Well, it’s two weeks after the fact and I’m finally able to wrap my head around the musical smorgasbord that was Bonnaroo 2009. 75,000 people descended on Manchester, TN, (population: roughly 9,500 for 361 days of the year), for the festival’s eighth year.

The musical equivalent of Willy Wonka’s world of pure imagination, Bonnaroo once again transformed the masses into a mellow crew of blissed out Charlie Buckets — just swap the sugar for Springsteen.

Thursday, June 11

After a hand of God style torrential downpour that gave camp set up Survivor level intensity, we caught a chunk of Delta Spirit at This Tent. (Bonnaroo’s stages are named What Stage, Which Stage, This Tent, That Tent and The Other Tent, because messing with hordes of cloudy headed miscreants is fun). DS was loud, heavy and very voodoo, and Matthew Vasquez’s hex-ey wailing, in conjunction with the weather, gave opening night a fitting air of southern eeriness.

Friday , June 12

(All photos: Brittany Nelson)

Under less threatening skies, the Friday concert gamut began with Animal Collective at Which Stage. There were a lot of pissy post-show complaints about a sub-par set, sound issues, and the set time — the argument being it should have been a late night show — but screw that. The sound could have been louder, (and was when TV on the Radio played the same stage later in the day), and the vocals were a bit weak, but A.C. built a rich, huge sound that, haters be damned, was perfect in the afternoon heat haze. Those who couldn’t suck it up enough to dance in the sunlight should have been complacently nodding their heads at the St. Vincent show anyways.

First angsty decision of the weekend was choosing between Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Grizzly Bear. Grizzly Bear won and thank goodness, because from the moment the bass line kicked in on “Southern Point” the show was elegant ear candy. They’re better live. Believe it.

After a bout of aimless wandering, we camped out at What Stage, Bonnaroo’s largest, for the Beastie Boys. I’ve never been a big Beastie fan, but they tore it the fuck up, playing a set (including “Sabrosa”, “Paul Revere”, “Intergalactic” and “Body Movin’ “) that satisfied fans hardcore and casual. Nas‘ guest spot during “Too Many Rappers” was uninspired, and older, punk leaning songs like “Egg Raid on Mojo” were pretty harsh deviations, but really, no complaints. It’s refreshing to see older bands who still seem to give a shit about what they do.

And then there was Phish. The extent of my Phish phase was a few listens of Farmhouse in high school, but after the first of their two headlining sets, I understood why reasonable people disassemble their lives to follow them. I kind of wanted to myself, if only to see the light show again.

Late night brought us to That Tent, where a harsh, loud, screamy set by Crystal Castles was followed by Girl Talk. His shows of years past are the stuff of Bonnaroo legend, (I will always despise myself a little bit for missing him in 2007), but this time around… meh. Girl Talk (née Gregg Gillis) took the stage a half hour late at 2:45 am, which is a long time to wait at the end of a 15-hour day when you’re running on trail mix and popsicles. When he finally appeared, the rolling crowd immediately rushed the stage, as Girl Talk fans are apt to do. Unfortunately, the scene was beyond manageable and Gillis had to stop the show to get help for the people getting crushed in front. This is fine, but Gillis’ backdrop text reading “I am not a DJ” got under my skin — yeah, we get it dude, you’re a mash-up artist. The music itself, aside from the bits of Springsteen and Al Green, were by and large the same as on the albums. Overall, disappointing.

Saturday, June 13

A less indie, more rock and roll Saturday started with Bon Iver at This Tent. I know it makes me sound like an asshole, but the whole thing brought me to tears. Justin Vernon’s voice is falsetto honey and the set ending crescendo thump sing along of “The Wolves (Act I & II)” was magic in the glowy heat. Everything on the very gentle For Emma… and Blood Bank stood up to Vernon and friends’ high volume treatment. In a weekend of shows that rank high on the all time greatest list, this was the very best.

To Wilco! Clearly, they’re icons, and for a reason. Highlights included “Handshake Drugs”, “Impossible Germany” and Jeff Tweedy calling out the VIP section for being poseurs.

Bruce Springsteen did his big American marathon of a show with religious fervor well past midnight, and it was epic. The boss seemed to revel with kooky middle aged man joy in messing with the ‘crazy kids,’ by playing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” Imagine tens of thousands of grungy people joyfully singing Christmas songs in a field in the middle of nowhere in 80° June heat. Brilliant.

Also joyful: Jay Weinberg, Max Weinberg’s 18-year-old son who stepped in for dad mid-show. The younger Weinberg (a metal veteran) tore up the drums for “Radio Nowhere”, “Lonesome Day”, “The Rising” and “Born to Run” with energetic prowess. Jay will tour with the E Street Band for a chunk of their current tour. It’s not nepotism. It’s talent.

Sidenote: Rob Riggle and John Oliver from The Daily Show stood behind me during Springsteen. (Pretty sure John Oliver cried during “Dancing in the Dark”.)

Saturday’s late night portion began with a solid Yeasayer. The band worked as an opening act for MGMT, whose psychedelic jam-out-ass-shaking session quickly became the buzzy “were you there?” show of the weekend. The band played most of Oracular Spectacular, and sent the ecstasy kids into make-out overdrive during “Electric Feel.” They covered ‘Til Tuesday’s “Voices Carry”, (with Chairlift’s Caroline Polacheck on vocals), because “it sounded great on the radio when they were driving to the festival stoned.” The poppy “Congratulations” from their forthcoming album ended the massively awesome set and the third day of music.

Sunday, June 14

After dancing ’til 4AM and rising early with the humidity for three days, asses were dragging by Sunday. Conveniently, the day’s lineup at What Stage — Erykah Badu, Snoop Dogg and Phish II — facilitated an all day camp out.

Badu, being the coolest chick on the planet, played in the heat wearing a Public Enemy hoodie. She alternated between classics from Baduizm and Mama’s Gun and material from New Amerykah, Part One and the forthcoming Part Two (Return of the Ankh). Badu kept the vibe super chill and left a field full of listeners laid out on the grass in a trance-like state of mellow.

Snoop encouraged the crowd to drop it like it was hot and yell “fuck the police” (with middle finger in the air). He sounded great, mellow, and Badu’s return for a “Lodi Dodi” duet was a highlight. His cover of “Jump Around” felt like a non sequitur, but seeing Snoop introduce Phish was once in a lifetime.

There were a lot of big moments during Phish’s festival-ending set, and a lot of them involved glow sticks. The best, however, was hearing Trey Anastasio tell the story of his first concert, which he said remains the best show he’s ever seen. That concert was, of course, Bruce Springsteen, which necessitated, of course, a Springsteen appearance, which, of course, sent tens of thousands of people into spasms of musical ecstasy. Like a guitar-slinging Obi Wan and Skywalker, the musical masters, both leaders of cultish fan empires, tore through, among others, “Mustang Sally” and “Glory Days” — providing a perfect epilogue to what was for me, Trey, the Boss and more or less all 75,000 of us involved, a wholly perfect weekend.