From Mumford & Sons to Slayer, Bonnaroo Goes Eclectic on Day 3

Headlining the biggest stage on Saturday night is the crown jewel for young bands at Bonnaroo, unifying festival-goers and superfans in a field illuminated by glow sticks and rope light poles. And during Mumford & Sons predictably emotional What Stage performance — a makeup show of sorts for the headlining spot they had to pull out of in 2013 — fans were passionately singing along, feeling the touch of melody and harmony to their tinder young hearts. The crowd seemed almost as into as the band members (especially singer Marcus Mumford), who emote an almost comical amount of melodrama during their maudlin how-Brits-hear-Americana anthems and new guitar-rock songs.

We were mostly there because What Stage was conveniently located next to the place we wanted to get slice of pizza and a fresh beer. We took in the environment of the huge rural amphitheater, noting that The Mumfords really took to heart their role in the fest. They earned cheers by mentioning their love of Tennessee and citing Nashville as their songwriting home away from Jolly Olde England. They brought out actor/musician Ed Helms to play banjo as their celebrity cameo segment. Inspired Bonnaroovians launched paper sky lanterns to float their way into the midnight darkness. It really was the most ideal setting that the band could have hoped for. Of course, it would have been a lot better had we actually been as impacted by the band's songs one way or another , but they didn't do much to stir our souls. And that's the thing about Mumford & Sons, it's kind of hard to buy their schtick of knocking over drum kits, spitting in anger and getting red-faced with each crescendo of each artifice-driven torch-grass tune if you're not way into the music.

We recognized songs like "I Will Wait" and the 2009 megahit “The Cave" many times over, as to us so many of these tunes — songs constructed as sing-along moments to make backpacked fest-goers sway with friends and loved ones — sounded exhaustingly samey. Then again, we'd just come from seeing Slayer, another samey band you kind of have to like to love live. As we admired the moment that would no doubt be the 2015 Bonnaroo pinnacle for many fans in the audience, we nearly stumbled into a guy escaping the mob. He was making a B-line for the port-a-potty. With him, he carried a giant stuffed yellow Despicable Me Minion that was wearing a Rasta hat with faux dreadlocks. Our attention divided from the choir of Roovians, we followed his lead and got in line for the foul booths of human waste where we could pee.

We missed much of the five song encore standing in line, hearing the echoes bouncing off the wall of the temporary crappers and hoping that our bladders could manage the pressure. When the valve had been released and our tank was empty, we wondered back to out worn down knoll to catch the finale. We didn't know what might be the last song of the night for Mumford, but we knew the finale had to be big. And they did go big. The stage was busting at the seams as the Brits brought back out special guests like Hozier and Helms and members of Dawes and My Morning Jacket to cover “With a Little Help From My Friends.” The scene looked like a recreation of the photo from Sgt. Pepper's for the AOR Bonnaroo generation, even though they were playing the Joe Cocker arrangement of the song. If Mumford's goal was to give the people what they wanted, they did it with craft and zeal.

Speaking of Hozier, if the British singer-songwriter's appearance earlier on The What Stage is anything to go by, his confidence that his intimate material would translate to large festival crowds was well-placed. The 25-year-old may have a little room to grow in the art of playing host, but once his voice and his songs started working their magic, he had the crowd in the palm of his hand. With his entire band doubling on vocals, their sophisticated yet highly approachable blues-driven songs  became a sort of secular hymn sing, especially the massive hit and set closer "Take Me to Church."

But for old-school Bonnaroo vets (and certainly some converted 'Roo newcomers), Saturday night What Stage belonged to fest vets My Morning Jacket. The band's set slated to commence at the stroke of sundown, ‘Roo vets — hell, they're instaROOtions at this point — My Morning Jacket kicked off their What Stage performance with “Believe (Nobody Knows)” from this year’s The Waterfall, a somewhat Who-like number with grand keys and drum fills and sky-reaching arena-rock vocals. About those vocals: Frontman Jim James, looking as wild and woolly as a young Jerry under a pair of shades, reminded the steadily filling What Stage crowd whose first rodeo this ain't. James’ impossibly high falsetto riffing is MMJ’s version of pyro, and it was on display with tunes like “Wordless Chorus” from 2005’s Z.

It was crowd sing-alongs and pogoing bodies from straight out of the gate, and after three songs, James donned that psychedelic cape and hung-around-his-neck Roland sampler of his. (Yes, that’s a thing he does.) There was virtually no banter throughout the course of MMJ’s two-hour set, nor were there any breaks longer than just a few seconds between James and fellow guitarist Carl Broemel’s long — sometimes very long as the set wore progressed — spacey noodle jams. The Kentucky natives are seasoned pros, and they know how to pack a punch in little time, reaching as far back as 2003’s It Still Moves for a couple of songs. But as the set moved past the 90-minute mark, it was time to head to Slayer.

The apprehension was at an all time high for the fish-out-of-water thrash titans, since we were really only seeing two guys who played in the band's classic lineup. Since the parting with drummer Dave Lombardo and the loss of founding axe shredder Jeff Hanneman to liver failure two years ago, we hadn't been able to catch metal warlords on stage. There was a boulder in our stomach as we took our position next to the stage right barricade. Would they still have the right sound? Would they feel like a dog-tired tribute band? Were Bonnaroovians capable of a proper circle pit? The hoarse chants of “SLAY-ER! SLAY-ER! SLAY-ER!” crescendoed and we caught a glimpse of Kerry King's horned headstock. They fired up went to work making us feel like fools for doubting. The guitar of Exodus's Gary Holt held fast to the signature twisted toned, screaming solos and raging riffs. Tom Araya, now fully grey-bearded looked like a mad prophet of doom, shouting into the mic with a newfound zeal. They rarely paused, playing all mellow-harshing the crowd pleasers — “Dead Skin Mask,” “Raining Blood,” “South of Heaven,” “Angel of Death” — faster, louder and nastier than in our wildest dreams. And thousands did bark along with Araya while moshers kicked up a tornado of dust in the pit. We hated to see it end, knowing we had to scamper over to the What Stage and catch a much less thrilling and much less potentially life-threatening band. After all Slayer rules! And nobody has ever carved “MUMFORD & SONS” into their arm with a razor blade. But we wouldn't be surprised if somewhere out there exists a Sturgill Simpson fan willing to go to such lengths for their favorite "Great White Hope of Country Music."

Along with Kacey Musgraves, Sturgill Simpson was the other major country up-and-comer to ditch LP Field for Manchester this weekend. The irony, in Simpson's case, is that the surrounding acts made him sound hardcore trad-country (though the drug references went over without any suspense). Frankly, though, we bet Simpson would go over like gangbusters in either venue: all you have to enjoy are songs full of uncensored shot-from-the-heart truths, Simpson's rugged vocals, and a galloping band led by a speed-demon slide guitarist who can be Speedy West or Duane Allman as the occasion demands. Still, it was awesome to see the Sturge overkill a huge That Tent crowd waving unicorn heads on poles and stuffed raccoons with such 100-proof honkytonk music.

Where a a proven festival band like My Morning Jacket thrives in an environment like Bonnaroo, Belle & Sebastian is the kind of group probably best seen at their own headlining gig. The Scottish indie-pop stalwarts' Saturday set at This Tent leaned heavily on material from their latest, the Studio 54-styled Girls in Peacetime Want to Dance, which dials back the guitars — never very loud to begin with — letting the rhythm section lead. Despite dapper frontman Stuart Murdoch — perhaps the only person ever to look decent in a fedora — and his bandmates' best efforts to fit in with the festival-going crowd, the lyrical and musical nuances of their erudite hopeless-romantic rock went over the heads of the good chunk of audience members too young to remember 1996, when If You're Feeling Sinister came out to breathless acclaim. Gathered on the grass at stage left, they didn't seem to know quite what to do with this music — though to be fair, nothing about B&S is remotely psychedelic. It is worth noting, though, that among fans front, 2003's ultra-melodic Dear Catastrophe Waitress appears to have usurped Sinister as the consensus favorite, songs like "I'm a Cuckoo" and the undeniable "Piazza, New York Catcher," which Murdoch dedicated to his wife, earning the warmest 'Roo reception.

Earlier in the afternoon, the heat and humidity was making it tough to get our asses in gear, but some electric desert music from Mali's Songhoy Blues, who met in exile in the south of the country after Islamic fundamentalists took over their homeland in the north, was just the kick we needed. Those who braved the heat for the set, one of a much smaller bill of world music than usual, were treated to a performance even more urgent than their fine album, Music in Exile. Bombino is a great reference point for their sound, but Songhoy Blues borrows more from American blues, then cranks the speed knob to 10 and rips it off.

Those who weren't daunted from Rhiannon Giddens' soul-stirring afternoon set by blazing sun — the crowd filled in the scarce shade so precisely it looked like a kid's salt map of South America — got essentially two shows in one. Giddens was backed by all herbandmates in the Carolina Chocolate Drops, and their instrumental prowess only underscored how thoroughly Giddens and her fog-cutting voice inhabit any idiom you care to name — folk, country, NOLA jazz, gospel, even Celtic balladry — without coming off as a tourist. 

We don't envy anyone who has to follow Rhiannon Giddens, but Kandace Springs was ready. Accompanied by DJ Simon Says, the Nashville-born singer wowed the crowd in the On Tap Lounge with a jaw-dropping exhibition of her range, sliding from funk to jazz to bossa nova to pop in the blink of an eye, handling her own "Love Got In the Way" and Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me" with equal poise. Oh, and did we mention her keyboard skills are top-shelf as well? Don't say we didn't warn you: keep your eye on Springs.

East Coasters Woods, who also played midday at This Tent, began on a lark in '07 with a home-recorded LP, At Rear House, that transcended its shit-fi sonics with flat-out great songs. Eight albums down the line — nearly one a year — Woods haven't so much changed their sound as refined it ... you know, like real bands do. Whatever it is with indie/punk dudes embracing classic rock and/or the Dead as they get older — Malkmus, Ranaldo and so on — this group, some of whose members came up in the early-Aughts post-hardcore band Meneguar, plays that game the right way. Their performance Saturday felt thoughtful and considered, bridging loose West Coast psych — think Brian Jonestown Massacre — and power pop stylings a la The La's with intricate, singsongy clean leads reminiscent of their New Jersey pals Real Estate, even the occasional ten-minute Crazy Horse riff-off. Perhaps indicative of their underrated status they used the generous headliner-length set time especially wisely. Unlike some less established bands at Bonnaroo — looking at you, Iceage — who built their sets around as much midtempo material as possible, not because it's their strong suit, but simply to fill the hour, Woods did it all — and did it well.

"That's fucking weird — I love it," said War on Drugs frontman Adam Granduciel from the Which Stage after spotting a stuffed horse head that was being hoisted aloft on a PVC pipe by an audience member. That was pretty much the only intro — and the most banter we got all set — before onetime Kurt Vile collaborator Granduciel and band kicked off with “Arms Like Boulders” from 2008’s Wagonwheel Blues. The heartland-rocking six-piece rolled smoothly through its tuneful mid-tempo songs, and occasional breezes rolled mercifully through the uncovered, sun-baked Which Stage viewing grounds. Before we headed to the show, an acquaintance asserted that Granduciel sounds like Don Henley. While, sure, The War on Drugs, ahem, take it easy with their laid-back brand of rock ‘n’ roll, it sounds a bit more Petty than Eagles to us. "Red Eyes” from last year’s Lost in the Dream, with its ’80s-Bruce-era synths, catchy inter-verse guitar hook and saxophone blasts, was an absolute highlight.

The big news out of The Comedy Theatre yesterday was the surprise appearances of Zach Galifianakis and Jon Hamm; Galifianakis appeared to be workshopping some new material, read-out-of-a-notebook style, and Hamm popped out for just a minute to throw gummi bears into Galifianakis’s mouth like a circus act! That’s it! Leave ‘em wanting more! Not every joke Galifianakis  tried worked out — the one about doing a short film with Peter Dinklage was met with cheers and applause rather than laughs — but the crowd was so hyped for the treat that pretty much everything he did was applauded. 

This happened right in the middle of the Chris Hardwick, April Richardson set. Richardson had some jokes about some Southern stereotypes being true (she’s from Georgia and described her stepdad’s mustache as “mouth curtains”) and how dark the evolution of The Joker is in all of the Batman films — He goes from defacing art and dancing to Prince to just mowing people down in the street. And it feels like Hardwick has been around a lot lately; he was hilarious last year at TPAC, and I really liked his stuff about how he dealt with the grief of his father passing. When a friend asked if there was anything could do, he asked if he could bring his dad back.

Mark Normand, Jeff Ross, and Ralphie May performed earlier in the day, with perhaps Ross having the strongest act. He pulled a BUNCH of people up on stage to do a quick roast of each of them. They were mostly good sports (a teacher! a pretty girl! a couple of guys in bands!) but one guy got his thrown snatched away and thrown into the audience, and some motherfucker wearing a cape just kept showboating. Hard to roast someone who lacks an innate sense of shame. Norman and May had more traditional stand-up sets, with Normand crowing about a Magnum condom fitting, which is the male version of Cinderella, and May being very excited about a young artist member named Charlie, which is a man’s name. There are too many Skylers around today. (Agree!) 

Back in the land of music, the mix of horns, drums and guitars outpouring from The Other Tent sounded as if we were in store or an eclectic and funky jam. As it turns out, London-based producer/DJ Jamie xx just tweaks a great live mix, but there was a good bit of grumbling in our midst that it wasn’t the full band with whom xx is often seen playing. The daylight killed the more immersive qualities Bonnaroo DJ sets tend to carry. While this was by all means a great set of contemporary dance and house music, we treated more like a pre-game pool party (minus the pool) and a warmup for the long night ahead. 

Atomic Bomb! Who Is William Onyeabor?, the all-star touring tribute to the singularly spectacular electronic funk of the reclusive Nigerian musician, was exactly the presentation that this vital ass-shaking and mind-fucking music deserves. Memphis-born free-jazz legend Charles Lloyd started the evening with a solo that segued into "Good Name," and things got heavy from there. Luke Jenner from The Rapture and Nashville-via-U.K. psychedelic neo-soul goofball Jamie Lidell took vocal turns, with Lidell leaning way into the part. Later, Nashville MC Mike Floss came out and dropped a deft rapid-fire verse that touched on love, sex, politics and the rap game in less than a minute. LCD Sound System's drummer Pat Mahoney and Sinkane on bass anchored the rhythm section, while Sinkane sideman Ahmed Gallab shined in the role of coordinator. No wonder Money Mark did a handstand before the whole thing was over.

A great deal of our night was a disorienting cascade of light and sound at radically varying volumes, speeds and frequencies filtered through the backdrop of unwashed bodies wriggling with carefree abandon. Vibrating at a very low frequency, Bay Area jamtronica trio Tycho was by far the least assuming and confrontational. With a backdrop that vibed like a computer-generated sunset, Tycho’s ambient drift and pulsating washes of synth and guitar were like pristine waves lapping over a dirty, sun-scorched beach.

The brightest and loudest set of the night — and possibly that The Spin has actually ever even seen — was EDM luminary Bassnectar. Starting up on The Which Stage at 1 a.m. on the dot, this blinding, deafening spectacle seemed to impede every other sight and sound in its path, luring us halfway across the farm to inquire about the commotion. Even from over a hundred yards back, we could practically see the low frequencies swimming around our heads, our bodies rattling and pupils attacked by an incredibly disorienting and fully immersive happening. Frankly, it was too intense. After just 30 minutes, The Spin’s cognitive capacity was reduced to that of a geriatric Alzheimer’s patient as we wondered lost in literally any other direction.

Basnectar has become as much of a fest tradition as sunburns and meals served on a stick. If we hadn't been able to hear it, it may have been a lot more fun. In spite of how much we really didn't want to listen to it, we took the moment to give our calloused feet a break from the mud and stony paths and took in more the mass exhibition of drunks dancing to rhythms that seemed to have little to do with the music assaulting them from the speakers. The buzzing booms made us think back to the days of trunks being rattled loose by dollar-bin booty bass compilations. We knew it had gone too far when the EDM star sampled Pennywise's “Bro Hymn.” The 1991 cargo shorts punk anthem was just enough to make sure that we never ever wanted to hear Mr. Nectar's Bass ever again.

Still touring behind last year’s Black Messiah — his first record in 14 years and The Spin's absolute favorite comeback album of the past, oh, close to ever — D'Angelo and his Vanguard drew a thinner crowd than we expected to This Tent at 1 a.m. Perhaps Bassnectar was siphoning off would-be attendees. Whatever the case, D’Angelo, clad in a coat and a wide-brimmed Val Kilmer-as-Doc Holliday hat, appeared a full 35 minutes behind schedule to an instrumental jam that ended with a full stop, giving way to “Ain’t That Easy.” If D’s crew was tweaking sound during that half-hour delay, it sure as hell did the trick: The Vanguard — featuring roughly 11 players and singers, among them legendarily prolific sidemen like Pino Palladino on bass and Chris Dave on drums — sounded unbelievably crisp, clean and loud, even if Bassnectar’s throbbing sounds bled over a bit from Which Stage.

It’s hard not to draw comparisons to, say, Prince or James Brown — particularly within the realm of R&B, soul and funk — when talking about as seamless and talented a bandleader, instrumentalist, vocalist and master of ceremonies as D’Angelo … but the adroit mic-stand moves he pulled off during “Sugah Daddy” were definitely in that league. D’s all-killer main set featured the jittering “Betray My Heart," the insanely complex Latin-jazz riffing of Voodoo’s “Spanish Joint” and an absolutely balling “Really Love.” Showcasing those bandleader skills once more, D’Angelo closed out the set with a bit of stump-the-band cues: He’d throw up two fingers, they’d blast two notes in unison on the downbeat; he’d throw up five, or seven, or three fingers, and they’d match him perfectly. Truly energizing and inspiring stuff. As the band left the stage at 2:30, we wandered away, no clue that just a few minutes later D’Angelo and the Vanguard would return for an encore that stretched past 3 a.m. Fuck!

While it was past the witching hour in greater Centeroo, over at The Other Tent a grab-bag host of musical notables were turning back the clock for an '80s-themed Superjam, drawing a crowd of thousands that quickly overwhelmed the tent area, leaving little in the way of sightlines. Like all Superjams, this year's had its highs and its lows. Some things worked very, very well, enough for us to forgive what was supposed to be an '80s throwback show starting with Notorious B.I.G.'s "Juicy." Asking Rhiannon Giddens to sing "Roxanne" and giving Chance the Rapper and Jurassic 5's Chali 2na an opportunity to throw down on classic hip-hop and R&B material with a band of aces is never a bad idea. Late in the set, D.M.C. appeared, wearing a Nirvana t-shirt and spitting fire. He did a handful of Run-D.M.C. classics with Chali filling in for Reverend Run; they even did "Walk This Way" without a cameo from our nemesis, Steven Tyler. 

Several locals took the stage, including Courtney Jaye, who got a few bars into "We Are the World" before surprise guest Zach Galafinaikis cut her off. Cherub's Jordan Kelley and Jason Huber led a solid version of Cameo's "Word Up" synced to a Richard Simmons video. It was late and we were tired, but we LOLd a lot. Jaye and Cherub stayed on stage through most of the set. We'd have thought it was outside his wheelhouse, but Huber did a pretty damn good job with "Crazy Train" and "Enter Sandman." Jamie Lidell made his second appearance of the evening, and if anyone was born to sing "Sexual Healing" at Bonnaroo, it's him.

If anyone was an obvious second choice for something, it's Jack Antonoff to sing "Under Pressure" with SZA (who, for her part, was spot-on for Michael Jackson's "The Way You Make Me Feel"); if you need someone to sing a Freddy Mercury part, no one comes to mind quicker than Antonoff's bandmate in fun., Nate Ruess. Though the part didn't really suit him, Antonoff did a passable job with the song; nor did he do any real harm to Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer," Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark" or INXS' "Need You Tonight." Shit occasionally got real weird though: Corey Feldman showed up with his band and sang a verse and a chorus of "Eye of the Tiger," which we'd guess he's been waiting to do since 1982. There was also an unexplained trap interlude that clearly had nothing to do with the '80s. By 4 a.m., we were ready for it to be over, but all in all it was another Superjam worth remembering.

Across the park at That Tent, things peaked at a happy medium with 22-year-old Aussie producer Flume’s late night DJ set. Melding his own futuristic R&B grooves with popular jams, we were sucked into a movement of cooled down, water-colored visuals and infectious deep house augmented by a sea of young bodies twisting, popping and intertwining in all directions. Fume pushed on right up until about 4 a.m., which still seemed too early to quit for most of this crowd.