We were standing around, shivering on a cold afternoon. “Is there anything to DO?” I groaned. Now, a music freak would have jumped all down my craw: “What the h— do you THINK you’re supposed to do at a music festival?” 

And I would have answered, “You mean, besides drink?”

Let’s face it. There are times when whatever’s on the music menu isn’t to your taste. And judging by the scantness of the early crowds, I wasn’t the only person wandering aimlessly without a mud-free place to sit my booty.

If I could ask one accommodation of Memphis in May it would be to allow folding chairs. But then, you know what would happen. People would show up at dawn, create a No Man’s Land of folding chairs in front of the stages and then yell “sit down!” at those who dared rise to dance, and if there’s anything worse than not being able to sit down it’s not being able to stand up. Annoying folding chair sitters: hate them. 

So with a dearth of bands I’d stand for, my pal Barry and I perused the part of the festival that nobody really blogs about: the sponsor exhibits. There, swag is traded for e-mail addresses. 

Our first stop was a trailer with a combined marketing campaign of Sharp televisions and major league baseball. It provided one alternative to music: video games.

An employee offered to take a special photo of Barry and I. Then she gave us a card to visit a website and retrieve our free picture. To get the free picture I needed to provide my e-mail address, and as I’d prefer less rather than more spam, the pic is destined to be swallowed by the matrix unless some great person would like to retrieve it for me by going to www.sharp.fotozap.com and enter the following code: 354-3013158. Barry thanks you.

The BP trailer has a more utilitarian function. Bathrooms. Nice(r) ones than those provided by the Fest. The idea is that BP’s bathrooms are better than Port-a-Johns. When ya gotta go, go in style. 

And when the bathrooms run out of toilet paper, you can request one of the t-shirts they were giving away. Let me describe it: a man in a pink car, flowers spewing from its tailpipe, drives circles around your torso. You figure out the target demographic. I never wear green and I never wear pink, so if there’s some emo kid out there who wants this…

Our music critic Bob Mehr says it’s really “British.”

I tell you, that sun feels wonderful  after a chilly afternoon. It’s just low enough to cast long shadows over the stages, so you can still see without shades, but there are plenty of sunny spots to warm up — and a few green patches of grass to lounge on.

I was just doing a bit of back-and-forth between the Cellular South and Sam’s Town stages, where Cat Power and The Whigs are playing, respectively. Both acts have played in Memphis at the Hi-Tone over the past year, so this was an opportunity to catch both of them on a much bigger stage. Also, both have deep Memphis connections. Hank Sullivant of The Whigs is a former member of Accidental Mersh, who regularly filled the New Daisy Theater back in their high school days. His former bandmate, Andrew VanWyngarden is, of course, one half of it-band MGMT. Cat Power showed off some of the Memphis-grown talent that backed her on her 2006 breakout album “The Greatest.” Hi Records guitarist Teenie Hodges and keys man Rick Steff sat in this afternoon on selections from that record.

Another hot festival cover version: The Whigs blazing through The Who’s “The Kids are Alright.” Power trio covering power trio was the way to go.

Cat Power sounds great on a cover of These Eyes (Are Crying). Then she goes into a major deal introducing the band as they solo while a number of fans play air guitar. Some recognition for the air guitarists, please.

What is sticky muck? So I’m this old dude trying to figure out the music festival. Last time I was at something like this the Grateful Dead was playing and everyone was doing a field of wheat dance - arms waving kind of mellow in the breeze like Kansas on a good day. Something tells me times have changed. But when I check out this act called Muck Sticky, the first thing that happens is two giant reefer torches start smoking on stage. That looks familiar, but it’s been a long time. Muck Sticky comes on stage between the monster joints looking like an annoying leprechaun who got into his kid sister’s wardrobe. I asked around about him. Listen to the audio. Click here. What is sticky muck?

Bluesman Preston Shannon sure knows how to keep his guitar happy.

 

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Stopped by the Al Kapone show and he’s no Harry Belafonte. The weather’s pretty cold so crowds are down all around. But a small appreciative crowd howled when he began. Many knew the words and more danced. If connecting and communicating are part of the art, Al is the real deal.

The Blues Are Alright is how the song really goes, and on Friday night they were alright because they were under a freakin’ tent, relatively safe from the mud and rain.

The lure of shelter insured that the Tennessee Lottery Blues Tent was packed all night even if the performances did not always warrant it. Former Memphian Charlei Musselwhite, who should be popping up a new release later this year jamming with the North Mississippi Allstars, Jim Dickinson, and Alvin Youngblood Hart, was backed by a particularl hard-charging blues trio. And while Musselwhite has never been the greatest vocalist (a sort of more reticent Mose Allison) he siwely stepped back from the mic to let his own harmonica and the solos of his guitarist do the singing.

Headliner Keb’ Mo’ ended the night on a way too laid back note. Backed just by a drummer, his mid-tempo set is more appropriate for a Sunday afternoon not a beer soaked Friday night. In all his performance turned the hot and sweaty blues tent into a mild and tame Starbuck’s.

I would like to be able to say that I stuck it out. I would like to be able to say that I am so hardcore that a little rain never scared me off my beat. I would like to be able to say a lot of things, but I would be completely full of crapola were I to actually say them.

Behold! The scene pre-Sheryl Crow (shield your children’s ears; there is an F-bomb in this video!):

Yeah, it got pretty nasty. A couple of acts canceled, even. I stood out in that mess for quite a while. I thought to myself, Self, if all these puny little skinny little emo kids can make it through this nasty wet electrified mess of a night, surely you can! And yet, as soon as the rain whipped up enough power to make unidentifiable noises (dragons?) and soak itself through every last shred of denim and cotton on my body, I decided it was time for me to depart Tom Lee Park and leave the blogging to the professionals (i.e. everyone else). The good news is that I made it back to my car in one piece and that, en route to my car, only three super-Christian dudes yelled at me to save my mortal soul (compared to last year’s veritable throng of proselytizers). Granted, I did not actually enter the Beale Street mortal-soul battleground, or else I might have seen much more.

And while I would have loved to have stayed for a song or two by My Chemical Romance (I can dig some poppy nu-punk opera stylings … when in the right mood) and Sheryl Crow (did I ever tell you about that time I was at a sleepover for this girl named Gina in middle school and Sheryl Crow’s first album was playing and we were playing tag in the church basement and I was being chased and looked behind me and ran right into a cinder-block wall and bruised my chin something fierce and had to wear heavy concealer for two weeks?), I just couldn’t do force myself to go through with it. I know, revoke my blogging/pajamas media badge! I’m sorry, internet. I’ve failed you.

All I can offer as an olive branch is a photo dump!

I will say one thing about the rain, though. There is freedom in it. Once you’re standing out there in your utter disgusting smelliness, soaked to the bone, there is only one thing to do: ROCK. Or tiptoe playfully through the puddles. But either way requires a kind of selflessness that is reassuring late on a Friday night. To all those frolicking through puddles late Friday night, I salute you.

I was standing in front of the Budweiser Stage, the rain having just subsided after delaying the 9 p.m. acts by more than a half-hour, when a rumble from the crowd turned into an ovation. The stage crew had begun removing the plastic covering from Ben Folds’ piano, and the show would go on, right? As if on cue, the rain hit again, hard all at once this time. The giant white plastic cover went back over the band setup, and those stage hands who were just being cheered were now booed.

With the advantage of being covered, the Tennessee Lottery Blues Tent was standing-room only. Charlie Musselwhite, the harmonica master who is a regular at Music Fest, was probably the only act playing at the entire festival for most of his set, and he delivered. The native Mississippian who saw success in the 1960s playing in Chicago with Paul Butterfield closes the gap between the two regions, showing that no matter where it’s from, it’s all just the blues.

So, not only did we send Mr. Donahue out for your aural pleasure, but we also wanted him to provide some visual stimulation for you, our devoted blog readers.

With that in mind, we have a fun little feature called “Where’s Donahue.” We’re going to start easy tonight, as you’re probably tired from either the festivities at Music Fest or from reading our exciting coverage of the party at Tom Lee. Click the image below to get started. Or if you want more audio fun, click here