…working …working …working …

Yes. I do like Umphrey’s McGee.

Because they are confused. I like that. I can relate to that.

Bands like them usually pull a few particular hardcore followers, and it was one of those I sought. (The crowd was actually pretty sparse for the Budweiser Stage, for how nice the weather is.)

I was looking for a tour rat, or at least a college kid writing down the setlist. What I found was my 18-year-old cousin Carter Watson, who confirmed what I had suspected as soon as I walked within earshot.

What was going on was pretty much improvised.

You can tell by the changing key centers, general sense of uncertainty, and causal glances among band members. But it sounded like a song.

Click here and you can see for yourself.

“They have kind of been playing ‘In the Kitchen,’ but it’s been going on for at least 20 minutes,” he said.

The jam heavy segments were interspersed with dynamic tempo changes, more melodic vocal sections and some lounge actish goofiness that, yes, reminds me of Phish. There I said it.

But it wasn’t the same bit, Anymore than George Carlin is the same bit as Lewis Black.
Not really even close.
There are just… similarities.

Most of the show was wound up pretty tightly.

It’s not everyone’s bag, but hey, what is?

I was impressed with both the technical virtuosity and multi-layered cohesiveness of the presentation.

See? I like stuff sometimes!

This might be it for me campers.
I’m thinking about bailing on Fergie and the Black Crows.

No offense intended to either.

I’m just about BSMFed out.

Thanks to everyone who helped this go so smoothly this year.

Cheers.

Internet, I’ve discovered why I don’t care so much for jam bands. I was watching Umphreys McGee just a bit ago, and I was really enjoying all the pasty white folks doing their swaying pasty white folk dance (you know the one), when it occurred to me that I had been listening to the same song for at least ten minutes. Except that it sounded nothing like the song that I had begun listening to and in fact could have become three or four different songs but was still the same godforsaken song that it was ten minutes before. And then I began to wonder if the song was ever going to end, or if UM just plays one incredibly long song per show. And then I started to get stressed out. Because don’t they need to take breaks so they can reach up and wipe the sweat from their brows? What if a bee landed on the drummer’s nose? What if they picked a song to play for their one-song set and no one liked it? What if people left before the end of the one and only song? How would they ever know how it ended? WHAT ABOUT CLOSURE?!?

This is why people drink at these festivals: KILL THE BRAIN CELLS, KILL THE STUPID THOUGHTS.

I made it down pretty early because I wanted to catch Umphrey’s McGee. Last year I went to see them based solely on the fact that their 10-year-old debut album is entitled Greatest Hits: Volume 3.

That’s funny enough to merit 40 minutes of my time.
And I think I remember really liking it.

But I’m a battered and ill-cared for old robot, and I hadn’t heard them before or since, so I need to check again. I can’t accurately access that data at this time. Please wait…

I’m also rigging this old deck up with some Photoshop action, so imagery is imminent.

The weather is beautiful.

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