "Alabama Getaway", before the whole band dropped into the set closing "Viola Lee Blues". This "Viola" was short and punchy, clocking in at just under ten minutes and left quite a few heads being scratched as the band left the stage for set break.
A brief time later the band reemerged and jumped into Phil's anthem, "Box of Rain". After this one chugged to an end and they debuted the instrumental "Black Muddy River". This was obviously a nod to Garcia, and seemed fitting coming out of "Box", the song it shared the last encore with. Bobby quickly began strumming out a familiar chord and the band leaped into "Sugar Magnolia". Herring's lead playing led the way as the tempo of the set began to pick up. Phil stepped to the mic once again and led the way into a long "Unbroken Chain" the jam trailing along as the drummers gave way to a space segment. Joan Osbourne added some jazzy vocals during "Space" and it was the perfect touch. The rhythm devils took their turn steering the thunder for awhile, while the rest of the band took a quick break. Upon their return the Dead obviously meant business as they dropped the trademark opening lick of "Dark Star" on the Bonnaroo crowd, who reacted joyously. Phil, Joan, and Bobby all shared vocal duties and the band stepped into an exploratory jam. Slow and spacey, the jam drifted into "China Doll" before returning back to "Dark Star". Ready to barrel towards the set's conclusion, the unmistakable opening notes to "St. Stephen" rang out and folks who had been slumbering near the back of the crowd due to a weekend's worth of exhaustion, lept to their feet. The jam was rocking, and worked it's way through the recently dusted off "High Green" section of the tune, not played live since the late sixties. The band flowed effortlessly into "The Eleven" and those who realized their time in this mythic never-never land was coming to an end stepped up their dancing. "I Know You Rider" came barreling out of the end of "The Eleven" and the whole band and crowd joined voices one more time, the classic "headlight" line bringing a smile to everyone's face. The band exited and Phil made his customary organ donor talk, before the group arrived for one last song to leave the crowd with. Bobby gently strummed out the beginning chords of "Attics of My Life" and joined voices with Phil, Joan and Rob one last time. Some began to head for their cars while others stood and squeezed the one next to them. Everyone shared the same tired but contented smile.
Monday, June 16th, 2003
We filed out of the main stage area with the other thousands, minds completely blown. As we hiked one last time back to the campground we could do little more than smile. We waited a little bit, for our whole group to return to say our goodbyes. Not trying to overheat the Volkswagen in the afternoon traffic later on, we were bouncing. Hugs and smiles were exchanged, and everyone vowed to do this again next year. Pete climbed behind Pearl's steering wheel and we were off, creeping through the campgrounds for less than a half an hour before we were on the highway racing through the Tennessee night. Pete drove for awhile and we crashed out for the rest of the night at a rest area. I pretty much slept. I figured out that from Wednesday to Sunday I got ten hours of sleep, so I was pretty pooped, but happy as hell. Arriving home just before midnight, I drove the last four hours home from Charlottesville with abandon, looking forward to a hot shower and a warm bed. More than anything though, I began looking forward to next year's Bonnaroo.
Aaron Hawley knows he screwed up by not going last year, and will never let it happen again.