ACL Festival 2006

Day 1

My eyes fly open at 9:13 with a sense of panic. Why didn’t my alarm go off? Aw crap. They’re going to close Barton Springs in a matter of minutes, my car is downtown and I’m pretty sure I’m still drunk. Dammit. This is one helluva way to start the weekend.

An hour later, I manage to get my car safely back home and infuse my seriously hungover system with some Maudie’s. But there’s no way I’m going to the festival yet.

In fact, I don’t feel quite human when I head down there around five. GWH is still in Alabama so I’m flying solo until the Van Morrison show. I watch Cat Power & The Memphis Rhythm Band and despite her penchant for really funny dance moves, she’s all right. I mean, she does this walk like an Egyptian thing that’s weird, and she seems a little bit depressed, what with the heavy black eyeliner and all, but it’s a good show. Her voice is amazing.

Then Los Lonely Boys are on the AMD stage, but I can’t find Sweet Thang and it’s time for food. Sorry, GWH—I know you love them—but alas, I do not. And, oh yeah, Los Lonely Boys? Stop beating up your women. A hot and crunchy avocado cone from Hudson’s on the Bend reanimates me and it’s time for my first beer of the day.

I grab one and go sit by the big map to wait for GWH. The weather is actually pleasant—shocking!—and I’m startled when some dude with a big moustache comes up and says something lame, like, “Is this the cooling station?”

It’s pretty obvious where I am…it’s the big landmark with a gigantic schedule on three sides and a map on the fourth. And yes, there are some misters.

“Huh?”

“Is this where you go to get cool?” he persists. It’s too bad for him that “getting cool” will never be possible. Not with the ‘stache, buddy.

“Um, yeah.”

“Who are you waiting for?”

“My boyfriend,” I tell him. He wanders away, in search of more pretty girls all alone.

Not five minutes later, some guy swoops in, leaning down to get right in my face. “Hey!”

“What?!”

“Is this the bar?” He’s thankfully mustache-less, but I’m disappointed to see he’s not GWH, who should be here any moment now.

“Um, no.” Are people really confused about what this gigantic THING is behind me?

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all by herself?”

“Waiting for my boyfriend.”

He wanders off to try more awesome lines and I’m hoping GWH is not running terribly late. I could get kidnapped before he shows up.

And then—there he is! He and Pickle are walking towards me, so I stand up on the blanket, waving my arms. (I took off my flip-flops, and while love is sweet, I hate sticky burrs.) He picks me up off the ground and I wrap my legs around him, while Pickle mutters, “Aw, now that’s sweet.”

GWH grabs my hand and my beer, I pack up my gear and we head off to see Van Morrison. We find GWH’s buddy Counselor, who has set up a huge (illegal) tent in front of the speaker. Awesome! So easy to find. We load up on beers and hang out to wait for the show.

Pickle looks at me. “You make me laugh, Shakira.”

“But I haven’t even done anything funny lately.”

He shrugs mysteriously and won’t tell me why he thinks I’m so funny. Hmmm. Then he disappears in order to get a closer look at the band.

The show starts and Van Morrison plays many, many songs I don’t know. Pickle wanders back over and catches me shrugging as I admit to mostly Van Morrison ignorance. Hey, I’m not ancient. I would guess most of his listening public could name “Brown Eyed Girl” and not much else.

“God, you’re such a philistine,” he says, and shakes his head.

I’m pretty sure I’m being insulted, but I have to look it up later. Turns out I am: a person who is lacking in or hostile or smugly indifferent to cultural values, intellectual pursuits, aesthetic refinement, etc., or is contentedly commonplace in ideas and tastes.

Oh. I guess that’s why he finds me so amusing. Oh well.

When the song I do know comes on—you know, “Brown Eyed Girl”—GWH grabs me by the hand and we dance…I mean, make out to the music.

And we’re out!

Day 2

Um, so there’s not much to say about day two, because I spend most of it running errands and watching football. My philistine-ness continues! But we can’t miss Willie Nelson, so GWH and I head down to the park after we’re sure the Longhorns are kicking enough ass. Counselor has another tent that makes it easy to find him and his crew, so we grab some beers and head over there.

And because this is a review of more than just music, allow me to critique the decided lack of alcoholic beverage choices at the festival. Beers include Lone Star, Amstel Light, Michelob Light and Heineken. Um, where are the Mexican beers? Seriously, what does a girl have to do to get a little Tecate in her life? And I wouldn’t be bitching about this except that I was on a steady diet of Amstel Light for three days and barely caught a buzz. Dude, not cool! When you Dutch masters of brewery magic took out the calories, did you take out the alcohol too?

Ahem. Where was I? Oh, that’s right…not getting drunk at Willie Nelson. It’s very hard to hear the old guy because there are so many people but as they give up and head to Massive Attack (seriously, sorry, ACL, again, WTF? Massive Attack? What have they done recently? When were they a musical legend worthy of a headliner show? Oh, that’s right, I’m a philistine and I know nothing! Carry on.) the show gets easier to hear. Willie plays a couple of old favorites, gives us a couple of extra songs, and how does that man keep going? Maybe the pot has preserved him in some way. GWH and I agree to hold down the fort for Counselor so that when he gets back he can pack up the chairs and the tent.

After the show, GWH and I sit around and talk football while I keep trying to get drunk. Dammit. This is dumb. I need a flask! GWH and I match up chairs and covers and consolidate the trash, and we are instant heroes when Counselor and his wife return. We’ve got top billing at the Tom Petty tent tomorrow. Until then…

Day 3

I hate rain. I hate it. It is for this reason that I shun day three after a heavy downpour completely soaks me while I’m getting lunch. I hole up at the condo and watch Lifetime movies, and wait for GWH to finish with work. We’re going to Tom Petty rain or shine, and I feel it’s best for me to save up my final festival/rain/crowd tolerance until then.

I drink two cocktails in yet another hopeless attempt at drunk. Oh crap, did I get so drunk Thursday night that now I need an entire bottle of tequila? I know. I’ll drink wine when I get to the show. Wine always works. No more Amstel Light for me.

I am gleeful in my plan until we get there and are informed there is no more wine. Dude, where is Jesus when you need him? I wonder if he would turn all that worthless Amstel Light into wine? Reluctantly I purchase more Amstel and hope that since we didn’t eat dinner, the magic will happen.

And now we find that Couselor has been busted and he was forced by the authorities to collapse the tent. Regardless, through the power of text messaging we find him and the crew just behind the speaker while the Flaming Lips finish their set.

Hmmm. Flaming Lips. What…exactly is going on here? I am clearly not part of the wild, writing, crazy group of fans. Damn that philistine thing again.

We beer up again and again as we wait for Tom Petty to begin. I am…sober…especially compared to all the other peeps. Counselor tells me and GWH repeatedly that we are awesome for our contribution to the party the night before. Yee-haw. I have made a friend for life!

And so Tom Petty begins his set and it is freakin’ awesome. GWH and I are singing lyrics, albeit badly, but having a blast. When the storm rolls in, Tom tells us he’s going to take a break until the rain lets up. GWH and I huddle under a blanket while he tries to talk me through it.

“We just wait out this rain and it’s going to be totally worth it,” he tells me.

Anything for GWH and Tom Petty. I love these men!

The rain begins to pound harder, and then something miraculous happens. Counselor and his crew are putting up the tents. Both of them are magically and almost instantaneously erected. GWH pulls me up from my crouching position. We have shelter! I love Counselor, and tell him so.

Okay, maybe I’m a little bit buzzed. But I’ve had six beers on an empty stomach.

Tom comes back, to the delight of the crowd still waiting. The rain clears and they continue playing with a beautiful lightning storm in the distance behind the stage.

“Don’t you feel alive right now?!” GWH yells. I turn my face up into the remaining drops of rain and laugh. He’s right. I do feel alive.

When Tom plays “American Girl,” GWH and I sing “Texican Girl” instead and laugh wildly. We spend the rest of the show making out, drinking beer and laughing in the rain.

It’s going to sound crazy, but Tom Petty injects romance into what was already an amazing night. Best show ever.

-Shakira 09.19.06