How did James ‘Super Chickan’ Johnson get his name? And what is his plan for the weather (which has apparently worked)? Find out here.

The Commercial Appeal has plenty of people walking around Tom Lee Park to cover Music Fest. Of special note, however, is Michael Donahue who will be doing audio blogs throughout the weekend.

Check out his first two. We’ll make sure he sees any comments you want to leave him.

 Michael Donahue Podcast 1 [0:56m]: Download
 Donahue Podcast 2 [1:39m]: Download

Check back throughout The Beale Street Music Festival for streaming video from Tom Lee Park. If the live stream isn’t running, then you can view our previous broadcasts.

I was finally giving this year’s list of artists a cursory look.

“Hey Bryan did you put the 2008 line up on the site yet or am I looking at last year’s?”

“That’s this year.”

“Oh…”

Not a great prologue. Honestly I don’t understand why anyone would want to hear my opinion on most of these bands. But lucky me, lucky you, guess we’re all going to.

There’s a couple of acts I might not mind sitting through, but I also feel a powerfully less-than-thrilled rant forming at the base of my spine.

But not today, grasshopper.

I was just checking in to make sure I remembered my password anyway.

The cult of the pig is pervasive in Memphis, but it really takes barbecue fest to bring out the fanaticism.

I was lucky enough to share a special moment with whole-hog contestants Tracy Hughes and Missy Hobbs in their tent. The couple tied the knot in a brief ceremony officiated by the Mayor of Germantown. Below you’ll see a photo from the actual ceremony. (more…)

My BBQ Team, the Ques Brothers, has been patting ourselves on the backs for the last few days. For freshman contestants, we’ve got a darn good set up. Most teams settle for a big tent. We went whole hog — putting up a tent in the rear AND a two-story scaffold structure in the front, which is a great place to perch for sunsets and people-watching.

What does it say about my team members? That we go to extreme lengths to party? That we like to look down on others?

And what, I wonder, does this booth say about the Adribbers? (more…)

I spent the last day of Music Fest powerwalking from one end of Tom Lee to the other, trying to catch as many acts — okay, the first three songs of as many acts — as possible. The rain was a fun and quick diversion, and brought the humidity down to bearable a level that I dare say could be described (quietly, of course, so as not to jinx it) as “pleasant.” As I slogged through the mud and fought with my $5 poncho (free with one of those Southern Comfort hurricanes!), I thought about what a wuss I am, and how I’d never be able to handle Bonnaroo. And I wondered exactly how all those people who’d worn white skirts and pants were doing right about then. And then I thought about going home and drinking a glass of wine. And doing laundry. And holy crap, someone just splashed mud on me. And it smells like vomit right here around the corndog stand.

And then I remembered I was there to do a job. Or something like it.

So I watched people tumble out of the giant inflatable obstacle course. I hung back and took photos long enough that people stopped actually going through the course because they were wary of having their photo taken as they tumbled out onto the ground like this good sport here:

Very near the silly obstacle course was the oxygen bar, where festival-goers could hitch themselves to a supply of pure oxygen, which came in flavors (scents?) such as watermelon and strawberry and lavender. I appreciate flavored air, actually, which is part of the reason why I’m poor; I spend about a hundred thousand dollars a year on candles.

When asked what breathing pure oxygen was like — is it like being more or less drunk? — this young man began talking about how transcendent an experience it was, since our usual access to oxygen is hindered by all those other annoying gases in the air. And then he told me it was kind of like chewing gum through your nose. Which makes perfect sense, actually.

Just a few yards from the oxygen tent was a sizeable mudpit, pretty much bisecting the food/bathroom area in the middle of the park. I spent more time than I can make an excuse for waiting for someone to slip and fall in front of me and my jerk camera. But no one did. Several people lost flip-flops, and some nearly fell, and others made a big to-do about crossing the moat. But I can report that the collective balance of BSMFers is decidedly solid this year.

I don’t know this young lady’s name, but she expressed a strong interest in having her likeness plastered all over the tubes. I’m happy to oblige.

The woman on the left (I didn’t get names, sorry!) is from Michigan, I think, and the woman on the right is from Memphis. The Michigan native wanted me to be sure I knew that there were people from all over the country at this festival.

Here we have Justin and Moses. I went to high school with these guys and haven’t seen them in a very long time. They were enjoying the Taj Mahal show. Moses gave me a big hug and saw me taking photos. “Is this what you love to do?” he asked, smiling. “Yeah, man! Is this what YOU love to do?” I asked, gesturing toward the crowd. “Hell yeah, man!” he said.

Which brings us to Sam Ramirez, a New Orleans native who spent several harrowing nights in the Superdome during the Katrina aftermath. He said he was never interviewed. So I told him to check the CA’s website for his big MSM debut. Sam’s a big music fan who said Wolfmother reminded him a lot of old Ozzy.

So many faces, so little time.

My head feels like an Amtrak train derailed in there somewhere.

So what happened last night?
Seriously… you tell me.

(sigh …well I guess its a good thing I write this stuff down.)

I caught the last half of Chevelle, which was surprisingly good.
It was heavy. Not impressively heavy. Not bleeding out the eyes heavy, like I like. But heavy enough to where I didn’t immediately turn around and walk away. I think the influence/inspiration for this band is pretty obvious just from their tone. They’re going for the abrasiveness/complexity/texture of tool, and I think they take a decent swing at it.
Its not easy to pull off. I can’t hate too much.

Red Jumpsuit Apparatus was laughable.
I mean I stuck around for all of 10 or 15 minutes… so maybe it was really, really good after I left. But I doubt it.

And besides, I was on my way to catch the band that influenced the bands that probably influenced them in the first place.

“It’s dangerous to roam the streets of Memphis as a punk rocker.” ~Mike Ness

Social Distortion is one of those acts I didn’t really think I would ever get the chance to see, and it definitely made my night. I don’t typically get too excited about bands that are pushing greatest hits records, but they put on a great show.

Social D played some of the tracks that helped forge the OC punk scene, a couple of new ones, and a bunch of the stuff in between. And Hank Williams’ Six More Miles.

None of it came off as stale or tired, just as a seminal punk experience.
If you missed out, you missed out.

And speaking of acts that I never thought I would see…
I hung out with the other old folks at Iggy’s show long enough to see his stage dive routine, and that he hasn’t changed much in 30 years. (”Salamander on crack” is an awesome description, btw)

The Iggy extravaganza is already well chronicled on this blog, so I’ll leave you to it.

I don’t go to the Allman Brothers anymore, not since they “fired” Dicky Betts. I don’t even understand how or why they still have shows and play “Blue Sky.” I just don’t get it.
I kept walking.

I didn’t want to miss the angry mob at… hey, where’s the angry mob?
I was hoping for a flock of grim faced farmers wielding torches and pitchforks shouting “repent, for the end draws nigh!!”

(turns out those guys were actually standing in the middle of Beale Street wielding placards and megaphones instead)

I usually like to talk to these guys, but it was already getting kinda ugly so I put that on hold.

Anywho! Triple six was crunk, like they usually are. Dance contests, “beer breaks,” and one minute verse/chorus versions of most of their songs, you guys know the story.
And there was definitely a persistent element of gloating.

“How many people are mad that we’re here?”
“How many people want us back next year?”
“And the year after that?”
“And the year after that?”
“And the year after…”

I wouldn’t put it past them. Their crowd absolutely dwarfed the crowds at Allman and Iggy. It was huge.

The funny thing about three six’s “clean show” is that the audience already knows the freakin words to the songs.
So any words the band is forced to omit, the audience gratefully fills in at maximum volume.
Am I the only one who finds that whole situation a little ironic?

And finally I had a little fun with the police.
There was a 16 year oldish girl standing next to me, shakin what her mama gave her like she was trying to hurt someone.

I tapped one of the nearby cops on the shoulder and said,
“Excuse me officer, but that has GOT to be illegal.”
He looked at me for a second like he wanted to get mad. And then he looked at her and completely broke down laughing. All four of them did.

I hate trying to be funny when there’s no one around to appreciate it…

Now I’m going to lay back down for a spell.
I’ll catch up to you guys later.

Because it just wouldn’t be MIM without a horizon dotted with portable toilets.