Warped tour 2010

So our experience at the Warped Tour started as my experience at the Warped Tour, and began at 4:30am. Upon hearing that a close friend was looking to get tattooed in Boise while I was there I, being someone who is always on the lookout regarding opportunities to get new ink, found an artist in Boise that I knew was good, and made an appointment. Unfortunately, the artist could only fit me in at 2pm on the Thursday before the concert.

I think the overall lesson here is plan ahead.

For those of you who don’t know, the Vans Warped Tour, which has been going on for something like 12 years, is a travelling festival that begins in Texas at the beginning of the summer, and winds its way across the country over the next few months, finally ending, this year in Oregon, somewhere near the middle of August In order to avoid the sunburned disaster that is The Gorge in the middle of the summer, my co-host, Lina, and I decided to head to Boise, ID. Given that getting press access to something like this tends to be kind of a crapshoot, we also thought that the fact that Boise is a smaller market than Seattle would help us get this most elusive of press credentials.

When I left Seattle at 4:30 am the morning before the show, we still didn’t know whether or not we had been granted access to the artists, and we still hadn’t heard when I arrived at my tattooist’s, who happens to live in Boise, at 2:00p. At this point the uncertainty began.

That night at about 11:30, we finally received word that we had indeed been granted interviews, as well as review tickets. Upon looking online to learn the latest on the tour was from those who had seen it the day before, I discovered much to my dismay, that most of the bigger acts had fallen off the tour to continue their own headlining gigs in Europe and South America. There would be no interview with Portland’s Everclear, or with All-American Rejects. While disappointed, I was not swayed, as the ever popular Reel Big Fish, as well the Dropkick Murphys, and personal favorites Whitechapel and Emmure were still along for the ride.

The next morning, we awoke to a gorgeous day, and headed out to Idaho Center to see what all the fuss was about.

We arrived, applied the obligatory sunscreen and went off in search of the Press Entrance. Upon locating the right table and fighting through the crowd of double-dyed girls trying to convince the guy at the table that they had somehow gotten separated from “the band” and did, indeed, belong backstage, we got our special wristbands, tickets, and press packets and took off to fins the press area inside the show.

The Warped Tour was originally intended to incorporate skating and music, and still does to this day, albeit in a way that I found a little contrived. All of the skating that I saw that day was done by maybe ten guys and 2 girls, and took place on a small half pipe off to the side of the main concert area. Not being a skater myself, I wasn’t that tore up about the whole thing, but this was the first installment of what would become a day of misdirection and disappointment.

The roster I was given still had on it all of the bands that started the tour in May. I once again reminded that I would not be talking to a few bands that I had been excited about. Upon making our way to the stadium floor (Warped Tour is an exclusively outdoor event), I was also informed that not all the bands that were still on the tour were available for interview. We got to know Deborah, the woman that would control our fate for at least the next few hours, signed up for interviews that we wanted to do, and sat down to wait.

I won’t spend much time on the interviews here, as they are available to read, as well as listen to in their entirety on this blog, but I will say that some folks, such as Andrew WK and AM Taxi kind of surprised us with how dickish they were. Given, the Boise show was the fourth to last stop on the tour, and they were likely sick of dealing with the same shit every day, but I would expect at least some professionalism, as promotion is the first step to notoriety. There were others, Emmure, Reel Big Fish, Whitechapel, and Closure in Moscow, for instance, that were very nice and kind, providing us with some good material and making us, nervous as we were to be in that situation, feel at ease.

After completing our obligations at the Press Spot at about 4:30, we reapplied sunscreen and ventured out of the cool sanctuary of the arena to the freakishly hot convection oven that was the concert area of the festival.

The lineup at VWT changes from day to day, and we consulted the inflatable board of doom, and discovered, again much to our dismay, that Reel Big Fish had played at 12:30, shortly before they had made their way to the Press Spot. We gave them the “we’ve been playing for 20 years, we’ll play when we want to” excuse, and took a good look at who was coming up on the various stages.

Upon seeing that Emmure would be playing at the upper stage shortly, the decision was made, and off we went. I was met with an 808 drop like nothing I’d ever heard. The first, ear-splitting riffs of “10 Sings You Should Leave” raised my blood pressure, and I began, at that moment, to have a great time. Part of having a press pass is getting access to the photo pit, so I grabbed my camera and headed to the stage apron. After three songs, and with my face appropriately shredded, I retreated to the back of the crowd, met back up with Lina, and watched Frankie Plamieri (singer for Emmure) work the crowd into frenzy.

Lina and I both needed an emotional break after Emmure’s set, and, having a little while before the next “must-see” set, we took off to explore the other part of the VWT, which is artist access and merchandising. We waded our way through the 14yo throng, often coming upon a group of sullen little kids that refused to move and allow us passage, requiring Lina and I to physically move them out of the way. I’m not 100% sure what the point of their holistic rebellion was, but I do know that kids their age are easily moveable.

The best part of the Warped Tour experience is by far the access that one gets to the artists. Even without our coveted press passes, we would have still had a chance to meet the members of each band at a sponsored tent, get an autograph, and a chance to tell them how great we thought they were. Along with that, the free swag permeated every part of the festival, making available free t-shirts, stickers, demos, label samplers, and energy drinks. We gathered as much free crap as we wanted/could carry, consulted our list of bands and stages, and decided that we would try to see Eyes Set to Kill, a band that we had interviewed, and had only heard the night before. They’re great, with twin sisters Alexia & Anissa Rodriguez serving as lead vocals/rhythm guitar and bass guitar respectively, and have a unique sound so rare in the metal scene. The problem arose, however, when we attempted to find the stage that they were scheduled to play. We could hear them begin, play a whole set, and thank the crowd as we searched in vain for the stage, which we later discovered, while attempting to hear Anberlin, to be placed far away from the rest of the festival, in a spot so separate that, had we sat there all day, we would have never even known that there was more to the festival. Clearly an error in planning that I would find common among summer festivals.

Disgruntled and slightly sunburned, we made our way inside for a cold bevy a hotdog. Upon entering the lobby of the Idaho Center, which served as concession spot for the day, we were met with a sea of humanity of an overall pinkish color, I’m pretty sure I was the only guy wearing a shirt, and that Lina was the only girl not under the influence of some unknown something pilfered from mom’s purse. There were kids on the floor everywhere, so much so that I had to navigate my way through the overindulgent masses to get some mustard for my $6 hot dog, the equivalent of which is available at any IKEA for about 50 cents.

After discussing the evils of overpriced festival concessions for about 5 minutes and coming to the conclusion that someone, definitely not us, should probably look into the issue, we went back to the upper stage to see the spectacle that is Whitechapel.

When you ask for three words to describe Whitechapel, you generally are met with one of three responses, “Whitechapel? Holy Shit”, or “Heaviest Band Ever”, or my favorite, the inevitably stoned “Dude, they are sooooooo fucking good!” The band lives up to all of these evaluations and more. Three guitars provide an absolute onslaught of groovy, heavy-as-hell riffs that melt face at an alarming rate. Bass lines drip with evil, and the drums are, as you would expect, spectacular. The real show stopper, however, aside from the size of the vein that bulges from vocalist Phil Bozeman’s neck when he sings, is the vocals he’s able to unleash. When listening to the album, it’s easy to imagine that he’s 6’8” and 260lbs. Given the sound of his voice, but this is about as far from reality as possible. He’s just a little guy, but his sound is amazing, and is responsible for putting the band on the map in the first place. We had interviewed Kevin, one of the guitarists, earlier that day, but saw the nice, quiet guy we had met transformed into a riff-spitting guitar god, chin thrust out defiantly, and giving the masses that for which they craved.

Fully satiated and mostly exhausted from running around all day, Lina and I decided to retreat to the lawn above the main stage and listen from afar as the rest of the bands played. The main stage, as it turns out, was split into two stages, so at any given time, we had no idea which was playing. While the band one side played, the next band was busy setting up on the other, which was the source of some confusion. It took me about 30 minutes to realize that what I thought was one stage was actually two, with barriers dividing the crowd, and independent schedules.

The schedules between the two stages didn’t overlap (thank god), so we were able to watch the acts on both stages from one spot on the hill. First up, Andrew W.K.. During the interview that afternoon, he seemed like he might be high on some unknown something, his eyes behind his sunglasses glassy, pupils blown. Onstage, however, he was a dervish; high-energy, loud, and seemingly having the time of his life. Accompanying him onstage was an oddly placed dancer, who seemed to be a remnant form Olivia Newton John’s “Let’s Get Physical” video—high cut unitard, leg warmers, and a headband to match. He lived up to his reputation as a showman, but one can only sing about partying so much before the genre is fully compensated for, and there are no new angles to come at the subject from.

It took us three full songs to realize that Dropkick Murphys had begun. A mandolin at a punk show has a great impact on the crowd, giving them something wholly new and original, and giving them something with which to jam. The show was great, as one would expect from veteran performers such as they are, but they seemed tired, echoing their statement during our interview with them, during which they said they were anxious to get home.

As the rest of the bands played, we began to detach, and had more fun making fun of the people around us, from the two 16yo engaged in heavy petting and, shortly thereafter finding themselves the target of a water attack, to the obviously stoned, overweight kid in the banana costume, seemingly lost, and wandering, a free range banana.

As the evening wound down, we decided to bail and go to our favorite place in Boise, Piehole. On the way out of the festival and back to the car, we stumbled upon the stage that we had failed to locate earlier, and found it to be right next to the entrance and the port-a-potty forest. Not the best spot for a stage, especially considering the caliber of acts scheduled to play there. We needed to gain some satisfaction from our earlier failure, so we hung out for a minute, listening to Anberlin play, and reflected on the day.

There were ups and downs, things I would have done differently had I been in charge, and bands that had gone un-interviewed, but it was, overall, an overwhelming success. I guess the lesson learned that day was that one should limit one’s expectations when going to a summer music festival. Such an outlook increases the odds that one will be impressed, and lessens the chances of disappointment.

So sayeth the Doctor, so sayeth the Nurse.

Don’t forget to tune into The Madness every Saturday at 6pm PST to hear more from Andrew (Dr. Madness) and Lina (Nurse Awesome).