When Blind Melon finally found their way to the stage, which was maybe an hour late, I had almost left twice and was just about done with the whole scene there. When they began to play—I wasn’t going anywhere. That was a pretty great performance for all their time spent away from the whole scene, especially on their old self-titled album materials.
A realization made during the festival:
The solution to Starbucks’ problem:
- Find a liquid form of attention.
- Bottle it.
- Sell it to everyone that was at the festival.
- Possibly put some sort of poison in with it for everyone else’s sake.
Who brings a rabbit to a music festival on a leash? Who needs to dress their whole family in Newburyport sweatshirts and walk their dog through the busiest parts? How do some people sit on a boat and beep their horn all the time?–I wanted to throw a lemon I had at them so bad, but I refuse to sink to their level.
Why must I hear people say, “Ya, all these people are probably here for No Rain, but just yesterday I was jammin’ out to [insert really obscure song title here]?” then some comment about how far superior he is than to all these “not as hardcore fans”, ew.
I saw a few people from high school, I heard some good music, ate a little; it was a good time, but I am becoming less attached to Newburyport. Sure, it’s a beautiful area, and can offer some enjoyment, but it’s becoming an epicenter of relics for me. I’m surprised the local police aren’t tripping over my skeletons in the streets. I should find my way to somewhere larger.
Michael
