My first festival was a huge one at a racetrack in Watkins Glen, NY with The Allman Brothers, The Band and The Grateful Dead. With no clue what to expect, I brought nothing but a sleeping bag, which I promptly lost, along with my virginity. I remember rain, mud and a Dead sound check that was über-psychedelic. I think the tickets cost under $20 for the whole shebang.
Festivals were few and far between in those days. There was the Dead at Englishtown in ‘78, and the surreal US Festival in southern California in ‘82, but not many. Mostly I toured from theater to arena to shed to stadium to catch the music. After the show we’d usually head on to the next town, right behind the band’s buses, sleeping in the car when we weren’t behind the wheel. For multi-night runs, we’d share a cheap hotel room or “camp” in a nearby park.
Going with my wife and kids was a different kind of tour experience. Partying all night and sleeping ‘til showtime became a thing of the past. We had to reserve our energy for chasing the kids around the parking lot and keeping track of them during the show. We’d stay for a night here and there, take our time, miss a show or two.
Sometimes we’d have to navigate tricky waters, like temporarily losing a kid (as I did once at Gathering of the Vibes) or explaining the bizarre behavior of adults. It seemed pointless to attempt to shelter the kids from the tweakers and peakers as long their ears were protected from the speakers. Usually it all went down pretty smoothly. Occasionally someone would ask, “How could you bring your kids to a concert?” As if I was hanging them over the balcony rail!
Sharing the music keeps it alive.My teenage daughters covet my threadbare concert t-shirts from the 70s and 80s. My 7 year old son sings Beatle songs in the bathtub. Now they “take” me to see Radiohead and Green Day but have plenty of Hendrix and Zeppelin on their iPods.
Bringing kids (of any age) may help teach them how to behave at a concert, so maybe the fascist rules we sometimes have to endure would relax a bit...I prefer being treated like an adult.
Now my kids say they want to go to Bonnaroo, but I don’t think it’s such a great idea. It requires a ton of endurance and I also saw some pretty sketchy stuff I wouldn’t necessarily want my kids exposed to.
To me, High Sierra is the crown jewel of music festivals. Way up in northern California, it’s the antithesis of Bonnaroo—intimate, sweet and serene. But don’t even think about going. You wouldn’t like it. The campgrounds and stages are nice and easily navigated. The organic food is priced right. The portos and the free showers stay clean. The bands take up valuable space by camping onsite, and there’s way too many happy hippies with families hangin’ out, havin’ agood old time.
If you’re an old pirate like me, the place to be is Jamcruise! 5 days and nights on the high seas with endless music and your comfy cabin just a short stumble away where there’s a bed to crash in after hours and hours of dancing. Get a babysitter for this one. |
