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On June 3rd, 2023 I woke up in a comfortable cloud-like bliss with a plan rolling through my head that I was loath to act upon. But act upon it I musted.
Y’see, m’lady and I were in the middle of a four-night run of King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard concerts in the lower half of Tennessee, and after spending nights one and two in the glorious comforts in The Cavern’s brand-new VIP yurt village this was the day we would be assimilating with the common people and pitching our meagre tent in the scorching heat of the relatively extreme discomfort of regular camping. Each of the venue’s twenty-five yurts were booked for the last two nights and no amount of inquiring, whining, or begging with the VIP concierge was able to change things.
The only question was how best to tackle the move.
The regular camping area sat immediately adjacent to the yurt village so I was able to pre-scout the areas that offered even a sliver of shade from the oppressive Tennessee sun, and there weren’t many. I certainly wanted to pitch the tent as early in the morning as possible; it’s a chore that gets me pretty sweaty at the best of times so I wanted to get at it before the sun got too hot. I also hoped to squeeze in a pre-checkout shower in the yurt when I was finished.
So when I first pried my eyeballs open at 8am it was all I could do to pull myself away from our comfy cottonball bed to embark on an early-morning prowl through the campground and scour for a half-decent recently-vacated spot, but I did. And I did. Find a good spot, that is. I set up the tent and introduced my sweaty self to our new camping neighbours – who seemed rather concerned at how much I was sweating and kept offering me water and other helpful things – then I went back to the yurt and gathered up m’lady and all of our stuff and moved it all to our already sweltering tent, and whattya know, I still had time for that shower.
Discipline will set you free.
By the time m’lady and I were officially out of the VIP village and entrenched in the proletariat field* high-noon was fast approaching, and it was hot man. We’re talking 95º+. And because we had flown to Tennessee we only had the barest minimum of gear with us: tent, air mattress, bedding, and pillows. That was it. No shade tent, no camp chairs, no nothin’.
And so we spent the day coveting what little shade we could find. We started off sitting with our backs against the side of the car basking in a quickly-shrinking fifteen inches of shade. When the sun was directly overhead I turned the car around and we sat in the open back hatch. As the sun tracked through the cloudless sky m’lady took to literally laying underneath our rental car – her face just inches from the car’s undercarriage – while I shuttled around the back hatch trying to stay in the weak shadows as much as I could, which wasn’t much.
In all it was a quiet, sloth-like day where even the effort of making small talk was a Herculean task sure to leave one breathless. I mean it was hot, and relentlessly so.
Luckily, by late-afternoon our pre-scoped tree-line finally began to offer some relief from the retreating sun, which gave us a fighting chance at getting to know the neighbours. And then, suddenly, it was time to go to the show.
Once again we traipsed to the edge of the campground where security and ticket punchers awaited, though unlike the previous two nights these doozers were suddenly taking their roles very seriously, scowling scrutinarily, looking under hats, and poking meticulously through every cigarette pack. As we breached the perimeter I overheard one concert-goer insisting that he didn’t know what that powder in his pocket was and yes, he’d be happy to wait for the police, though he didn’t sound very confident.
I can only assume that the extra security was somehow related to the fact that the final two nights of the run would have the band playing on the venue’s larger outdoor stage rather than inside the smaller, subterranean cave. It sure was bigger! While the cave held maybe 1,800 people, from our spot near the back of the lawn I figured the outdoor staging area could hold 6,000, easy. We’d arrived early so I bought myself a beer and assessed the grounds.
Unlike the camping area there were lots of food trucks…one even had sushi! The crowd was very friendly and relaxed. From my spot on the top tier of the lawn it was a fairly steep incline down to the “floor” area, where hundreds upon hundreds of high-backed plastic chairs had been set up. That was where we would be sitting on the final night, so I was happy to be in the way-back for this show.
One thing that was unmissable: Lots and lots of men in the crowd were wearing dresses. Like, full-on, non-sarcastic dresses. Most of the guys looked like they had borrowed something from their sister. I asked m’lady if she would agree that a full 10% of men in the crowd were in drag and she suggested that it was maybe closer to 5%, but she agreed that were were a lot. “I guess we’ve been out of the tour loop for a while?” I surmised. “I think we must have missed something.” It certainly made for some high-quality people-watching.
The opening band came out and I tried my best to give them another chance but nope…Kamikaze Palm Tree just plain sucked. Why they got booked on this (or any) tour baffled me, and continues to do so whenever I think about it, so I try not to. During their set a gorgeous full moon came up directly behind the stage; my goodness it was so ghastly beautiful. As it rose above the top of the stage the crowd started clapping and cheering en masse. It horrified me to imagine that Kamikaze Palm Tree would think the applause was for them. Terrible.
A couple of heady-Deady hippie guys from Alabama parked beside me and I struck up a conversation. As Dead-loving as they were they were also very, very into King Gizzard, especially their heavy stuff. The dude I mostly talked to even looked like a young Jerry Garcia. Nice fellah too.
King Gizzard hit the stage right on time and opened with Rattlesnake. It was probably the only song I recognized all night. They put on a really great show, much less heavy than the last two but still plenty heavy enough. Occasionally I would glance sideways and see my young Jerry Garcia friend bent over at the waist and ferociously banging his head like he was at a Norwegian Death Metal festival. “Raaaarrrgggghhhhhhh!!!!” Total cognitive dissonance.
Oh, did I mention that the whole band had emerged onstage also wearing dresses? I was starting to think that cross-dressing had somehow infiltrated the festival scene but later in the show I discovered that no, it had been a protest. Near the end of the concert one of the guys in the band mentioned a controversial bill someone had been trying to get passed that would make it illegal in Tennessee to dress in clothes associated with the opposite gender. (Absurd! Disgusting! Unenforceable!) He finished by telling us that a judge had thrown out the bill that very afternoon and their “protest” was now a “celebration”. Pretty damn cool, these Gizzards.
It was also late in the show when one of the band members said into the mic ““I guess this means tomorrow is the acoustic show…”, confirming the rumours we’d been hearing all weekend. I was excited; Jerry-dude next to me (who was named Joel) was less so. A lot less so.
Back at the campground I felt 100% fine; whatever malady I had been experiencing on days one and two had been purged, thankfully. I had a beer and chatted briefly with the neighbours (Jordon and Hannah and Hannah’s brother Zack) and turned in. I could have stayed up but I knew I’d be awake early the next morning, as is my conditioning.
And I was, though not that early. It was about 7am.
*I really hope that you guys get that I’m joking here. After enjoying countless concerts and festivals in regular camping this was my first experience “glamping” (I’d had VIP camping passes for Phish’s Curveball festival, but it had been cancelled at the last minute). And though I really appreciated having the yurt for those first two nights – especially given the blasting heat and a night tossing and turning with illness – I still like regular camping more.
Plus, mingling with the little people helps keep me grounded.**
**I kid! I kid!
Todd Man Out 