Wanee Music Festival 2011

The 21st century has a Woodstock that isn’t named “Woodstock”-

its name is “Wanee”.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

The spirit of Suwannee park was thick and moist in the air- a stale smell of home clung to Wanee Music Festival’s grounds as I took a deep breath in. I stood there gently and watched everyone pass me by on their own time and in their own mind. Everyone was carefree. They were howling with laughter and they were grooving to the live music that continued to play among the hammock-hung trees. Gnomes were scattered throughout Suwannee’s festive park, magical lights were strung between tree branches, people expressed loving, raw emotion and everyone was accepted for exactly who they were.

The back of the Wanee 2011 Festival Guide read “Amazing Musical Adventures at the Suwanee Music Park”, but for all of the Wanee people, "amazing" was an a mere understatement.

Walking up to a community full of thousands of scattered tents on Thursday night was like walking up to a beautiful maze in an Alice In Wonderland dream. You see, in order to get to one’s tent, they had to remember exactly where theirs was, travel through community campfires and other tent yards full of grills, chairs, decorated and hung tapestries and anything else that would possibly make their “home” a home for one beautiful weekend.

After walking through what felt like hundreds of tent communities, we finally reached ours- the community where on a downward slope, four hammocks hung underneath each other and while surrounded by many others, led us to the first few circles of our campfires and tents. This exact specification made up a community full of grateful, caring souls.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

Our community was known as “The Crew”- a crew of around 50 college kids who were all in need of an escape: some down-to-earth music and trusting, positive vibes. To every concert we attended, we were able to find our crew due to a pool noodle, Mary, that we held high in the air, poked like swiss cheese full of glow sticks of all sizes. The bond that our community built was a long-lasting reciprocation of trust, love and respect.

Everyone was on the exact same page- there was a sense of undeniable, immediate trust. This meant leaving your wallet, phone and keys in your open tent, offering meals and helping each other with whatever there was to have help with.

In a Wanee community, strangers become best friends and prized-possessions are gladly traded for pb&js. Everyone was willing to help and everyone was eager to give. Everyone just wanted to share the same experience with each other.

This crazy celebration of life was not just celebrated among campers, lovers, friends and fire-dancers. Musical talents ranging from The Steve Miller Band, The Allman Brothers, Stephen Marley, Toubab Krewe, Lotus, Widespread Panic and many others partook in the festivities on and off stage with the rest of Wanee’s people.

An array of immaculate talent consistently swept both of the beautiful stages as thousands of people grooved to their unique tunes. According to Suwannee Music Park, around 17,000 Wanee-lovers attended last year’s festival, and although their numbers are not yet calculated for this past weekend’s festival, they have approximated this festival’s head-count to around 20-25,000 people. But this was of no shock to me. For an entire weekend, seas of people swarmed the festival’s grounds in an attempt to collectively dance to all types of sporadic beats.

Kicking off Thursday night at 9:30 p.m., Widespread Panic created an astonishing uproar on the larger of the two stages, The Peach Stage. At the end of an enormous, wide open field, The Peach Stage shook with funky jam-band tunes from the widely renowned band who wowed the crowd for hours.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

But as one band ended, another began on the smaller stage right down the road- The Mushroom Stage. This was known as Suwannee’s personal amphitheater.

Down a dirt road and past vendors of all kinds, wooden steps and fallen leaves led hidden gnomes and hanging hammocks downward toward a beautiful, one-of-a-kind, tie-dye stage. At midnight, as thousands of people pressed tightly against one another to jam to what the band calls their “jamtronica”, Lotus blew their music and accompanying light show to the trees.

For hours, Lotus fed off of the crowd’s energy, loving our intense dedication, ability to jump to every beat and our decision to go all-or-nothing from beginning to end. And at the end, although the band was done playing, the celebrations of life continued into the night and into the campfire communities that made up Wanee’s majestic magnitudes.

After a night full of highly-anticipated groove sessions, the forest people of Wanee made their ways back to their campsites and continued to have their own festivals. Camp communities were filled with their own campfires, extensive drum circles, electronic dance parties and creative story-telling that seemed appropriate until wee hours of the morning.

Even in the morning, after everyone had been woken up by a live saxophone from a few camp sites over, the pleasant people in the spirit of Suwannee continued to share and interact in peace.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

Our momentous mornings were filled with remembrances from the previous night’s jam sessions. Everyone had grins on their tired, wet-wiped faces and everyone was perfectly content with building their day around the next show that they wanted to see.

On Friday, Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe, Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings, Keller Williams, Toubab Krewe, Robert Plant and the Band of Joy, Particle and The Allman Brothers Band shook the grounds from entrance to exit. Sharon Jones’ powerful voice took charge of the large stage as the Dap Kings accompanied her perfectly, demanding charge in an almost-Aretha Franklin manner. Toubab Krewe’s West-African influenced music had everyone begging for more after their final encore. Particle’s electronic grooves hit the audience full force as everyone swayed intently with their arms flung high in the air. After their set, Particle took pictures of the crowd, saying it was the best jam session they had ever had.

Throughout the entire show, we were synchronized and we were all so ecstatic to be standing right there- just feet away from one of the best concerts we had all ever been to. Not only was The Crew present, but so was our bizarre lit-up pool noodle, Mary, held high in the air to groove right there with us.

Mary, our noodle.

Following Particle, watching The Allman Brothers Band on The Peach Stage at 9:30 p.m. felt like a scene out of an antique movie. Was I really sitting on top of a hill along with thousands of others, watching a Grammy Award winning band that my parents groove to? Their southern-rock, jam-band rocked the crowd as we stood atop a hill overlooking the massive waves of people. Everyone had huge smiles on their elated faces and there appeared not to be a care in the world.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

Walking back to our camp community that night was a memory that I will never forget. Dressed down in glow sticks and holding hands, our crew stormed the camp ground in a swarm of true, hard-to-describe peace, love and happiness. As our campfire started, musicians from other camp communities gravitated toward our welcoming crew to play tunes for us.

This beautiful collection of people and instruments resulted in a clamor of old Johnny Cash and Bob Marley tunes, and as Toubab Krewe’s lead percussionist, Luke Quaranta, approached our site, it quickly turned to “Happy Birthday” as we celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday with him.

I was able to talk with Quaranta, and so I asked him a few original questions.

Eliza: So, this is my first Wanee experience. What about you?

Quaranta: This is my first Wanee too. But we’ve performed here 4 times before this one.

Eliza: Wow. You guys got together in 2005, right? How many shows have you guys put on?

Quaranta: Yep. Since we’ve been together, we’ve probably played close to 1,000 shows. Probably 200 a year. And we’ve played at Bonnaroo three times.

Eliza: That’s incredible.

Quaranta: Yeah. It was... Um. Amazing.

Eliza: So tell me a little about your West-African influences.

Quaranta: Well, since 1999, we’ve been there five times studying music. We’re in the process of building a music school over there for underprivileged kids- we have our own beer called ‘Toubab Brewe’ that we sell to raise money for that.

Eliza: That’s great. I’ve never been to Africa, but I’m sure it’s beautiful.

Quaranta: It is. Where are you from?

Eliza: St. Augustine- not too far form here.

Quaranta: Oh yeah? We played at a little bar there once. Cool town. I liked it a lot.

Eliza: Haha, yeah? That’s awesome. Maybe you guys could come play again?

Quaranta: Yeah that would be cool. Lemme know.

And that was it. Just like that, we had this crazy down-to-earth, chilled out conversation about music and life.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

His roomate, Arnaldo Alvarez, was a part of our campground community and I had the chance to sit down with him as well.

Eliza: How did you end up being room mates with Toubab Krewe?

Alvarez: I met Toubab at Voodoo Fest in 2007 and it just went on from there.

Eliza: That’s awesome. Love at first sight apparently. But what is it about Wanee that you love the most? I’ve heard this Wanee topped all others.

Alvarez: Yeah definitely. Meeting new people and having that bonding experience, the music and the venues and the vibes that you get in the feeling of escape-- there’s nothing like it.

Eliza: I can see exactly what you mean. Everyone is so open-minded and ready to explore things with strangers.

Alvarez: Yep. Here, you can expand your mind and explore something beautiful.

And right there, I stopped asking questions. His last sentence made me write it down.

Alvarez's traced hand.

In my notebook, surrounded by questions and answers was that last quote.

I traced his hand and thanked him for being such a cool guy.

“No problem.” he said to me. “See ya tomorrow.” As him and Quaranta walked off, I felt content knowing that they were human- just like me.

As everyone compiled into their day-vacant tents, sounds of drums continued to vibe throughout the forest. I fell asleep that night grateful for the open world, the amazingly understanding people and the feeling of acceptance that I once had lost and now re-found.

On Saturday, I attended more concerts that I had never even heard of. Ween at 2:30 p.m. was an experience all in itself. Gene and Dean Ween (yes, that’s right) created the band to be something that it definitely was- a band with a hard-to-pin-down style. Their contrasting sound styles drove the crowd crazy as intensely dedicated fans were decked out in Ween gear.

Spencer, 22, from Dahlonega, Georgia

I met a kid named Spencer in a taco costume that stood next to me. Everyone was incredibly unique.

After Ween was through, many of our crew members headed back to camp to relax and anticipate the night to come- the second night of The Allman Brothers Band.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

As 9:30 p.m. made its way, The Crew traveled in a pack to the final night of The Peach Stage mania. A light show reflected off of every tree surrounding the stage, strangers were arm in arm with each other, tapestries were spread out on the open field and welcoming faces from all directions greeted us as we found our spot in The Allman Brothers Band family feeling.

As their encore played, it seemed as though people were floating toward the stage in denial of their final song. Grown women threw glow sticks in the air, kids played ring-around-the-rosie and elderly men held their canes high in the air to cheer on the ever-so-famous band that had us grasping for more.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

Both here and back at our camp community, I met beautiful people sitting in dirty lawn chairs, huddled around fun face paint and exchanging stories that would stick in your mind for years. One of these beautiful people, Scott Horowitz, known to us immediately as “Scotty”, had an optimistic, giving demeanor about him that was incredibly contagious.

When I asked him where he went to school he said, “I went to Santa Fe in Gainesville but I’d say my university is Spirit of Suwannee.” He began to tell me that this was his fourth Wanee experience, but then continued to say, “I’ve taken other classes at Spirit of Suwannee.” Scotty told me that he had been to three prior Wanee festivals, Bear Creek and Magfest- all of which are held at the very same fascinating park that we were meeting at. After dozens of concerts and many options clear in his mind, I asked him which was his favorite band. “Tedeschi Trucks Band was IT,” he said. “Objectively observing what was going on, the wind would blow in relation to what Derek Trucks was doing.” There was truth in what Scotty said. Everyone felt the exact same way.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

Doug Franc, one of our crew members and economics major at UNF said, “Saturday night was awesome.” And it was. It was more than awesome. Seeing an infamous band perform two nights in a row was not exactly an average weekend for any of us.When I asked him which band was his favorite, without hesitation he said, “Definitely The Allman Brothers.”

Saturday night was our last night living as forest children. No one wanted to leave, and as the camp grounds cleared, tree trunks became visible as tents and hammocks were taken down. We walked back to The Peach Stage and The Mushroom Stage one last time to see the venues completely bare. It was a strange and unusual sight. I sat on the hill that I sat on to watch The Allman Brothers and day-dreamt about the very moment that was now part of my past, beautiful weekend.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

Sunday morning, the leaves, decorations, gnomes and sound equipment were all still there, but just shy of 20 people were visibly seen walking throughout the park.We ate, slept and inhaled peace and harmony for an entire weekend, and to go back to reality, was a far-fetched thought that I did not want to come to terms with.

In a festival full of people who were whole-heartedly accepting of quirks and imperfection, I felt at home.

Everyone felt at home. And at Wanee, we were home.

Photo credit: Phillip C. Sunkel IV

Johnny Cheeseburger

My foot was heavy on the gas pedal as I complained about the cost of heart-worm medicine. Why though? So stupid and selfish- this medicine allows my dog to live.

I thumped my fingers one by one to the beat of the melodies blaring from my car. I drifted back onto US1 as the craving of caffeine crept up on me. Coffee coffee coffee. But not just any coffee- a large, french vanilla, lightly-iced coffee from McDonald’s. It’s one of the only things I order via drive-thru, and with this craving heavy on my mind, I knew I needed one.

I pulled into McDonald’s and looked to the right of me, and sitting under a tree, desperate for shade, was a disgruntled, dirty man holding a sign: “Homeless. Disabled. Help.” His right hand was wrapped tightly in a cast and he was wearing an almost-flat billed, ancient baseball cap. His once-white shirt was stained and grimy and his pants had tiny holes all over. I inched my car forward, waiting patiently for my turn to tell the woman behind the speaker exactly what I wanted. Something so precise, so definite.

I wanted an intricate coffee- not a lot of ice, not a little, but just enough. But then I rewinded my memory, remembered complaining about something so minuscule, something I could afford, something that was a quick-fix.

I looked in my rear-view to find the hopeful, homeless man slouched over his dirty, visible kneecaps. He was holding his face in his hands as if this was the first time desperation had struck him. I knew it wasn’t. I knew he was tired. I knew he was hungry, alone, scared, confused. I knew he was human and wanted to be treated rightly so. That’s only fair, right? Wrong. No one seems to care. No one seems to stop and talk. No one seems to want to shake their hand, to understand.

I pulled my shiny, freshly waxed coupe forward to the speaker, wondering if the woman behind the speaker felt the way I did about the homeless, about the injustice, about the issues in our community.

“Go ahead,” she said, muffled and loud over her co-workers voices.

“May I please have one large iced, vanilla coffee- with light ice, please?” I asked very precisely.

“Sure, is that all?” she asked back.

I pushed the hair out of my face as I tilted my sunglasses down to rest on the brim of my nose. I glared in my rear-view mirror for a good 3 seconds, just long enough to see that my homeless, hopeful friend had not moved.

“No ma’am. May I also add a double cheeseburger, please?” I asked politely- I never know what they have to deal with on a day to day basis, but I knew it wasn’t anything like what my hungry, burdened friend in the rear-view had to deal with.

I pulled up to the window, greeted the woman with a smile and thanked her. She was busy and sweet. She was employed.

I didn’t even jab my striped straw into my highly anticipated coffee. I didn’t put the change back into my wallet. I didn’t even turn up the music that I was previously engaged in.

I grabbed an orange out of my purse; one that my step-mom gave, one that was fresh, ripe and looked delicious. I made sure that the double cheese burger was wrapped nicely, that there were napkins to accompany it. I tucked a one-dollar bill in-between the orange and the cheeseburger, folded the top of the bag over itself and drove to the entrance of the McDonald’s parking lot.

I rolled down my window and notioned for the homeless man to come to me. He stared at me, confused as to why this young, red-lipped, blonde was waving for him to venture away from his shaded spot. His brow wrinkled. He leaned forward, steadily positioned each foot in front of the other and began to limp my way.

His sign said “Disabled”, and when I saw his cast, I thought “It’ll heal.” But as he began to walk closer and closer to my car, I realized something- it’s not all about what you see. There’s more to his story. There’s more to everyone’s story.

My arm was stretched outside of my window, holding a stranger’s soon-to-be prized possession of a meal.

“Hi, I brought you a double cheeseburger and an orange. There’s also a dollar in there for later, so if no one feeds you tonight, walk back over there and get yourself something to eat.”

He looked at me like I was crazy.

He looked at me like I was a goddess of some sort. He looked at me like I was saving his life.

“This is mine?” he curiously asked. It was as if he thought I was pulling a sick practical joke on him.

“Of course it’s yours,” I said. I stuck my hand out toward him, willing and eager to feel his dirty, callous infested palm against mine. “I’m Eliza.” He squinted his eyes to get a better look at me. His eyes were watery and appeared to be tired.

“Eliza? I’m Johnny.” He reached his left hand toward my right, an awkward hand-shake, yet a much more effective one than I had ever had before. “I would shake with my right hand, but it’s kinda broken,” he half-heartedly joked. But he was right. Just as I had seen when I was pulling into the parking lot, his right arm was wrapped somewhat compactly into an off-white cast, covered in faded signatures and layered in dirty stains.

“I see that. Well, Johnny, it will heal. I promise you,” I assured him, handing him his dinner.

“Thank you, Eliza,” he said, honest and pure. He hesitantly accepted the bag full of assortments, but when he did, his limp looked a little lighter on the walk back to his spot. I kept my eye on him until he was out of sight.

Even as I drove away, I kept looking back, wanting to see his unshaven, dirty face again. But I didn’t.

And that was it. That was all.

I turned my music back up- grateful that I had something exciting to listen to, something that made me happy. I began to tap my fingers again, but this time, my hand felt different.

My hand felt heavy. My fingers felt rough.

My right hand was engulfed in Johnny’s germs and that was just the way I wanted it to stay.

I finally punctured my iced vanilla coffee with it’s long partner of a straw.

I was finally, out of guilt, able to enjoy a nice treat as well.

Too Bad You Bite

If everything turned out the way it seems we would be living a life in our own dreams.

I would climb to you on a field of sunflowers, tease you and please you with my magical powers.

I would hear a sweet sound and repeat it for you.

If you would like that, I would be true.

I would stand through traffic and chance suicide

I would jump on this magical carpet and take you on a ride.

I would do this for you

I would do this by your side.

I would let you taste the forbidden fruit

As long as you promised not to bite.

Breeze Baby

Goosebumps prickle my bed sheets as I shake awake from my fairytale dream. “Where are you?”. I feel a cool breeze dance across the back of my neck and I look to the windowsill for an explanation. I expected to see you there, expected to see you crawling in my window, parting the blinds and parting nightmare from fairytale. But I didn’t see you. I didn’t hear you. All I felt, all I can feel is the crisp winter air that fills this space. I close my eyes and reach my hands out- I feel for my expectations. “Where are you?” I can’t feel you. My hands are empty, so I open my eyes. You are nowhere to be found.

A gust of wind swarms through my window frame as I curl my toes. “Are you near?” I laugh a quiet, girly giggle because I know you cannot respond. You are so far away. I am so tired. I can’t fall asleep and even if I could, I would be dreaming the same thing asleep or awake.

I roll over and allow my curly hair to spread across my pillowcase. I slowly run my fingertips across my pillowcase. I slowly run my fingertips through my blonde mane and let out a yawn. “Hello? Hello?”. I want my voice to echo. Would I be able to wake up the neighbors? If you were my neighbor, I’d have no worries. I’d love to wake you up. My yawn wouldn’t be your wake up call either. I would crawl in your window. I would part your blinds and be the breeze that delivers goosebumps. You would say, “Where are you? Are you near?” I would be silent crawling in. I would fluff your pillow and spread my curly hair across your pillowcase.

US

If this pen did not touch paper and perhaps had other plans, I’m sure it would grow wings. It would fly across the globe to you and remind you of all the beautiful things ahead. This forest green ink pen would scribble “Loverboy” across your forehead and dud you my Prince Charming. Instead of drawing a valuable watch on your wrist, it would doodle “what are you waiting for?”- you did always check the time. This pend would draw a dotted line across the globe, all the way form you to me, so that you’d never get lost. You would always know the way. I would always know the way to happiness.

If this paper did not read ink, I’m sure it would fold in fours. It would crinkle and squirm until it was a perfect oragami love dove for you. Ontop of tables and underneath, it would dance all night and all day; just for you- all for you. This striped pink paper would create an invisible coded language just for the two of us to read- only you and I would be able to comprehend, to fully understand.

But this is no fairy tale. This pen will stay the same. This paper will stay the same.

But we will not.

Just like flowers we will grow-

Beautiful, and if we’re lucky- together.

You, you. Me, me.

I know that you’re out there somewhere,

I know that you’re special.

One day we will be together

Just like Hansel and Gretel.

You’re so far away,

And I’m still so young,

And even though I don’t know your name,

It’s on the tip of my tongue.

Come, hurry, and take me away-

I will lend you my ears for the music you play.

Laugh, play, and we can be free.

You will be you and I will be me.

Look at how glorious we can be.

You will be you

And I will be me.

We can balance each other

Like milk and tea.

We can marry atop

The tips of the trees.

You will be you

And I will be me.

Excuses

If eyes could lie,

And hair confess,

What would the secrets hold?

One by one,

The secrets would fumble,

Until cruel intentions unfold.

A witness of truth,

One does not fear,

To spill the tale truly told.

Fantastically possessed by a lie,

Your heart and soul are sold.

And though the warmth of truth can heal you,

A lie’s breath can shiver one cold.

And face to face,

Unhappiness stares,

Intimidation grows like mold.

While much unlike the joker,

The Queen of Hearts has love presented bold.

Though digging deep,

Within my depths,

I believe you are worth more worth more than gold.