Phil and Friends, Denver 7-15 Morrison, CO 7-16

[TooStonedToType]

How to Survive...A Hippie-Fest at Red Rocks
Watch out for beer bottles, laser pointers and pointy umbrellas.
By Ben Hiller


http://www.westword.com/Issues/2005-06- ... mmer3.html

Having attended at least one all-day fest at Red Rocks Amphitheatre per year for over a decade, I've been lucky enough to see nearly every great reggae band in the world. I gave a high five to Toots Hibbert while the Maytals looked on, aghast at my dancing. I watched a cop pass a guitar pick from Family Man Barrett of the Wailers to my friend from high school. I saw performances by George Clinton and the P-Funk All-Stars. From the general-admission seating, I observed climbers who got marooned on the weather-pocked monoliths enclosing the amphitheater, Ship Rock to the south and Creation Rock to the north, and had to wait for helicopter rescues. In the parking lots, I saw the most amateurish drum circles and hack sessions form and disband fluidly like intermittent schools of Phish fans eddying in the currents of the neo-hippie tribal music emanating from the stage.

From all of this, I've learned a few things. The first is: Crotching the pot is necessary, but not sufficient, to get through security unmolested. Depending on the day's terrorist-threat level and the patchouli saturation of the crowd, fascist yellow-shirted security guards might demand that ticket-holders dispose of items as innocuous as cigarette lighters, rolling papers, switchblades, glass pipes, half-full Frappuccinos and unopened bottles of sweet, sweet beer. By coincidence, most of these things are available for repurchase inside the gates -- except the switchblades, so hide your backup in your sock. As for all that spilt beer, which could have been donated to starving alcoholics in Ireland, the security goons may have a point -- considering the ill effects of flying glass bottles on the human head.

Then there's the fine print: "Open alcoholic beverages are not permitted in the parking lots. Due to risk of fire in the park, open flame fires and charcoal grills are also prohibited" But these rules are as meaningless as Lenny Kravitz lyrics. Consider the numerous parking-lot barbecues and all the octo-hookahs in the green vans -- which must be lit with extra-long fireplace matches.

Still, the safety of 9,450 people (not counting undercover narcs and Red Rocks employees) is imperative. Thus, despite the luxury, you cannot bring glass bottles inside, nor can you bring in unsealed (and possibly dosed) plastic water bottles or Thermoses, or aluminum cans or anything alcoholic, or umbrellas with points. Ditto lawn chairs and weapons of mass destruction, including laser pointers and whole fruits or vegetables that have not been sliced open to disprove suspicion of harboring recording devices, anthrax spores or umbrellas with points.

The lack of umbrellas raises another concern: This venue is out of doors, people. Getting so drunk you can't feel raindrops or sunburn does not count as protection against the weather. And if you slather on coconut sunscreen and then hitch a ride up to the parking lots in the back of somebody's truck, angry bees may well storm out of the honeycombed rocks overhanging the access roads. Neither Barry Fey nor the ticket-takers will come to your aid.

All of these facts must be considered when preparing for a day-long outing at Red Rocks. Maybe an extra pair of socks will be in order; maybe a soft-sided stadium chair with a seat back and ass pad; perhaps a few aspirin for the headaches caused by too much sun or too many microphone squeals. (I'd be sly with the aspirin if I were you -- security isn't too lenient about finding a pocketful of pills.) Bring a hat and sunglasses and a factory-sealed water bottle and a sandwich and an ATM card and DeepHippieOff Repellent (aka deodorant) and some condoms for that one drunk chick whose giggles in the men's bathroom broke my concentration while I was trying to pee. Sorry about the floor.

And for God's sake, all you music and drug aficionados, decide whether you're going to bounce or twirl before you get lost in the psychedelic sea of tie-dye and incense smoke and glass beads woven into hemp necklaces and dreadlocks. Indecisive stoner grooving is the foremost cause of muscle cramps and harshed vibes. Birkenstocks were not designed for kicking up heels to crunchy funky melodies, or even Hacky Sack. And swaying in place while staring at the trails your hands make is not a valid form of dance.

But whether you've just licked the blotter of God, caught the first glimpse of that fabulous bitch Barbra Streisand assuming the stage, or watched the Easter sunrise over Denver's promise-keeping suburbs, one thing holds true: You don't want to peak too fast. Don't get drunk early in the day, and don't dance yourself out to the opening band or hymn. You're in it for the long haul, which at Red Rocks means until two people in your group fall asleep or lightning takes precedence over acoustic jam bands and Lenten godliness. But never Babs: Lightning cannot usurp Barbra. I'd sit through a dingleberry hailstorm to hear that woman's heavenly voice.

You should just take a deep breath, imbibe the scenery and expensive bottled water, smell the sage-and-armpit-and-crisp-foothills air, and be glad you live in colorful, musical Colorado. Until you lean too far back on those flat wooden bleachers and someone steps on your hand; then feel free to curse the whole fucking world and pull out your spiked umbrella and laser pointer.

[TroutMask]

Hm, pretty accurate.

-TM

[laughingwillow]

I'm not sure about any drag co-efficient associated with this run of shows. Especially with only one night at red rocks. (But we can always hope to have one more tacked on the end. It doesn't hurt to wish.)

Btw, my tickets showed up in the mail today.

Any rooms with padded walls for rent in the area?

lw

[TooStonedToType]

LW - Your room is ready!

----

I noticed the Philmore is having a food drive.  10 cans = concert poster.  

http://www.phillesh.net/philzonepages/f ... _2005.html

[laughingwillow]

TTST: Cool! Which room would that be? In Chateaux Yegge or Chez Troutie? Or perhaps somewhere more dangerous? Like the ayre of a certain giganticly dangerous Bass Stork?

Its bean awhile since I've been up past tiny town. That would be nice....

lw

[TroutMask]

We have a room for you in each abode, so feel free to choose. Or if you aren't able to choose at the time, we'll have someone choose for you and let you know when you arrive.

-TM

[jikuhchagi]

Hope you all have a good time. We'll be with you in Spirit!

j :lol:

[senorsalvia]

What JIKU said :!:  :wink: -senorsal

[laughingwillow]

Good ot see you jiku-brother. I've been wondering how things have been. I looked at a world atlas the other day and scanned the Canadian atlantic coast, wondering if you and yours were maybe somewhere in that vicinity as of late.

troutie: I'll leave the abode decisions to those with abodes to decide. It always seems to work out somehow... hehe

lw

[TooStonedToType]

If you didn't like last nights show - you didn't dose.  Crazy show, but we were up in the rafters for much of it with the folks out on a field trip from the group home.  Then LW gets the bright idea of smoking up some of the inmates.  It wasn't too bad, aside from the puking and rolling about the isles, which forced out of our seats.  But I don't know why that "staff" girl had to wake them up as soon as we had them asleep on the floor.   Especially during birdsong.

Red Rocks should be off the hook if the Philmore is any indication of what might happen.

[space]

LOL...

...the Minder shoulda been the first one smoked, via exhalation if necessary.  Always corrupt the supervisor first...

[TooStonedToType]

If you missed last nights show: listen to this.  

Entrance of the Gladiators

Don't know what else to say.

[TooStonedToType]

The shows are available via bit torrent download at http://cotapers.org for the next 10 days or so.

[laughingwillow]

Muggles Bubbles and Beyond.........

Leave it to our pal Stork to bring a bubble gun to Red Rocks. I knew we were all set when he showed up packing. We pitched camp dead center, a little over mid-way up the hill. We watched flotilla after flotilla of bubbles being launched from the gun, some exploding imediately and others making their way toward the stage below. But the band was in no hurry that night and dose management soon became an issue for some. Blowing muggles bubbles became an outlet for one gangley hippie, watching the surprised look on peoples faces when a cloudy bubble exploded near by, releasing a fragrant whiff of da kine. The boyz on stage warmed the place up during the first set. Psychedelia was never far from the surface, ready to spring at any time. Stork gave up control of the bubble gun in between sets to a pre-teen kid sitting next to us with his parents. We spent the break watching him try to reach the stage by clear bubble; no muggles allowed without proper i.d..

Soon the second set began to unfold. All ears were straining for the sounds of calliope music to indicate the circus was on its way. Then I learned the news; apparently word had filtered through Shakedown Street that the ring-master had been spending some time tweaking the show. But for some reason, that fact hadn't been provided ot me until just before the high wire act was scheduled to go on. And I must now admit to a little trepidation on my part, especially when ring master ree began muttering about propriatary formual, coca-cola and taking it to the grave before letting out a minacial burst of laughter that ended abruptly as he bent an ear and announced, "there's our cue." I could hear the spirit beckon tenderly through the love notes eminating from the stage below. Gentle musical tendrils probed the audience dwarfed between red monoliths bathed in light. Timid musical phrases cwawled up the hill, calling to all who would listen. By then the ring-master had lit the circus joint and was directing the colorfully painted psychedelic cigatette to all who dared to inhale the fumes streaming from that magical grease fire......... (cont.)

lw

[laughingwillow]

..... When the circus joint finally made it 's way ot my side of the ring, I inhaled deeply twice in rapid succession and then held the third for as long as possible.Then I settled back and closed my eyes. Nothing happened for about fifteen seconds. Suddenly a white disc appeared in my field of vision. There were four or six lights of various colors inlaid around the perimeter and another in the center. The disc attached ot my crown chakra and pushed me down. Then I saw a large machine covered in beads of every hue, its edges rounded by bauble, rise from the depths before coming ot rest at eye level. It was about then that I noticed a distinct change in the tone of the music. It was almost as if the courtship was over and it was time ot get down to some serious family bidness. About then I flashed on the cosmic callipers that seemed to hold me in place during a show in Wisconsin a couple of years back. But this time, I watched as my spirit was slowly pulled from its physical shell. I could hear, see and feel the clippers snipping at my edges while the soaring guitar lines pierced my being and sewed the fabirc of my soul along the perimeter of the audience toward the stage. The process was physically painful. About then I panicked. Thoughts of being in that space before and then escape entered my head just before I took a deep breath and considered opening my eyes and trying to break the spell. I watched a giant billows draw air and expell a blast upward, destroying the cosmic needle work in progress. Luckily, irrationality prevailed and I settled back down to taking shallow breaths once again while the cosmic tailors worked on repairing the damage I'd caused and then continued on with the job at hand. Soon my vision was pink all the way down to the stage and I knew I'd been stitched into the fabric of the show. At first I felt vulnerable and exposed; almost like an insect larvae that has just emerged from a shell into its next stage of life. Then I became slightly embarrassed at the idea of exposing my essence in public until realizing that I was with family. All was well until I became conscious of the hot, stale air entering my lungs. But before I could panic, three puffs of deliciously cool air rushed into our biosphere. I could feel my essence expand and contract much like the skin of a balloon, but the stitching held firm. And I had the distinct feeling of a pleasant breeze blowing around inside of me. Then I flashed on the kid blowing bubbles down the hill toward the stage and knew all was right in our little world. At least right then and there........

lw