Last year’s Treasure Island Music Festival was somewhere between meh and ehh. While the lineup was decent (Built to Spill, Spoon, Modest Mouse, etc.) something wasn’t clicking for me. Was it the bus ride? The windy nights? No. It was something else. Something much more offensive than the Clap Your Hands Say Yeah live set (love the album, but the live experience was seriously lacking).
It was those damn smug jerks in the VIP area.
You and your private bar, ATM machine and port-a-potties. Who do you think you are dancing with your own troupe of costumed monsters? Black leather couches? Martinis?
No, you’d never catch me sitting in the VIP section. I’m a man of the people, one who knows the importance of standing shoulder to shoulder with other rabid fans as you piss your pants because you don’t want to give up your spot. I would never, never, ever…
Ok, fine. I admit it. This year Stranger Dance scored VIP tickets and I was there. Don’t hate – I’m weak and fragile. I wear earplugs. Mass gatherings of people frighten me. Can you forgive me? I mean come on people – massage tables! Chicken tenders! Free USB keychains! Et tu Brute? I mean it can only make my review that much better. God, what have I done!?
