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On August 10th, 2013 m’lady and I awoke in our friends’ swanky San Francisco apartment and spent the morning sipping coffees and discussing the upcoming contents of this, our second day attending Outside Lands music festival. Outside Lands veterans that they were, our hosts were aghast at my suggestion that there didn’t seem to be much to see until later in the evening. So we dashed out to a hip grilled cheese sandwich restaurant for lunch and by 2:30 we were on the road to the festival grounds, careening up and down the most unlikely steep, winding streets. Our brand-new brakes and tires were earning their keep.
San Francisco is a very, very cool city. Abhorring anything grid-like, the streets meander like so many rivers through the jungle. Neighbourhoods appear to be designed based on the path of least resistance, which seems fitting with the city’s attitude. San Fran is a live-and-let-live kind of place full of fun people. Entering the festival grounds alone was an eye-candy treat; people donned costumes and wore feathers in their hair, a guy walked around with a large bong tucked under his arm, smiling sunglassed couples lounged on blankets everywhere.
Arriving a bit behind schedule, I felt bad that we only caught the last song by Gary Clark Jr., an act our host Gil had been excited to see and one I had been unfamiliar with up to that moment. Now that I’ve seen him play several times I feel even worse…Gary Clark Jr. is very much the real deal. Regardless, with the rest of the afternoon free of musical highlights we let the festival itself entertain us.
The wooded areas that separate the stages were filled with art and installations and even some live painting stations where professional artists created huge murals all weekend, momentary masterpieces that would then get scattered around the grounds. In the forest we encountered Clown Hell, a collection of curious caravans and the clowns that curate them. Not marked on the festival map, the area did have a small stage where the audience watched from atop large wooden logs. There was a swing jazz band called Baso Negro setting up so we sat down and eventually caught a few tunes. Great music, great players, fantastic setting.
The crew wanted to move on so we did. We happened along to the Sutro Stage where Youth Lagoon was doing their thing, which wasn’t really my thing at all. I glanced at my schedule while my crew stood by idly shaking their booties to the empty vapidity. “Um,” I whispered. “Is it at all possible that we are currently standing at the wrong stage?” Everybody sort of looked around and got a hold of themselves and quickly came to their senses. We marched away.
At the Lands End Stage Jurassic 5 was kicking it down with their oversize dj equipment and wearable drum pads. They soon dispensed with the Hip-Prop and got on with a manic game of deep-bass Simon Says that had the whole crowd playing along. Put your hands in the aye-yair! Now wave them side-to-si-yide! That’s it!
We stopped for a snack of deep friend mac & cheese and found The Mother Hips playing on the Panhandle Stage, which was completely powered by renewable resources.
We watched most of Grizzly Bear’s set at the adjoining Twin Peaks Stage but I was curious to visit something on the map called Chocolands. My ill-led posse followed me through the crowd to the woods where we soon found ourselves surrounded by little hamlets selling delicious chocolately wares. Liquid chocolate bars, triple-layer chocolate cake, s’mores, chocolate-dipped brownies, milk ‘n cookies…I opted for a hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows and a peanut butter cup so big you could hide behind it.
I gnawed on the several-pound nugget of wonder while my friends imbibed on their own fattening pleasures. I washed it all down with the hot chocolate and as I walked away I was bombarded with a sugar rush so severe that I actually felt like I was on hallucinogenic drugs.
We killed some time checking out the excellent range of booths – I burned off some sugar-energy competing in a stationary-bicycle sprint and bought a few posters at the artist area. I even tried out the Fender booth where you could put on headphones, pick up a guitar and try out their new effects boxes. Somewhere along the way I finally finished eating the giant peanut butter cup. I felt like I had climbed Mount Everest.
Eventually we made it back to the mainstage and soon Nine Inch Nails came on. We found a spot by the soundboard where it wasn’t too crowded and proceeded to get absolutely lambasted with intensity.
Trent Reznor came out alone with only a white sheet as a backdrop and a single white lamp beside him and he grabbed the entire audience right by the balls with nothing but his electric guitar and iron-clad voice. Talk about selling the steak! His band subtly joined in and in a mastery of white light and shadow the minimalist stage setting became monstrous.
The cadence of the show went up up up with every song. Everything became bigger and bigger until it verged on bombastic while Reznor’s uncaged-animal persona grew until he seemed in danger of exploding, and the audience raged with him every step of the way. It was so heavy that when he played The Warning (“Your time is tick tick ticking away…”) I couldn’t help but to feel my own pulse ticking away, counting the moments.
The unceasing energy finally climaxed with a final song so maniacally intense I can’t even tell you about it, and then with only five minutes left before curfew Trent re-emerged for his encore: Hurt. The ultimate in intensity. I thought he said one time he’d never play it again after hearing Johnny Cash’s version of it. Broken promise or not, Hurt was a heck of a cap to the night.
Out on the street after a fantastic day of music we found the car and I drove the four of us back to Gil and Jen’s ‘hood where we further capped the night at a cool local bar where the whiskeys poured strong. I struck up a conversation with a girl dressed as Scrooge McDuck and we got out of there just before closing.
San Francisco is cool.
Todd Man Out 
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div dir=”ltr”>Nice log, V. I reviewed
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