After watching How I Became the Bomb introduce their brand of neo-wave to a crowd dispersing from John Fogerty's mid-day hit-parade on the What Stage, we made our way over to the Which Stage to get our annual Ween fix. Ween is about as close to jam band territory as the Spin is likely to venture. They jam, but they're not a jam band. They're funny, but they're not a novelty band. They're prodigious musicians, but they're not a prog band. They cover "Enter Sandman," but they're not a metal band. They sing about children with spinal meningitis, but they are a party band.
As we came upon them, the band were in the midst of blazing through live staple "Voodoo Lady," the freak-out quality of which really made us lament that they were scheduled to play on Sunday, when we had committed ourselves to sobering up for our drive back to the 'Ville — the folks over at Southern Living had challenged us to a mud-humping contest the previous night and we lost, thus we had to make the drive home while blindfolded. Just kidding.
As always, Gene and Dean delivered a fine array of rock both hard and soft. With festival's end looming, we headed deep into the crowd to expel the majority of our rapidly diminishing energy supply among throngs of frolicking frappies — frat-boy/hippie hybrids — whose enthusiasm is infinitely less annoying when directed at bands we approve of. Either that, or Ween's existence is an elaborate scheme to trick us into dropping our pretension for long enough to be seduced into a free-spirited parallel dimension where our mounting toe-jam, matted tresses and moldy armpits don't bother us, and long guitar solos give us mega-boners. Unable to resist the power of vocal chameleon Gene Ween doing an uncanny Bowie impression on a hard-groovin' cover of "Let's Dance," we were convinced the metamorphosis was in full effect.
If we're lucky, we'll get to hear "Let's Dance" again at Bonnaroo 2011, when they get Bowie to appear as a headliner. It could happen, right?