Ween Bonnaroo (finally)

[MamaPink]

what's "ooh vala?" Don't think i've heard that song before.

[kung]

Thought this was funny too:

Do you remember Mickey coming up to the mic & telling everyone, "I'm kinda coming unglued here". He looked like he had some shroom action going on.

I like Papa Gene's quote from the Butthole Surfers in regard to Deaner, "Hey, gimme sum a dat dumass ober dere"

[PalacePrincess]

mir, check the set lists for the shows we've been to, i'm almost positive they've played it (although i can't think of how it goes)... maybe rochester? anyway.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!! i say this with the utmost love & respect for our bonnaroo travelling skanc friends ::, but sweet mother of boognish, what is wrong with you people!??!?!?!?!??! i mean, this has gone down as probably one of (if not "THE") most legendary ween shows EVER, ever, ever in the history of time, and the most i've read is "oh yeah, ween played.". i mean c'mon, give ME take the freakin' press passes , y'all had almost all access & NOBODY on here got down with the brown??? mandy. mandy. mandy. mandy. mandy.

okay, rant done. heehee.

anyway, now THIS is what i call a freakin' bonna-review. written by the one and only claude coleman, drummer of the best band on earth:

****

6.14.04

We laugh a little, we cry a little.

Returning home from a coupla seething and steamy nites with the world's greatest fucking rock band. D.C. was pummeling, fun and nicely fouled up, leading into what might have been one of the most remembered sets in Bonaroo history.

My drum riser littered with beer-soaked bunnies, mud and shredded clothes, Gener smashed the acoustic into the amp in an explosion of blood-soaked debris cloud spraying in every direction - the second acoustic smashed in as many minutes.

Sure, we can all get along.

The crimson-stained face of the Nish arose from the steam off our backs. An unrelenting pounding, hammering and fisting into the unwilling and jammy-band-tight orifices of everyone for fucking hundreds of miles. It was an hour after hour affair of bloodthirsty rock onslaught, the way it will never fucking be anymore. People will be digesting this one for years, I'm certain of it.

That show could have been defined singularly by the 15 minute drive on a bouncing golf cart through festival people traffic, foot-deep water canals, and headlong into stinging driving rain, the six of us hunched over like turtles, nothing to protect us from a body-soaking thick and hard rain. I watched Glenn up front, his face illuminated by the passing rows of floodlights, the constant spray of rain smashing against his face. Bonaroo Now, Redux.

That ride could have been enough to pretty much doom that night straight to the ass of Satan, but then was just so much more endless inspiration, that scene was just about lost in the shuffle of shit. Literally. Within 10 minutes upon arrival of the site my left foot took a plunge into a shit-mud trench, created by the Mounties' horses. They refuse to use ass-bags for the animals. I guess the solution is to leave the area in the complete dark with no lights until some asshole steps into it in his sandals. Love how it gets under your bare foot, inbetween your foot and the shoe.

There was also inspiration in the moist, warm and choking cloud of stench from this Human Circus tent, stuffed like rotting catfish wearing perfume in the mud, carcass to carcass; the P.A. howling and swirling around the tent in violent discordance; bass frequencies blowing downwind from the over-abundance of over-booked acts over-playing, over every quiet moment of the set; the intermittent nasal burn of potent skunk.

...in the nite prior; after brother Stanton 'Do You Know Who I Am?' Moore spilling my desperately sought out vodka on the rocks, going on to participate in a magnificently pointless ride on a float - a mini parade - drinking with a small mob, riding through the site grounds tossing out beads for titties, tailing BEHIND William Hung, the pseudo retarded reject from American Idol. BEHIND that motherfucker. Talk about B-list.

Or maybe it was just that you folks needed an extreme lesson in just what the fuck is going on, and you needed to get a good whopping upside the head. I saw some of those acts, man. You people are being took. Bamboozled. At least it's not fucking Jet or The Vines. It's all very end-of-the-world, really.

I don't know how cool this festival would've been without the 2 days of torrential rains, the massive drug busts and drug-related deaths, the almost unimaginable population of police, the days spent in airports with constantly late flights, culminating with the site of a drinking, visibly delusional elderly crack-headed funk hero talking about watching plants grow and secretly being filmed, after being ejected for randomly boarding another plane - while boarding a plane ourselves in the middle of tornado weather and mile-long lightning spikes touching down everywhere on the tarmac.

Ahh yes, there is just so much to emotionally dip into, one is easily overwhelmed. Luckily, Ween is the last and only thing in this sinking evolutionary period of humankind that will take that dipstick stick it in deep, and repeat forever.

And with that, I bid you fair adieu. Now I must resume world takeover.

Later

Claude

******

claude, my man, you ROCK.

[MarcO]

Ok. Give Claude the Bonnaroo pass next year.

Classic.