Florida Fest!
Tuyet Nguyen
The Metropolitan
love your friends and die laughing
It's amazing what can happen in just three minutes. Three weary
travelers packed into a sedan and rambled 31 hours from Denver to Gainesville, Fla. for it. We slept on hardwood floors, ate warm sandwiches and wore dirty socks, but none of it really mattered. Three minutes was all it took to make it worthwhile.
photos by Tuyet Nguyen / The Metropolitan
Modestly dubbed "The Fest," over this past Halloween weekend the small college town was host to three days of punk rock, hardcore and all the subgenres in between. Over 70 bands spread out over four venues, all within walking distance of each other.
Baroness, from Georgia, highlighted Saturday's slew of shows with unkempt hair and sludge metal guitars that brutalized the crowd. A highly-anticipated Asshole Parade reunion turned out much sloppier than expected (but I guess that's what happens after two years of not playing together). Alt-country twangers Lucero put on their best faces, but ended up disappointingly shortening their set.
Sunday was the final mess of music and the last eight bands, along with a couple hundred locals and out-of-towners, all piled into one venue.
Hometown Gainesville heroes Gunmoll said their farewells for an enthusiatic last show. They played with their hearts on their sleeves and the crowd responded with raised arms and sing-along chants.
Denver transplants Planes Mistaken for Stars rocked it next and in the last three minutes of their set, they converted the non-believers.
The ever sensuous Gared O'Donnell put aside his guitar, grabbed the mic and jumped into the audience. Matt Bellinger and Chuck French stayed behind onstage, shirtless and sweaty, bent over their guitars. Mikey Ricketts pounded away on the drums.
In that moment, they made the thousands of miles every band and every fan traveled seem unimportant. They brought together this silly community of music nerds and made everything cohesive.
Hot Water Music was just as remarkable. Chuck Ragan's scratchy vocals echoed through the tiny club only to be drowned out by the singing of everyone inside. As native Floridians, they were an ideal end to a weekend of unpretentious rock, new friendships and adopted families.
photos by Tuyet Nguyen / The Metropolitan
We made it back to Denver in one piece. The kids slept in the back as I drove all night with Skynryd and Sabbath keeping me company. It rained black and I was worried we might end up in a ditch. Smoking cigarettes and winding down from a restless weekend, commercial trucks passed me by like giant monsters in the night. I thought I saw mountains on the horizon, but it was just clouds. A thousand miles and three minutes.
Can't wait until next year.
- Tuyet Nguyen, 11/02/04 |
