“Looking at things in the dark.”
I meant that in a more general sense.
“Oh sure. I’m, uh, at one of these festival things. Check the watermark.”
The Peach festival. You’re in Georgia?
Whatever. How’s it going?
“Good crowds, good sound, nice backstage vibe: these things are all generally fun. Get to see folks you haven’t seen in a year. Warren Haynes, obviously.”
I think he might hibernate through the winter, waking only for festival season.
“Huh. Yeah, you know: I cannot disprove that.”
It’s the anniversary of Woodstock this weekend, speaking of festivals.
“That was no fun at all, man. Bad everything.”
I read that you guys camped at a semi-decent motel out of town, refused to go to the show unless you got your money in cash, and then were helicoptered in and out.
“Yeah, true, but we didn’t play Dark Star very well at all. So, you know: that’s the narrative we’ve been going with for…how many years?”
Plus you sent said helicopter halfway across New York State to pick up some more amplifiers.
“We needed more amplifiers.”
“The thing no one remembers about those festivals was that they were just dreadful, y’know? For everyone involved. Bands couldn’t hear themselves and no one could hear us, the traffic was third-worldesque, and here’s the thing people really forget: there was only one thing for the kids to do. Just the band. Just one stage, too. Maybe you don’t like the band and you want to play putt-putt? This is America, right?”
Yes, Bobby. This is America.
“Then there should be putt-putt.”