Just When You Thought It Was Safe: Festivitis Relapse

Let’s see: What could I possibly cover based on the last few weeks?
You know what needs more coverage?
MICHAEL!
Because I have so much to say that no one else has said, right?
Wrong.
I’ll repeat what I posted on my FaceBook: I find it odd that the entire world – or at least, all of LA, which is basically the same thing – made such a show of mourning a man they would not trust to baby-sit their children. Jus’ sayin’.

Will Steve McNair be remembered as the warrior we used to watch on Sundays – even when he didn’t play for our own team – or as a man who shoulda been home with the wife? Not to speak ill of the dead, but I adore my lady and have a difficult time deciding how to mourn a man I didn’t know when I’m aware that he left behind a wife and children to deal with the fallout of some highly questionable choices. There’s the tragedy. But the NFL would have us all “move on” to another subject. Why? For the same reason Michael Vick will be suspended for four games upon his return: Can’t have anyone talking about anything related to the NFL unless it’s all roses and white bread. We can’t have Vick’s return over shadowing the (surely) triumphant return of Tom Brady or even the potential unretirement of Lord Favre.

It seems that when our so-called “heroes” have fallen, people just… lose it. Maybe… we need to pick new heroes? Might want to start with someone you actually know - add more as needed.

There is another tragedy brought on by all of these celebrity deaths that no one but a select few seem to be mourning: Right when the American Media Juggernaut was just beginning to pick up on the situation in Iran, a few iconic figures died, with their collective celebrity literally covering just about every demographic imaginable. The news went from some hard-fought-and-won attention about the violence and the all out revolution in Iran to an occasional ticker item at the bottom of the screen – wouldn’t want to distract from the poignant and integrity-filled wisdom of Joe Jackson, now would we? Who is going to “remember” Neda if they never hear of her? (Warning – that links to video that is certainly not for children, nor is it for the faint of heart.)
I guess it’s true – if the American Media doesn’t hear it, a tree falling in a forest really doesn’t make a sound. In case you’re not paying attention, China: this means you, too.

Okay, seriously… enough. Serio. Ernsthaft. Alvorlig!

I’m moving on because I have to but I want you to know that the triviality of what I’m about to cover hurts my earballs:
Music. Music is… boring.
Really, really boring right now and I’ll tell ya one reason why: The shows suck.
I wrote a blahg last year around this time titled, Festivitis. When I wrote it I honestly never anticipated going back to any festival again. Then… life happened.

Let me just say that unfortunately for the performer and the concertgoer in me, Cornerstone ‘09 was my reintroduction to Festivitis – and I had a pretty brutal outbreak. Apparently it’s like LSD – one can have a relapse of it years down the road. Maybe the harmful agents stay stored in your fat cells - that would explain why my latest relapse was so strong, I have plenty.
Like all viruses (at least, according to the science that I’m using for this next statement) Festivitis is always morphing, changing, adapting. It used to just cause extreme and traumatic sweatiness and discomfort - this latest strain hits the host with a severe case of apathy.

I hadn’t been in so many years and was really looking forward to it – more so than I’d anticipated. I was looking forward to familiar faces, familiar smells and even familiar drum circles. Then… I got to Cornerstone festival and a dirty mall broke out - who knew you could be so dirty after having not done anything at all worth noting? Had I not seen the pics on Facebook ten minutes after the fest, I might not remember that we’d ever played there later on.

The Stavesacre show was a great experience – even my harshest critic, Wifey, was impressed. (More on why I think the show was considered to be all that later.) Like Bellew said in the DVD that came out with the new E.P., “It sounds like we mean it.” Unfortunately, our show was only about an hour and a half of the festival – like an island of soul in a sea of, “Meh.”
The Crucified’s show was what it was – I’m not gonna lie, we were pretty tight and what have you, but it was a little awkward trying to really feel seventeen songs that were so much a part of my past the day after playing Stavesacre’s set full of music that I’m still passionate about right now as I write this. (I think August 14th with Demon Hunter & Living Sacrifice should be a little easier to focus on… plus, L.S. will be debuting material from their new album, “In Your Face, DEVIL!” - who wouldn’t be psyched for that???) Again – the show was a kind of an island in a big, boring sea of… what were we talking about again?
Oh, yeah. Anyway.
I’m also not saying that David Bazan’s show wasn’t great, because it was, or that the Living Sacrifice show wasn’t great, because it probably was (I was on a plane, but if I had to put money on it…) – I’m just saying that not much from the festival will stick with me, and that’s kinda sad.

Me and the Stavesacre boys used to dread C-Stone for all sorts of good reasons – the mud, the flies, the heat, the rain, the walking, the ruining of shoes, the constant repetition of the same conversation and exchange, etc.
Somehow… none of those reasons really applied to this year’s festival! And what’s worse than hippies?
When hippies are replaced with hipsters!
Believe it.

The weather was pleasant by C-Stone standards and the mud was minimal while we were there. I’ll be honest… I was kinda looking forward to getting smacked up by the heat or dodging the rain, just for old time’s sake. Plus: we were ready for it! Two hotel rooms and A/C cranked all day long while we’re at the festival. It was set up to be the best Cornerstone ever!
This year the old familiar heat, mud and humidity would have been a welcome relief, if you can believe that, anything familiar would have been welcome. It was such a strange experience – none of the comforting aspects, or even the annoying ones, were present. When held up to all the times I’ve played that place in the last 20 years, this one will be filed in my head as, “That One Time We Played Whenever That Was.”

First of all: Used to be that if you were lucky, when you got to Macomb you knew someone who had a hotel – or if your manager/booking agent cared at all about you & your sanity, they had a room or two booked for you in advance. But you had to have that handled months in advance, because if you rolled up on Thursday night of the festival there would quite literally be No Room Left At The Inn. (I’ve only slept on the grounds once – trust me, you’re motivated.) Once you got your hotel situation taken care of, it was all good. After the shows, there would literally be 20 or 30 bands - at least portions thereof – hanging out at the Days Inn. Even at the overflow “hotel” at the college, which was just like… Army barracks or something. There were bands on tour together, bands who had toured together in the past and hadn’t seen each other in months, or just… bands meeting other bands. It was a big community tailgate party, and it was fun. Bar-B-Q or pizza, there was plenty of food around and people hanging out talking stories and catching up.

Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One (of particular interest given the New and Improved Modern Bellew):
One year at C-stone, Bellew and I were going to meet Dirk and some of his buddies at their hotel room. We were standing outside the door, which was quite crowded with all sorts of the vegan/vegetarian types typically associated with mid-to-late 90’s Hardcore types.
A girl comes out to invite both of us in to have some pizza. She proudly declares, “Yeah, come on in. We have plenty of pizza for everyone. It’s vegetarian.”
Bellew smiles and says, “No problem. Be in in just a minute - but, hold on, I gotta go snap a baby squirrel’s neck first - something has to bleed before I eat.”
Her jaw dropped open and nearly hit the ground. Bellew just stood there, smiling. The deafening silence in the room was matched only by the avalanche of laughter I was helpless to contain.
Now… Bellew’s a vegan. Go figure.

I was looking forward to seeing what the new crop of bands came up with to keep themselves entertained in the off time. I once saw the paint job on MxPx’s van permanently destroyed when someone doused the whole thing with flour in the middle of the night; Stavesacre placed at least half a can of sardines and a couple eggs in key places (the vent on top of the van!?!?!? Never did get my props on that one) on the old Roadside Monument van; I seem to remember a trailer full of Adult Diapers… the list really does go on.
If any of that happened this year… I missed it. Maybe they have a booth designated for hijinx now?
I know things move on – I like that they do. But in Not So Fine ‘09… something was missing. Sure, maybe some people aren’t coming due to the recession, but I’ll tell you what I think the overwhelming issue is – and it ain’t that complex:
It’s Overkill.

The hotel was my first indication that something was funky. You could get rooms during the fest. Not even close to sold out. There were open rooms all over the place. There was NO ONE hanging out at the hotel except the two bands I was in and some of the crew from the encore stage where Stavesacre played. Aside from that, you’d have never known there was a festival happening just 20 minutes of rural back roads away.
It was… depressing, honestly.
Even the little gas station next to the hotel – aka “Where To Get Beer” – was closed and empty. That gawd-awful “Hardees” at the turnoff looked like it was closed… but it wasn’t, it was just empty. What gives?

Gather ‘round chiddren!
Once upon a time the best thing about the festival was finally being able to see some bands! Now, the problem with the festival is… all the bands. My good buddy Steve Dail said that he counted eighteen “Generator Stages” (as in, “Dude, we’ll just get a generator and do our own show in the back of your truck/at our campground/on a piece of wood!”) on the way from Main Stage to the Encore Stages.
Eighteen.
I don’t care what festival you’re talking about or how many people are playing at each of these “stages,” it really does not matter: I guarantee there aren’t eighteen bands in any given year that you, me or anybody “just missed” and really need to hear. That’s of course, a statement made with the idea that only one band is playing on each of those stages – not a chance. With all those stages, somehow there are enough bands to play on them for all but about 3-5 hours of sleepy time. It’s all Too Much Information from moment one – so even if some band turns out to be good, chances are they’ll be lost in the great wave of Nameless Faceless Bands That Should Be At Home Practicing.
The ratio of festival attendees to bands staying at the festival trying to be “discovered” has got to be about 50/50. The fact that so many of these bands are attempting to be discovered by playing the same cover of As I Lay Dying’s, “This Is Who We Are” (Hint… AILD can pull it off, your band that’s been together for three months? Not so much. Call it tough love.) is somewhat ironic, but nowhere near as much of a bummer as the cacophony that ensues when it’s happening from all four points of the compass simultaneously. Were I actually trying to watch a band on one of these stages it would be quite simply… hopeless.
Hey guys, next time – because of course, your band will still be here next summer after a year’s worth of touring and demoing out your material, perfecting your craft… right? – think about why the actual stages are so far apart… and give it a try. If there isn’t enough room for all of this crap, let the best band win.

Even the age-old tool of hype that labels spent so much time perfecting all those years – “buzz” – has been replaced with a constant barrage of flyers and hand painted signs because… there ain’t any more record labels!
I can hear the conversation now… “Should we print some stickers and advance CD’s, try and get them to the target demographic? Nah… who listens to CD’s anymore? Let’s just put 5,000 flyers up inside the 120ºF hot boxes known as Port-o-Pottys and call it a day!” Cause you know, when you’re holding up your trousers with one hand to keep them from the Organic Dipping Sauce that is somehow on the floor of every one of those damn things (Maybe the solution to what ails Rock and Roll is a pair of glasses and better aim?) and your other hand to stabilize yourself while standing up to do whatever you came to do, that flyer for “I Am the Crimson Swashbuckler” or whomever just catches your eye, you know? And the first thing you think when you leave that Box of Disease is: “Oh yeah, they’re playing at the “Jimmy Cracked Corn” stage. I’m there.”

I mentioned before that the Wifey said Stavesacre played a pretty great show. I’ll be honest – I heard that a few times, from completely different people. It was nice, humbling, encouraging but… Stavesacre discussed this amongst ourselves and came to a very honest conclusion:
We’ve played better.
Not being a jerk, being totally serious – we’ve definitely played better.
So why was this show so good to the few others who saw it?
Maybe the comment from Sam, the guy doing monitors, was a clue: “It’s just nice to have a pro band on here every once in a while.”

Look: Stavesacre is old, everyone knows this. We had our window and it’s about as close to being shut and sealed forever as it could be, but Stavesacre isn’t really the issue here: It’s the music.
People, the music is boring.
Maybe we stood out because we sounded different or approached our sound differently?
I hope that was it. That would be worth knowing. That would be a nice legacy to leave behind.
Or is it too out of vogue to want to leave anything behind in the first place?
There ain’t much sacred about music right now – is a great painting more or less powerful if the artist is there to describe every detail as he’s painting it, every nod to every influence, every flaw? Is anything surprising any more?
Nothing is really special – anyone can do anything at any time. Has that equated to a better overall music scene?
What about the next year of music will be so revolutionary as to transform next summer’s into something better, rather than worse?

You want to hear my description of the festival I waited 7 years to return to?
It’s too much of a not that good thing. A title fight of nothing but undercard matches.
Better: Imagine a five or six day-long fireworks show consisting of nothing but Piccolo Pete’s.

It’s a sad thing because you know what: Cornerstone used to be the standard. When compared with the lousiness, the marketing overkill, the boredom of all other festivals, Cornerstone was special. Now… this year, it just kinda felt like a festival in Illinois.
Sound fun?

Because I can’t find this year’s version of it, which was phenomenal:

Quickly:

On heavy rotation:

Loving the new Regina Spektor album, Far
Check out, “Laughing With” and “Human of the Year” - amazing lyrics, melodies. All that annoying stuff no one likes about music.

I’m still not supposed to admit it, but I love So You Think You Can Dance? - maybe because there’s really no faking it on a show that would cost the average watcher his or her achilles tendon in either foot if they attempted most of the moves at home. Plus… Wade Robson is a freak. And occasionally, the play some pretty decent music, too.

Also: I’m sure this has nothing to do with it, but I can’t stop listening to this song right now:

Hope you got through this all, as usual… for comments, please click here!