This weekend the New York City Metro was a haven for music festivals.
With three decently sized outdoor parties captivating the Empire State,
music lovers had their choice of styles, venues, locations, drug of
choice, and price. As the music festival becomes a staple of the American summer and standards like Bonnaroo and Coachella blow up beyond all semblance of intimacy, it makes sense that more smaller but no-less-fun festivals should be springing up all over the place. Still, this weekend was truly an amazing one for a New Yorker. Here's just a quick rundown of the three big music scenes that kept me and my associates well-entertained all (hazy) weekend long. Followed by a long rundown of my own sordid experience at the best of all three, ELECTRIC DAISY NYC.
Bamboozle
Located
beachfront at Asbury Park, NJ, this three day festival probably had
the most eclectic music options ranging from alternative rock to hard
dubstep. Located a little over an hour away from Manhattan, this gritty
hometown to the ‘Boss’ Bruce Springsteen had countless travel options between the New Jersey Transit system, renting a party bus, driving, riding a festival shuttle, or
the good old bus. It was also the second cheapest festival of the weekend, with tickets ranging from $65-$495 per day pending on which day and
package , but with the amount of bands and sounds heard, it was probably the best deal of the weekend.
Headliners and Big Names
May 18th-Skrillex, Incubus, MacMillan, and V-Nasty
May 19th-Foo Fighters, My Chemical Romance, Boy Sets Fire, Jimmy Eats World, and All American Rejects
May 20th- Bon Jovi, Brand New, the Gaslight Anthem, Spacehog, and Boys Like Girls.
A full
list is on their website and the amount of bands that played was pretty
epic, but besides Skrillex, most of the big names were cool in the 90’s
or early 2000’s; some even earlier. Sorry, as great as high school was,
I’m over it.
The Great Googa Mooga
This inaugural concert has some growing to do, from what I
hear. Actually, this is an understatement, as from everything I heard and saw it was disaster. Basically, this was as big of a bust as
Ryan Leaf or Greg Oden. They started the marketing early by allowing you
to register months in advance for a free ticket, which created one hell of an overstuffed, under-prepared two days. From the few I know
who attended this clusterfuck, they said they had to wait an hour
for anything to eat or drink or whatever and when the time came and they succeeded in waiting long
enough to make it to the front, the tents were out of what they wanted. I
would be fucking pissed. That said, this was the easiest to attend from
the NYC boroughs as it was the closest and cheapest. Located in
Brooklyn’s Finest, Prospect Park, it had potential for a very solid and
very chill environment. It was the most diverse of
festivals and while it had the least appealing line-up with the Roots
and Hall and Oates headlining (I barely even recognize any of the other
bands), it had other amenities. Even though the music was lacking, it
contained a variety of options that neither Bamboozle or EDC had, such
as great food options (They had a Spotted Pig Tent for god sakes), the
weird and yet always entertaining Silent Disco, and restaurant business
seminars including the infamous Anthony Bourdain as a guest speaker. The
potential is there, they just need to get their shit together.
Needless to say, the VIP section was fucking hooked
up with a personal bar that actually had liquor that stayed open later
than any of the carts, a close up view of the stage, and the ability to
escape the masses, I would probably actually
pay for it next year. I was finally at the summit induced by every
substance kicking in, dancing in the luxury of a giant box next
to the stage with a great DJ and our group of merry pranksters and still
feeling the great vibes generated from Calvin
Harris. Life couldn’t have been better. I
must say too that at this point my vision was blurry, my mind was rolling, and the lasers did combat with the sea of neon below to caused an almost
tranquil effect. Looking into the
masses of people, it resembled the ocean, with individuals swaying in
unison to the music creating a wave affect. Finally the free ride was over after our friend, Nelson, was kicked out due to not having a bracelet.
Instead of going silently, he challenged every single bouncer, security guard, and wait staff to a fight on his way out.
Electric Daisy Festival
This is
the wild, neon world that I decided to explore and during this adventure one thing stayed consistent - with each passing
hour everything seemed to change drastically. Here, described like my wonderful adventure on the first day of March Madness, is the raw and uncut
story of a day filled with booze, music, and things not so legal. I did
the best I could to capture the essence of this festival while the
specific details started to diminish as toxins took over.
I woke up
at around 8am after a hydrocodone-induced slumber. That previous
Monday I slipped down my stairs while being a model American and taking
out the recycling. And hippies say recycling is healthy. I was
subjected to a potentially-broken finger and a piece of glass wedged
deeply in my shin muscle, also known as the tibialis anterior, and some
cuts and bruises. While I was aware that the 8 stitches clasping the deep
wound closed, and the broken finger, would cause some setbacks, I still knew that I
could handle the continuous standing, dancing, and partying. The
excitement I felt was reminiscent of my Preakness mornings, which
coincidentally, also took place this weekend.
After
grabbing breakfast at a little granola shop near my apartment, Atlas, I
headed back to clean my leg, make another cup of coffee, grab essentials
at the corner store, and put on the armor, a canary yellow T,
khaki shorts, sunglasses, and a leg wrap. I felt like I was getting
ready to enter the battlefields.
With a mid-70's-and-cloudless day, the anticipation was beginning to boil. We could not have asked for a better day to be outside. My friend Bob joined me and two of my roommates, Larry and Meghan, as we steeled ourselves and went out into the day. After taking 40 minutes to get from the East Village to Mid-Town west side due to the congestion created by a bunch of random
ass street fairs that become a constant in the concrete jungle during
the spring through the fall, we needed a drink and a smoke. We quickly
went up to Nelson and Alf’s rooftop and engaged in some
drinking and heater crushing, “situating” ourselves for entry through the
guarded gates, and engaging in banter more targeted to ripping on each other than
friendly. A few of the true warriors were there, heroes who'd raged the night
before and were discussing their
conquests. There's nothing better than
pre-gaming at 11:30am for an all-day booze fest.
Finally
our three limo buses arrived at around 12:30pm in order to transport
this motley crew of 26 misfits on a quest to pretend that nothing else
matters in the world besides what will occur on that day. Everyone
worries constantly throughout a typical day, especially the older you
get. We have to deal with finances, rent, debt, health, and work, among
countless other issues that clutter our minds. What music festivals or
all day parties do that's irreplaceable and essential is that they eliminate these
worries. Your focus lies strictly on your friends, some mesmerizing
upbeat music, and a shitload of illegal and legal substances.
So
anyway, we knew we were close after passing the American Dream Meadowlands, a retail and entertainment complex with an indoor ski
slope that came down to a crashing halt (just like the actual ethereal American Dream) after a subsidiary of the
bankrupt Lehman Brothers missed payments causing several others to
withdraw and thus losing approximately $500 million worth of
construction funding. After this setback and a fuck-up in the
shape of a collapsing ski wall, they finally got back on track with some
other streams of revenue. Apparently, the debacle will be finished
before the Superbowl in the Meadowlands in 2013.
We were let-off in the parking lot about a 2 minute
walk from the entrance. Here we set-up shop and continued our
debaucherous habits by shot gunning, throwing around a football, and
getting our feet wet with whatever substance we
had that was not planted in some sort of security-free body orifice.
Finally, around 1:45ish, we made our way to the
entrance. Before getting into the security and ticket line we detoured
to a stand to get an over-21 bracelet that proved worthless throughout
the rest of the day since you were still ID’d whenever
you ordered a beer. It was a waste of time, but there was no fucking
way of knowing. The security line lasted around 20 minutes and was tight
as international TSA. Two members of our crew, Fonzie and Kenny,
had to throw out their bags due to the fact
that they were too large. I must say that while the line lasted for
fucking ever it was for the better. As a responsible anonymous party
concert go-er, I can handle my shit and know how to partake in a daylong haze but a lot of underage kids and people with
way too many substances can be a recipe for disaster and could ground
the concert for years to come. It also ruins your buzz when you look
over seeing a 15 year old comatose on the pavement. They were even not
allowing open packs of cigarettes or bags too large
to enter the gates. In all honestly, though, it wasn't difficult to
sneak in the necessary amount of shit to get twisted responsibly.
Finally in, we made the festival entrance ‘pro move’
which consists of taking a piss, buying some beers, and setting up a
home base. This ended up being on the front right corner of the main
stage. After putting the blanket down on the hot
concrete floor, which did not look in the least bit enticing, I decided
to take in the sites with Larry, my large manchild of a roommate. We
perused the scene and noticed scantily-clad smokeshows, a few rides
including a Ferris wheel, and another stage inside
of the actual stadium which was pretty sick since it was firmly planted
on the field. It never gets old standing on the field and looking up
into an empty pro stadium. It usually looks a lot smaller when not
filled with hammered fans. There were also two other
stages, but I can safely say that I have no fucking clue where they were
located.
After each of us purchased two 10$ beers and a 5$
water, we finally made it back and rocked out to Chris Lake. He was
solid, but after he left the stage, shit started really taking off. At
3:15, next up was Cazzette, a Swedish DJ Duo, who
might have been my favorite show of the day, with a blend of chill and
fire beats. They absolutely crushed it with remixes of "N**gas in Paris", "
I’m Coming Home", and Adele’s "Set Fire to the Rain". The stuff was kicking
in, the beers were seething through the
veins, and the music was taking over. The energy was electric. After Cazzette
ended at around 4:30 Alesso took stage, who also did a great job, but at
certain points throughout the day at these things the body needs to
wander so I went on an expedition with my boy
Ben and another one of our college buddies, Johnny. We decided that we
needed to eat as we were getting close to stepping over the line of
demarcation where the body forgets what it needs to sustain life. We
ordered a bottle of water and a beer each and also
two personal pizzas which we threw down our gullet more out of necessity
than desire. Throughout the day we would walk past strippers, men on
stilts, people dressed in bird outfits, and whatever else could possibly be called clothes. AND, the day
went on.
After refueling, our bodies were already feeling
rejuvenated. Johnny went back to the spot while Ben and I went on an
excursion to find his fiancé Ginny. This led us to the stadium stage
where we passed a man, white as a ghost, being stretchered
out. He was FUBAR. Inside, I ran into my fourth roommate, Jack, who,
although making a late arrival, was taking major strides in order to
catch up to the rest of us.
Finally, after the intense search that is a standard
at these large music festivals, we found her dancing around solo. After
connecting we did a few laps and further explored the festival. At one
point while leaving the inner stadium stage
I was hypnotized by the greatest hula-hooper I've ever seen. Hula
hooping has become big among hippies and ravers but this hot chick
looked as if she started the trend. Moving on. In a large group, you
lose focus of your surroundings that you can only regain
it solo or in a more intimate group. Our crew of three was able to
absorb the ultra fun freak show. It was like taking a look into Tim
Burton’s brain. At this point it was close to 6pm and with Calvin Harris
about to start and being 6 hours deep, more skin
was revealed, more individuals were fucked up, and the crowd was getting
larger and livelier.
Calvin
Harris was unreal. With his songs "Feel So Close", "Bounce", "We Found Love",
and a bunch of other hits, he was absolutely killing it. I was pulled
into his gravitational pull, engulfed by the music pulsating
through me. In order
to make sure I was still planted on the ground I engaged in minor
conversations but spent most of the time vibing.
Next up was Sebastian Ingrosso who, like a majority
of the top DJ’s, is Swedish and a third of the epic worldwide DJ
phenomenon Swedish House Mafia. At one point one member at our crew
had a VIP pass, which for a group of degenerates means
we all have VIP entry. Our boy Kenny decided to grab a wrist band and
shadily went to the edge in order to loft the band down to our waiting
hands. It was working as easily as convincing Pamela Anderson to make a
sex tape. The flawless plan consisted of wrapping
the band loosely around your wrist and showing it to the bouncer
quickly. Then once that person made it to the safe zone, he/she would
pass it back to Kenny where the technique was repeated. After around 20
were able to use this technique, the Neanderthal of
a gate keeper became wise and didn’t let in the last few. It only took
20 new people for them to realize.
In
our state of mind, it was the proper way to handle being kicked out of a
section that was pretty vacant. They would have continued to make money
off of our crowd since the bar was conveniently located next to us in
that section. It never
had a line and thus we would continue to bombard this place with drinks
including liquor. They were no cheaper than they were for the peasants.
Plus, we are goddamn very important people, but fuck them if they can’t
take a joke.
After our stint with celebrity status, we were back
to ground level but at this point too whacked out to know the
difference. According to Jack, who stayed up in VIP, I was staring at
him for 20 minutes with a vacant expression.
Apparently, I was looking directly in his direction, but it was as if I
could not compute it was him, or even a human being, as my eyes appeared to be
looking through him. My recollection of this is nonexistent, but I have a
feeling this is true for a lot of the day.
After 30 minutes of moving to beats of Avicci,
including a great remix of "Somebody That I Used to Know", I knew that the
night would soon be over, so I went to the bathroom and sought the ATM quickly as my wallet was empty. 10 minutes
later I arrived back to where we were located
but I couldn't recognize a single face. I made the cardinal sin of all
music festivals which was to leave the group without telling anyone to
stay put close to the end of the show. My phone,
of course, was also dead from a day of roaming and the constant battery
use from being logged into groupme, which is a great option when attending
a massive festival. It allows you to connect to everyone so that one
stray or even a few missing misfits can find
their way back. It also destroys your battery like Adam Morrison’s NBA
career. Panic struck me slightly until I heard Avicci's famous song "Levels"
blast from the speakers. I was once again encapsulated in the bass.
After he closed out with another "N**GAS in Paris"
remix, the music ended, as did the night.
Now
I was officially fucked. I perused my surroundings, to no
avail, and then made my way to the exit. At this point it was 11:15ish
and not a familiar face in sight; I left the gates and waited at the
entrance. There was no other
way out. After another 20 minutes I walked over
to the pick-up spot where, once again, no one I knew was to be seen. There were
just clumps of human shells scattered in disarray. Finally, by 12pm and
the crowd thinning, I found out that I was
truly on my own. I felt isolated even though I was surrounded by
thousands. I finally decided that my only choice was to cab or train it
and I didn’t see a single cab anywhere and couldn't call one without a
phone so I waited 30 minutes for the next train,
which provided a free service to Secaucus. Then I had to transfer to the
Jersey Transit for $4 in order to get to New York Penn Station.
Sunburned, a finger swollen to the size of Kim Kardashian’s ass, and a
leg more painful than watching Meghan Fox try to act, I
finally arrived in Manhattan. Upon arriving at a familiar scene, I
cabbed it home to a small party and an apartment filled with worried
people. After listening to a bunch of apologies I flipped out on them for abandoning me, then passed out.
It was a great day and, during the hangover recap,
the few individuals who also attended Coachella told me they had a
better time at Electric Daisy. The weather was better, the attendees
didn’t make them feel like they were the old group
just being allowed out of the Senior Retirement Center for a day of fun,
and for the most part everything ran smoother. Plus, after 1 day of
utter debauchery, coming home and recovering at the comfort of your own
home is priceless. I watched four movies
in all on Sunday. And by Monday was at least a halfway functional human being again. A good deal all around.
God bless Electric Daisy. A neon ride of twisted sonic perfection.
- Kyle
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