If you need to catch up:
When we awoke at the hotel on Sunday morning, we asked ourselves a familiar question.
What comes first? What have we always said is the most important thing?
Breakfast?…. I was going to say family.
Oh, I thought you meant of the things you eat.
That’s right. We watched a couple of episodes of the brand new, highly anticipated fourth season of Arrested Development on Netflix. Right after we had breakfast. Because that really is the most important thing. It gives you the energy your body needs to start your day right.
We actually stayed up so we could watch the first episode at 12:01 am PST on Sunday. But I really wanted to use that breakfast joke so I shifted time, like a magician. It’s an illusion…. Come On!! It was such an exciting moment when we clicked on Recently Watched and all 15 episodes were there, ready for my love. Best show ever.
Thank you Mitch Hurwitz.
After lounging around for a few hours catching up with our beloved Bluths, we headed back out for Day Three of the Sasquatch Music Festival. Our fellow Grand Prize Winners, Amy and Joe were having lunch with the band Capital Cities, and then they were going to be on stage during the bands set. We told them we would be there to try to take some pictures of them whilst they were living like rock stars.
As we left the hotel, I got a text from Joe saying that there was a pretty bad car accident on the road that leads to The Gorge. They had to follow a detour down to Interstate 90 (which strangely enough, they don’t call the Mass Pike out there) and then back up another road. I figured by the time we got there it should be opened back up. I figured wrong. We had to take the same detour, which added about fifteen or twenty miles to our ride. They were still fifteen or twenty beautiful miles, but whatever.
We arrived at day parking, and headed into the festival. Once again, the VIP bracelets were right there waiting for us at the Customer Service booth. They really got their shit together after the first day fiasco. Then we headed down to check out Capital Cities. I heard a few songs from them while doing my due diligence research in preparation for Sasquatch. I didn’t really know what to expect. As Connie Bigs and I were strutting down to the main stage, a familiar song rang out.
Well you can tell by the way I use my walk,
I’m a woman’s man, no time to talk
That’s right. They tore into a kick ass version of my theme song, Stayin’ Alive, while I was already in mid-strut. When I was a ridiculously cute blue-eyed baby boy, my mother won the Saturday Night Fever album as a door prize at bingo. Mom loved gambling on God. Anyways lets just say I played the shit out of that thing. There may or may not have been a seven week period in early 1978 that I refused to answer to any name but Tony Namero, only because I couldn’t correctly pronounce Tony Manero. I already said that I was ridiculously cute, right?
The crowd was quickly filling up and dancing along. We walked to an area looking directly towards the stage. Amy and Joe were up on the side enjoying the show. I did that move that you do in a big crowd of people when you see someone you know. I threw my arms in the air and waved them all around as if I just didn’t care. As it turns out, that’s also the move people do when they’re at a concert and they’re enjoying themselves. So naturally they didn’t see us.
We decided to put our VIP status to good use and go up on the platform to watch the rest of the set. When I was just five or six years old, my late father, God rest his soul, told me that there were three rules that every man should live by:
- Never punch a baby in the face, or anywhere else for that matter, when you’re in a church.
- Always take your hat off for The Star Spangled Banner, or when a lady enters the room, or when you’re forced to beg for spare change just to survive when you’re living on the street because you never listened to a goddamn thing your father told you about anything.
- If you ever win an all expenses paid trip to the other side of the country to attend a four-day music festival, and you get a VIP bracelet that gets you access to the best viewing area in the place, use that motherfucker, motherfucker.
Dad was a wise man. Wise and salty. It may have partially been the whiskey talking, but I’d like to think it was also partially the sobriety talking, as well. Some people have a, “The Glass is Half Empty” mentality. I’ve always had a, “My Dad is Half-Sober” view of things. That’s just how I am. It’s how I was raised. Half Sober.
We went up on the platform and watched the end of Capital Cities. At one point, David from Bose saw us up there and pointed us out to Amy and Joe. They waved to us and we snapped a few pictures of them. At the end of the set, they went out the other side to the backstage area and we headed over to the Cliff House again to sit down and rest our tired getaway sticks. The rest of the night, we were going to be at the main stage, as the line-up went like this…
4:20 – 5:20 The Tallest Man On Earth
5:40 – 6:40 Dropkick Murphys
7:10 – 8:10 Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
8:45 – 10:00 Elvis Costello
11:oo – 12:30 Mumford & Sons
I have really gotten into The Tallest Man On Earth since I found out we were going to Sasquatch. It is the moniker for Kristian Matsson, a diminutive singer songwriter from Sweden. We got up on the platform about ten minutes before his set started and we got prime real estate right up front. He came out and did an absolutely outstanding set. One of my favorite performances of the weekend. It’s just him and his guitar, and his haunting voice. I strongly recommend giving him a listen if you haven’t already. You can check him out on YouTube I knew about him for two weeks and had already bought three of his albums. He’s a very talented individual and should be recognized as such.
This portion of “Let’s Try To Get The Tallest Man On Earth To Be Bill McMorrow’s New Best Friend” has been brought to you in part by Bose Stereo, the Amazon.com MP3 Store, and also, by Readers Like You.
After Tallest Man’s set, Boston’s own Dropkick Murphy’s took the stage. It was a weird grouping with Dropkicks placed between Tallest Man and Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros. It went from acoustic, to punch you in the throat for an hour, to fun hippie folk rock.
We once again had a prime spot for Dropkick Murphys set. Tim and Jeremy from Bose were up there too. It was a proud day for Boston. During their set I suddenly remembered that I was wearing my late brother in law’s Red Sox sweatshirt. Jimmy Gibbons passed away on March 15th of this year due to heart problems. He was 34 years old and a huge Dropkick Murphys fan. I took his sweatshirt off and hung it over the railing right next to the stage. My baby lady swears she saw Marcus Mumford take a picture of us displaying our Boston pride, from the sound booth. I prefer to take a “Connie Bigslob is Half Sober” approach to that. Hahaha.
I am not a spiritual or religious man, as you probably know by now. Nevertheless, Jimmy Gibbons was at that show with us. We both felt it, and he fucking loved it. Rock on with your bad self, Gimmy Jibbons! We miss you more than you would have ever believed.
The mosh pit during Dropkicks set was one of the most insane things I have ever witnessed firsthand, and I’m including both the Red Wedding and Hands Across America in that statement. Although I saw both of those first hand on television, and I’m pretty sure Game of Thrones isn’t a live show. I don’t even think they tape before a live studio audience, to be perfectly honest with you. I think you deserve that much from me at this point in our relationship. Perfect honesty.
In front of the stage was just a sea of bodies churning to the music. I was extremely glad to be watching it from a safe vantage point, as I am a forty-two year old gentleman currently without health insurance and an injured wrist. I can’t be bruising my sternum at a rock concert anymore. Sadly, that ship has sailed.
I realize some of you might think that makes me a pussy. But maybe you’d feel differently if I told you that I saw a thirteen year old girl throwing elbows in the pit and she seemed to be having the time of her life. Wait, that doesn’t help my cause. She seemed completely horrified and fearful for her life is what I meant to say. Stupid teenagers and their inability to grasp the concept of their own mortality.
Dropkick Murphys absolutely tore the dick off of Sasquatch, held it up so we could see it, and then smacked us across the face with it. And we thanked them graciously for it. Well, as graciously as you can thank someone after they’ve smacked you in the face with a big hairy dick.
We headed over to Cliff Bar again to have a drink and use the bathrooms. They advertise that they have “private bathrooms” but that’s bullshit. There were port-a-potties right outside of the entrance to Cliff House, too. As long as you used them while a band was still onstage it was fine. But as soon as a set ended, the line on that thing was like waiting to score playoff tickets. Or chlamydia. Or both.
We came back out for Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros. They were another band that I knew a few songs from going in, but wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. We watched half of their show from the platform. It was cool watching the people backstage. The road crews setting up and breaking down the gear, and all the other musicians just watching the show. During Edward Sharpe’s set, we saw most of Mumford & Sons, some of The Lumineers, and Stephanie Hunt from Nancy & Beth backstage singing and stomping along to the music. It was really cool to watch.
About halfway through the set, CBS had to use the bathroom again. I love her and her teeny-tiny lady baby bladder dearly, so I escorted her to the bathrooms, like a gentleman. It’s no big deal. Any boy who lost their mother at a young age and now has seriously repressed abandonment issues coming to light in a big bad way would do the same thing every time. It’s a textbook case.
Connie hit the head, as they say in the boat bathroom building business, and we watched the rest of Edward Sharpe from the front left side of the stage. Or stage left even, as Snagglepuss would say. Or is that stage right? Which is it when you’re looking at the stage? Where’s my drama nerds at?
Who cares, billmcmorrow.com, get on with the fucking story already. Some of us have lives to live.
They ended the set with a rousing rendition of Home. Everybody in the crowd was dancing and singing along. At the end of the song they came down with the microphones and asked if anybody in the crowd had a story that they wanted to share with everyone. It was kind of weird and corny, but it was also kind of really fucking cool. Fuckin’ hippies.
Elvis Costello was awesome, although we only heard him, as we were hanging out at Cliff House taking in the amazing scenery. He sounded fantastic. I wish we had actually watched the show too, but as I’ve said, a boy needs to rest sometimes when he’s at a four-day music festival with his lady-love. Even an older boy with haunting blue eyes such as myself.
Mumford and Sons headlined day three of the show. We decided to watch their set from up top on the grass hill. We figured it would be a much quicker exit from there as opposed to down by the stage. As we found a place to hang out at and watch the show from, I saw one of the most beautifully moving things I saw all weekend long. A sign that said, “Hot Coffee”. I felt as though I had struck gold, and it’s possible that I wept just a little.
As I’ve mentioned a few times, it was a fifty mile drive on dark, unfamiliar, windy roads. Since the local constabulary apparently has an issue with people chopping lines of cocaine to help stay awake all night, there were no, “Hot Cocaine” booths on the grounds. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there was cocaine for sale there. It was all just unsanctioned, black market cocaine. Where you never know what you’re going to get.
So caveat emptor, cokeheads.
I ordered a cup of coffee and talked to the people at the booth. For some reason, whenever I talked to people there, they would ask me where I’m from. Even though I was wearing Jimmy Gibbons’ Red Sox sweatshirt the majority of the time, they couldn’t guess. This was especially true whenever I bought a bottle of water.
The people at the coffee booth were extremely nice, and I told them about winning the trip from Bose, and the Lumineers meet and greet the next day. They may have been as excited as I was. I told them I would be back for another coffee before we left, because I was a forty something year old man and not a twenty nothing year old boy. Then I went back to settle in for Mumford & Sons.
Speaking of twenty somethings, Connie Bigslob made a new best friend while we were waiting for Mumford & Sons to start. Her name was Darcy, and she chose to walk around the festival in sweatpants and a bra swilling vodka out of a water bottle, because this is America for fuck’s sake. She was with a couple of her friends and they took to Connie like one of their own. Bigs is good like that, if you met her you’d immediately fall in like with her. But no falling in love, goddamnit. She’s mine, you son of a bitch! All mine!!
Yeah, we talked about the abandonment issues already too, right?
As we talked to Darcy and her friends, Connie Bigs kept yelling, “I want to be them! I want to be them!”, and I concurred wholeheartedly. Sasquatch! must be amazing when you’re at that age. Camping out and partying for four days of great music in such a majestic location. But that was then and this is now.
Boo to that, Bill McMorrow! Boo to that, indeed.
We left the show with about a half hour to go in Mumford’s set. Before you get bombastic on me, it was a hard decision to make, and I regret it somewhat. Because they were excellent. We found out the next day that Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros came out for a version of Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain. I would have loved to had seen that live, but I didn’t. Although I did watch it on YouTube, and it was great.
So I wished we had stayed until the end of the show, but we had been there for eleven hours, and to paraphrase the late, great Robert Frost, “Billy Berue and Connie Bigslob had fifty miles to go before they fuckin’ slept, and shit”.
Does that make me a pussy? Probably.
But I thought we already covered that.
Up Next, Part V:The Greatest Day That Ever Was!