an epic experience: a day at Wakarusa 2006

First of all I am bound by solemn oath to tell you that Wayne Coyne descended from the storm clouds in a glowing crystal orb.

We arrived at the Wakarusa Music & Camping Festival on Clinton Lake west of Lawrence KS, Saturday around 10:30am. The festival was already 2 days old at this point but we were only there on day passes. In my twenties and maybe even thirties I would have probably done the whole four days, but those days are gone. The sad fact is I almost fogeyed out of the whole thing because I wasn’t sure I wanted to be outside in a crowd for a whole day. Wa-a-a-ah. Love of music won out; I was on a mission to see Camper Van Beethoven at 12:30, fill in the blank for 9 hours, then finish off with the Flaming Lips at 10:30 that night.

Camper Van Beethoven was setting up when we arrived in a prime spot at the front of the stage. Most of the ‘rusers were not out in force yet; presumably nursing hangovers in their tents or delaying them with Goldschlager, bocce ball and dips in the lake. Thus the crowd for Camper was criminally small. Lips Wayne Coyne and Mike Ivins were already hanging around the stage, despite not being scheduled to play for another 10 hours. Wayne, already wearing his pinstriped linen suit, even toted some equipment for the Campers.

I was surprised to find that St. Louis semi-legend and stageside dancing fixture Beatle Bob had crossed the state to assume MC duties for the festival, strolling briskly from stage to stage to introduce the bands throughout the day. After Bob’s enthusiastic intro, CVB started right on time with “Flowers,” and sounded great. Reeeeeeally great, as my friend Bill is fond of saying. By the time they launched into “Sweethearts” a bit later I had tears in my eyes as I leapt with uncontrolled joy.

They played a few songs from 2004’s reunion LP “New Roman Times,” and about midway through the set they covered the Clash’s “White Riot.” The Campers were only allotted one hour, and frontman David Lowery wasted little time on chatter. Too soon they had to go, finishing off with, of course, “Take the Skinheads Bowling,” “Pictures of Matchstick Men,” and a lovely new one, “That Gum You Like is Back in Style”. Still, sure would have loved to hear “When I Win the Lottery” or “I Was Born in a Laundromat.”

Here is the setlist, which I believe is more or less complete:

Flowers / The Long Plastic Hallway / Circles / All Her Favorite Fruit / Sweethearts / White Riot (The Clash) / I Was So Wasted / Shut Us Down / R ‘n R Uzbekistan / Might Makes Right (which I didn’t know at the time and heard as “My Big Trike”…don’t ask) / She Divines Water (a few more tears here) / Tanya / Eye of Fatima parts I and II (during which I cell-phoned friend Tom and which he probably heard as “BRAHBRABRAAAHBRABRAAAH”) / Tanya / Take the Skinheads Bowling / Pictures of Matchstick Men (Status Quo) / That Gum You Like is Back in Style

David Lowery stuck around for the next set—his post-Camper band Cracker. I’m not terribly interested in Cracker, so my sweetie and I headed up the hill to get some lunch. We sat on the ground listening to the Cracker set and enjoyed delicious (and reasonably priced) bowls of veggie peanut noodles and nourishing strawberry-banana smoothies before wandering into the Revival Tent for most of a rousing set by New Monsoon, a sort of newgrass / world music collective. Their 6-man lineup includes two percussionists, bass, banjo/acoustic guitar, a searing Santana-ish guitarist who also plays a mean mandolin, and a drummer who can seriously get down with the didjeridoo. They mixed originals with some fun covers like Led Zeppelin’s “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp” and Pink Floyd’s “Fearless”. I’d see ‘em again. Thanks to the tapers and BitTorrent I’ve enjoyed this show and their previous night's set a few more times since.

Next up was Andrew Bird, who I only knew as a former member of the Squirrel Nut Zippers. He’s come a long way from the somewhat gimmicky Cotton Club revivalist Zippers; his music is thoughtful and hypnotic as he creates live loops of plucked and bowed violin, often adding guitar, clear tenor vocals and whistling. He was accompanied by a drummer/keyboardist. Some of his material (and voice) reminds me a bit of Adrian Belew, and that’s a good thing.

We made the mistake, entirely my fault, of abandoning Mr. Bird early for the interesting-sounding-on-paper Gabby La La, back in the Revival Tent. She was billed as being “schooled in the fine art of sitar playing and Theremin spell-casting” and also supposedly “jams out on the toy piano, accordion, and ukulele.” I like quirky as much as the next guy, actually quite a bit more than the next guy, but what we witnessed was the worst sort of precious, self-indulgent artsy spew… and it wasn’t even done well! She attempted the self-looping accompaniment technique that Andrew Bird and Keller Williams have mastered, but she had trouble keeping up with herself. Imagine ten minutes of this repeated verse, done Yoko-style: “I want a (no idea here), I want a smiley face / I want to sing The Farmer in the Dell…” About fifteen minutes of Gabby was all we could take… but by that time Andrew was already off the stage, and we snacked on funnel cakes and more smoothies and headed back toward the campground as Gabby’s paean to her poodle blessedly faded away into the background —“Walkie walkie walkie / walkie walkie walkie / walkie walkie walkie / Knock, knock, who’s there?” I dunno, maybe it sounds better on CD.

Our aged bones needed a bit of a rest, so we took the 15-minute hike back to future-son-in-law Tim’s campsite. He was there for the duration, and it was nice to have a place to sit in a chair under a tarp and chill for a while. A long while, actually…

About two hours later we caught the shuttle bus back to the festival grounds with plans to sample Buckethead, Les Claypool and the Greyboy Allstars before the Flaming Lips show. The shuttle bus turned out to be a mistake… we discovered that things had gotten pretty drunk out there for a few people and they were ridin’ that bus loud n’ plowed. I feared at first that the Jäger Patrol was destined to queer the coolness from that point on, but luckily once we got onsite the groovy people outnumbered the frat types and all was well.

I only knew Buckethead by his reputation as a talented guitarist, and for his trademark of always appearing masked and wearing a KFC bucket on his head. We gave him all of about five minutes and he seemed to be just another empty noodler, a lotta fast notes and not much else. In hindsight (hindsound?) after downloading and sampling some of that day’s set I think I just arrived at the wrong time; a lot of it sounds pretty damn good… a lot better than what I was hearing right then. Also, I was grouchy after that bus ride and we were hungry. So we headed back up the hill for some yummy chicken and spinach grilled enchiladas.

We sat on the ground in our previous lunch spot and, once Buckethead was done hammering out triplets on the Sunup Stage, listened to the Greyboy Allstars on the Sundown Stage. They are a pleasant, skilled and funky band; nothing that really knocked me out but a nice accompaniment for people-watching as the evening approached. A bit later in the same spot we discovered we could hear the music from the two main stages, plus the Revival Tent, at roughly equal volume. Thus we listened to Les Claypool on the left, Greyboy Allstars on the right, and Railroad Earth in the tent behind. Not as bad a mix as you might think. Les Claypool’s band sounded interesting, but I just couldn’t muster up the motivation to brave the crowd just yet.

Wakarusa is the kind of festival where a guy can wear a skirt. I only saw one or two this time around but still, it’s that kind of festival. The girls mostly wore the standard jamband uniform—flowing skirts with halter tops, or backless dresses tied with string. I wondered aloud where all the girls got these outfits, like, is there a “Hippie Hot Topic” somewhere? (I’m clueless.) Later when we wandered the vending booths I had my answer. At least half of the 20+ booths sold clothing.

Random aside to a particularly interesting couple: she was dressed like Lewis Carroll’s Alice and he was wearing a filthy Santa suit. Filthy, as in the parts that were supposed to be fluffy white were basically flesh colored. Shudder.

Finally it was time to head down to the Sunup Stage to see just how close we could manage to get to the Lips. As I had hoped, a good portion of the Claypool crowd made an exodus as we snaked our way down. My sweetheart scoped out a pretty decent spot in the center and we stood firm and crossed our fingers. Alas, within a few minutes, with an almost audible “BARGE!” a crowd of folks slid in front and used up pretty much all the available oxygen, so it was time for us to move backwards. We found a good spot near the taper’s section and settled in.

A giant video screen was lifted into place across the stage. I’m not good with spacial estimation so take this with a grain of salt… maybe 20 ft high x 25-30 ft wide? Whatever… it was big. For the next 15 minutes or so accompanied by some excellent between-set music, the techs were adjusting the projector by attempting to align a test pattern. I started to suspect (and still do) that this was actually part of the show… at least it gave us something to watch. Bandleader Wayne Coyne was out on the stage during most of the setup, talking to techs and adjusting various equipment; from what I know of him this is typical behavior, no hanging out in the trailer for Wayne.

Once the camera was adjusted it was revealed that it was mounted on Wayne’s mic, giving us a giant, slightly fisheyed and video-feedbacked view of his face as he announced they’d be ready in a few minutes. Soon we were treated to the frightening vision of Beatle Bob’s giant, slightly fisheyed, etc. mug and nasal cavity when he introduced the band in the cheesiest possible fashion.

This is the point, dear reader, where Wayne descended from the storm clouds above Wakarusa and gently landed on the crowd… I swear it is the truth. In some alternate reality some may claim he was helped into a giant plastic bubble by a crew of folks dressed as space aliens and superheroes, while large block letters on the video screen invited us to “join with the Flaming Lips… in an epic experience… Fuck yeah!” This alleged bubble might have been inflated by a sort of a modified leaf blower. But all can agree that Wayne rolled out onto the crowd’s hands and heads and eventually back onto the stage, where they kicked into “Race for the Prize.”

As far as the show was concerned, it was possibly the most flat-out entertaining rock show I’ve ever attended. Vocally it was pretty rough… Wayne’s live voice really struggles, but if there is a man who has more fun on stage, anywhere, I’d sure like to see it. He led us in a singalong of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” the entire song, with the lyrics projected on the screen. What a blast… we’ve all done that in our cars; now we had the chance to join a crowd of several thousand shouting and singing at the tops of our lungs.

In order to encourage us to sing along to “Yoshimi,” Wayne worked a rubber nun hand puppet. Here came the tears again, but this time it was from laughing so hard. (To the taper furthest to the left: I’m sorry if our goofy laughs ended up all over your recording.)

Oh yeah, the music. Bassist Michael Ivins laid down a solid bottom. Onetime roadie and current touring drummer (and Lawrence native) Kliph Scurlock pounded out the beats mightily and well. And Steven Drozd did the rest—guitar, keyboards, backing vocals… that man seems to be the musical glue that holds it all together. And if you’ve seen the documentary “The Fearless Freaks,” or know anything about his struggles, you’ll join with me in hoping that he somehow manages to keep walking the planet.

The video screen played constantly; when it wasn’t filled with Wayne’s face it displayed everything from the Teletubbies to topless karate-kicking women. Onstage the crew of space aliens danced on the left while a herd of Santas bopped on the right. Confetti and hurled glowsticks filled the air. A planned onstage marriage proposal fell through. An unplanned marriage proposal was realized.

As I’ve written before, I saw the band almost 15 years ago and it was a completely different experience. That was the tail end of the dark psychedelic years for the Lips; Ronald Jones played REALLY LOUD SWIRLY GUITAR, Steven's drums attacked my ribcage and to put it bluntly, they just stood there and fucking rocked. No video, no effects—for me, more musically interesting (though painful). But the Flaming Lips of today are so full of joy that you just can’t help but be moved by them and join them in “an epic experience.”

The setlist: Race for the Prize / Bohemian Rhapsody / Free Radicals / Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (Pts. 1 and 2) / Vein of Stars / The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song / The W.A.N.D. / She Don’t Use Jelly / Do You Realize? / A Spoonful Weighs a Ton

By the end of the show I was drained and hoarse and ecstatic. The full moon lit our way back to the campsite, the car, and home. Apparently we were just old- and square-enough looking to avoid the heavy police scrutiny that marred the festival for some. Or maybe we were just blessed. We had rocked, we had danced, and it was good.