We drove into a monsoon around West Palm Beach. For the next several hours Mother Nature gave my windshield wipers a serious workout as we crawled along Snake Road into the Seminole Native American Reservation. Anna and I were sandwiched between late-model Mustang convertibles - college kids whom we later shared a camping row. Let's just say that these young people were not accustomed to camping etiquette in close quarters. In fact, let's be blunt - the next time I get stuck with a pack of loudmouth New York brats who narrate every minute of their three a.m. acid/mushroom/ecstasy trips within three feet of me (think: the Sopranos on LSD), I will personally locate the nearest dready pharmaceutical salesman and purchase one half-dozen vicodin tablets and force them down their dark-star-orchestra-ROCKED-dude throats and sit on their chests until Mister Sandman kicks in. I am too old to camp next to the loudest folks at the festival.
Other than tornado watches, high winds, rain, fire ants and jerks on drugs, Langerado was great. I promise.
Favorite performances:
- Sierra Leone Refugee All Stars. Really, I shouldn't complain about anything in life. The All Stars have suffered more than any of us ever will, and still make a joyful sound.
- Golem. Energetic klezmer punk from Brooklyn.
- Matisyahu. I must be going through my Jewish phase.
- Arrested Development. AD played "Tennessee" and "Mister Wendell", but their new material was great also.
- The Dynamites. Charles Walker sounds like a cross between Joe Tex and James Brown. His incredibly tight rhythm section got me dancing during the hottest part of the day.
I find myself skipping the bigger names and the jammiest bands more and more at festivals. I want to be surprised by something different.
Oh man, it's an hour later than I thought. Thank you, Daylight Savings Time.
Gotta run -
NTD
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