So, one of the great things about summer in England is the flurry of music festivals, championed by the grand-daddy of all, Glastonbury. For those of you not in the know, Glastonbury (or Glasto as it is referred to by the hipsters) is the modern day answer to Woodstock. Three days in a field with multiple stages and bands, copious foreign substances being consumed, tents, campfires and 24 hour partying. Now, maybe that sounds like a fantastic experience to some of you. And, I am good friends with quite a few people who would agree. But, here’s what I think of when someone mentions Glasto: mud, noise, wet, no sleep, crappy food and disgusting bathroom situations. For THREE days.
As y’all will know, I like to think of myself as bit of a dichotomy – someone who can rough it, all the while ensuring that I have great shoes and perfect hair and make-up (occasion –specific, natch! I would never, say, wear stilettos and false eyelashes in the jungle. Oh. Wait. Except for that trip to Belize. And, maybe that New Year’s where I had sparkly gold wedges on the sailboat wasn’t so smart. Or the floaty strappy dress that kept flying up with every gust of wind, exposing my own lower decks. Hmmm. Maybe, not so much.) But, I digress.
In any event, perhaps it is best to say, I DO make an effort to be a little flexible when it comes to 5 star accommodation, however misguided I may be! But, as y’all will recall from my travel rules, I do at least have some sense of self-awareness on this level. And, trust me, NO ONE would be having fun if I were to attempt Glasto—even in a motor home/camper van thingamajiggy that some of my friends recommend. (Because, friends, I remember my grandparents’ swanky motor home (which, true to the McFetridge gene, had self-dispensing vodka and rum pumps next to the wet bar and fancy gold-plated bathroom fixtures) and even with all that, SOMEONE had to empty the septic tank/toilet-y thing. And, even if it ain’t me, it would still have to be someone I know. And, some things just aren’t meant to be shared. With anyone, but most of all, with anyone you know.)
But, true to my Austin roots, I am a huge fan of live music. And, the idea of multiple stages and beer for a few days is a brilliant one; so, luckily for me, Austin has the answer. The PERFECT festival – three days filled with great music and NO camping. So, every night, you can retire to your 5 star accommodation, where you can take a nice hot shower and order room service. Which, I did, natch. (But, give me some credit – I did NOT stay at the Four Seasons as a couple of my dear friends do every year. Nope, I opted for the slightly down-market Omni, so I was kind of roughing it, right?)
And, this is not the only benefit at Austin City Limits Festival. No, friends, you also get brilliant sunshine, perfect tanning weather! (Except, of course, for that year that is was 115 degrees Fahrenheit. And, we were supposed to be hit by Hurricane Rita. But, instead got a massive dust storm that rendered visibility to about 1 foot (hence completely obscuring Cold Play’s headline performance. Which meant it was a bit like hearing them in some alterno club with a mood-enhancing fog (read: dirt) machine). Oh, and left us all coughing up grit for the next three days.
And, then of course, there was my favorite year where it pissed it down on day 2, turning what had been lovely verdant lush green grass (meticulously tended and nurtured to prevent a repeat of the TB-reminiscent hacking from the prior mentioned dust bowl-a-thon of the prior year) into a mud-bath. So, basically, we’re back at Glasto: wet, muddy chemically enhanced hipsters diving and sliding in the rivers of mud. And, there is no getting dry or clean. So, pretty much you just gotta drink more to get through it. (and, of course, stock up on extortionately expensive wet weather gear the next morning to get through the last day of the festival.)
Which, of course, was dry and sunny.
And, let’s not forget, the stench of the mud, which we all learned later was a result of the use of Dillo Dirt. Remember that lovely verdant lush green grass? Yep, seems it came about as a result of a little bit of human waste. And, all those chemically enhanced hipsters? Diving and sliding in that same septic tank/toilet-y stuff I worked so hard to avoid. (And, don't even ask. OF COURSE, I was not doing any diving or sliding of my own. Refer back to the paragraph about shoes and eyelashes in case you are at all confused as to why.)
And my other favorite thing about ACL? The food – because, all of the concessions are Austin restaurant classics. No crappy campfire hotdog or gross festival nacho/turkey leg/undercooked burgers here! Nope. We’re talking Salt Lick BBQ, Pluckers Fried Pickles, Guero’s tacos! Mmmm. Half the reason I go to Austin is for the food, so this is pretty killing two turkey legs with one stone. (See how funny I am!?)
And, let me tell ya, this year was LETTER perfect – flawless weather. And, my fab friend Mindy managed to swing some VIP/Backstage wrist bands for us for one of the main stages. Which, meant, FREE beer and food (yes, I realize I am no longer in college and am, in fact, a middle-aged corporate lawyer, but I still love the idea of free beer! Um, so much so, in fact, that I imbibed a bit too much one night and kinda lost everyone, ending up on the shuttle home, sans friends, wallets, phone, keys, ID)
Of course, as bad off as I was, at least I didn’t leave 12 voicemail messages on someone’s phone without realizing that I actually HAD the phone. (which, incidentally has the Texas Fight ring tone on it. So, not so much, with the “I didn’t hear it ring…..”) But, I digress.
So, this VIP thing – pretty sweet! Because, not only do you have free beer, but you have a very clean, air-conditioned bathroom. So, all the hand sanitizer, handi-wipe tissue preparatory materials I had purchased were all for nothing. (Clearly, I was OK with that.) Oh, and a big giant screen showing other bands performing when no one was on our stage. Which, meant that I kinda never left. Just sat with my free beer, in plain sight of my clean air-conditioned bathroom, watching great shows on the big screen before retiring to my 5 star accommodation with room service and a hot shower.
Sounds like the perfect festival, right?
Or, actually…
Crap. Kinda like I paid $200 to sit in my living room.
Good thing I already bought next year’s ticket.
