he's been a big deal in these parts for a while.  i remember taking my first road trips belting out naked baby pictures and the unauthorized biography.  every song seemed to have that special feel for the right moment.  maybe i was being an overly dramatic mid-teen but benny folds was a story telling machine. 

growing up knowing that i would meet someone like kate(ZSHARE) who always wears the same things, and would move to twin falls with her, was a childhood dream and playful fantasy.  i even wrote a college essay "with imagery" from not the same, so that i could get a good "how i found jesus" story.  i still need to ask forgiveness a couple times for that one. 

any who, of the three amigos, i was the only one to have seen ben folds before he took away his high "five" or since he was doing the jamming solo thing. actually i think other than brick and a couple other songs, i was the only one that listened to him prior to the concert.  does this seem like a familiar theme in the festival (fairies and shout)?  we staked out our front row seats and awaited the baldwin banging and nonsensical lyrics of drugs and bitchy girlfriends. 

the playlist was tossed out just beside us before the show and we caught a glimpse.  he didn't follow it very strictly.  bitches ain't shit was one of his first songs and moved into effington.  however, kate was magical, as she always is.  in this same way, army rocked our socks as it does everywhere.  every ben folds fan knows the  brass interlude created by the division of the audience gives you chills every time.  benny hopped up on the piano and went back to his years in percussion school at university of miami before peacing out.  conducting us as he had done so many times before.  and guess what... i thought about your mommy.

for the finale it was a great buildup.  his classic massive chords and elbow banging.  he gradually steps away from the piano. guy with the tambourine, still going.  bassist still rocking.  is mr. folds staring down the piano?  umm, what's going on.  hits the piano again.  he's staring at the piano again.  he edges his stool slowly away from the playing area and throws the stool over his head.  shaking it feverishly and then catches the beat.  you could see him counting off with the bassist and drummer. climax.  stool hits piano, perfect traumatic chord. shows over. get food and get ready for matisyahu.

its cold. how cold? the kind of cold that forces veteran campground hippies into their cars (or vw vans) with little regard for their at-one-with-nature synergy.  the trio was a bit chilly but that's nothing a festival buzz can't protect us from, right? that night the tweakers were a bit quiet, the college folks beside us had felt the need to unload the unruly amounts of beer into their stomachs and there was chaos caused by the venue logistics and changes in stages. adding to the experience were winged fairies with eyes that had long since lost their focus. we were not reluctant to step out that chilly night because we didn't recognize the bands that were playing.  i had long forgotten my experiences with late night cram sessions accompanied by pelican and there was a bit of a commotion about the need for some sort of intoxication to follow the yard dogs road show.  none the less we set off certain that our late night adventure would yield excellence.

we were not let down.

arriving in time to find our front row, stage right standing space, we post up and prepare for the confusion and dream like performances to come.  

pelican.  when your friends are expecting an indie band with witty and intriguing lyrics, and the possibility of a dynamic singer... well, they were a bit of a shocker. i had heard their music through hype music but still was not prepared for the performance.  entranced by the instrumental expertise, the crowd involuntarily bobs their head.  i bob my head.  d, looks confused and a bit upset that we're out here for a band he'll never listen to again but i still have faith that pelican will grow on him, time will tell. after 20 minutes of intense guitar rifts and hard hitting drumming that was a bit over the top, we here someone ask, "yo, you as cold as i am?"  i look at my comrades and realize that we had no idea if that was the band speaking or just someone in the audience. beyond the ominous voice, an incredible display of extended jams and intense solos satisfied the inebriated and disconnected crowd and this blogger.

yard dogs road show. to date my age, i had flashbacks to the classic are you afraid of the dark episodes in theme parks and mysterious worlds of show girls and sword eaters.  the strangest part of the show was the suspenseful stage setup.  Rumors flew; "who are these guys; i hear they traveled the world on a penny," "i heard that one guy plays the guitar with his blood as it drips," i just knew a lady came out in a girdle, fishnets, and an accordion.  i approved.  never-the-less, it primed my attention for a wtf performance that led to jaw dropping banjos, guitars, and yes... sword and neon light swallowing. it fulfilled my late night craving for a burlesque show.

All in all, great night: phenomenal energy from a transcending crowd and two groups that can only fully be appreciated live. 

Tune in next time for the dazzling performance of your favorite Jewish reggae artist. 

there once was this festival, with ants in cow pies, nights dropping to forty degrees in a swamp, and a constant hissing sound that was soon followed by the collapsing of a tweaker. it had all of the ingredients of a fairytale: the epic hero: a lost acid tripped girl searching for her tent by the big tree in the middle of a giant cow pasture, the wise old man: guy in the van next to us that offered festival sex stories from the beginning days of rock festivals, and three friends brought together for 4 days of musical and personal growth.

these next 9 posts will retell the trek of the three amigos down i-95 to mysterious gravel paths.  instead of being completely commonsensical and doing the shows in the order that we saw them, i'll start from the end and do a momento-type narration.

sol. de la shout out louds.  these scandanavian fellas and fella- ette don't necessarily bring a fun loving feel to their shows that their sound might suggest.  instead, subtle, inside joke smiles prevail their performance as they makes slight eye contact with the others; much more indicative of their sly lyrics and personal vignettes in the songs. 

let's ignore the absence of the subjunctive in "wish i was dead" and move to another song, "100 degrees."  the general plea of a love struck youth watching his lady hit the road without him.  the  confidence of the protagonist, somewhat comical, yet completely representative of the please-don't-go logic, creates a a sinking feeling of the inevitable.  the band picture i used felt like it was the most representative of this plea and air of confidence that the song exudes.

 

as a final performance, they did not disappoint.  their energy and grins put us in the right mood for a 12 hour trip home.

the blog entries to follow will incorporate stock and personal pictures from the performances. enjoy and leave comments.