Friday in Manchester, Tenn., dawned steamy as a veggie corndog, and Bang Bang Bang’s Ben Brown, braving the heat and humidity in tight jeans and black boots, wasn’t happy about it. The shaggy-haired guitar player pined for shorts and flip-flops, but, as he put it, “I can’t let them see me in my hippie clothes.”
For a performer, navigating a festival such as Bonnaroo requires a delicate balancing act between practicality and coolness. With the heat (oh, the heat!) and the dust and the hippies (though fewer than last year), the landscape is a potentially treacherous one for playing it cool—though sweat and dirt will do wonders for an indie-rock coif. In theory, this kind of environment calls for microfiber, bucket hats and those spray bottles with the little plastic fans on them. Not to mention gallons of water and ample rest.
Everyone at a summer festival wrestles with some version of this quandary, though for the masses it more closely resembles a war between practicality, fun and sound bodily heath. Water or beer? Sun-drenched seat with a great view of Caleb Followill’s bulge or that lovely shaded spot with the tantalizing vista filled with what look like ants playing what look like guitars? Head back to the car to refuel, or keep allowing your brain to get mind-fucked by the grandiose awesomeness of Tool?
But for artists, it’s a whole different game. Maybe the guys in Gov’t Mule can get away with cargo shorts, but for those beyond the jam-band realm, it is necessary to maintain a bit of mystique, a tad of that rock star distinction. There is something just plain wrong about the idea of Wayne Coyne in Birkenstocks, cut-off shorts and a DMB T-shirt. And it’s hard to imagine anything more distressing than Tool’s Maynard James Keenan sporting a CamelBak, baseball cap and sarong.
Obviously, there are intersections of items and looks both functional and fashionable. The bandanas employed by many to protect their lungs from the ubiquitous dust ended up looking sorta train-heist hipster. The French cuff (which you may or may not remember from junior high) is apparently back. Let’s just call this style, in which jeans are rolled to mid-ankle, the indie-rock capri. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah frontman Alec Ounsworth, who spent the weekend wandering around the festival, embraced the F.C. and also sported a wide-brimmed straw hat that was more Huckleberry Finn than Phishhead. Lily Allen topped her trademark high-tops—white Air Jordans this time—with a series of light, colorful sundresses. And Sting played a pan flute. (Seem irrelevant? It was.)
For Bang Bang Bang, it’s all about the Southern rock style. The local boys, playing their first Bonnaroo as a unit, were kind enough to let me tag along with them on a fair share of their adventures. And though they’re some of the least pretentious rockers you’ll ever meet, they nonetheless struggled with this same dilemma: everyone—with the exception of frontman Jaren Johnston, who had donned some recently procured American flag sneakers—was suffocating their southernmost appendages in leather boots and slim-fit jeans.
But it worked: between the shiny laminates, form-fitting shirts and rocker shades, these guys looked the part. Out in the throng, festivalgoers approached them, asked about their band and were encouraged to show up for their set. Maybe sweat and discomfort are simply the penance paid for getting to play rock ’n’ roll for a living.
As for me, I also have a cool job (and one that presents its own minor dress-code limitations: they probably would have frowned upon a bikini top and body paint in the media tent). And following around a local band at a major summer music festival was definitely one of the coolest things I’ve done in this employ. So overall, I was feeling pretty good.
Then, sitting around Bang Bang Bang’s van early Friday afternoon, the sun beating down, I realized it was about time to reapply some sunscreen. That whole process, what with the squirting, rubbing and the inevitability of having to ask, “Did I get it all? Is there any white on my forehead?” is decidedly practical, but undeniably uncool.
All that was a necessary evil, but then I arrived at my very own tipping point: who was going to do my back? Letting myself charbroil was out of the question, and the DIY method had serious drawbacks, including some of the Picassoesque abstractions I saw on people’s inflamed, exposed flesh throughout the weekend. So I did it: I asked the band I was covering for some help applying Banana Boat SPF 15 Sport to my back and watched as we all teetered on the precipice of cool. They looked at each other. I looked at them. They looked at me, then looked away. Finally someone came to my aid. Of course I won’t say who—I’m too cool for that.
For a rundown of the weekend’s music, including Cold War Kids, The Hold Steady, Hot Chip Tool, The Flaming Lips and more, check out The Spin.
Comments (0)