Feature Photo by Skyler Wendell
Story by Hannah Carley
Bonnaroo headliners the Red Hot Chili Peppers sold out The Farm Saturday, and fans packed the grounds like sardines in a can, baked in the June heat. The What Stage’s entrance produced a dusty haze coming in waves with every movement of the herd. Bonnaroo 2024 seemed like chaos, but it was like no other. I was in the pit with Kim Swinford, or as I call her, Ma.
My mom is my rock, and I would rather do most things with her than anyone else. The hours tick by but feel like seconds with her — we laugh until our stomachs hurt. Without her, I wouldn’t have stepped anywhere near the entanglement of bodies surrounding that massive stage.
Our car rides demand a playlist of rock bands from the ‘90s and early 2000s. Ma prefers singer-songwriter pop while I’m partial to indie punk. Classic rock and funk are where our music interests overlap, so the Red Hot Chili Peppers are a shared favorite.
Hairdresser by day and homebody by night, Ma had never been to a music festival, and I was determined to give her an unforgettable night.
After sifting through a sea of Bonnaroovians at 3:30 p.m., I found her sitting under the protection of a tall skinny tree. She filled me in on what I’d missed, the journey from her farm in small-town Fayetteville, Tennessee, to The Farm, home of the Bonnaroo Music & Arts Festival.
Tickets and hotel reservations sold out quickly, leaving Ma to make the round-trip drive in one day. The Chili Peppers warranted the effort, dominating the charts and our playlists through her 20s and 30s.
The sun beat down on the crowd of thousands, with a heat index over 100 degrees. On-stage artists shed layers and festivalgoers took refuge where they could find shade. People swarmed orange towering fans under canopies for a blast of cool air.
“I’ve never seen this many bathing suits without a body of water,” Ma said.
Reminiscent of the Wild West, the What Stage — Bonnaroo’s main stage, where the Chili
Peppers would play in hours — was engulfed in dust, from thousands of footsteps walking over the loose gravel.
Initially frightened by the crowd, Ma insisted on sitting far from the stage. She set our tarp base on no man’s land, far from where Cage the Elephant and the Chili Peppers would take the stage.
The stampede of festivalgoers searching for refreshments and other performers left us in a cloud of dust, and I knew she deserved the true Red Hot Chili Peppers experience. After a bit of coaxing, we ventured toward the pit.
Our goal for Cage the Elephant was to see lead singer Matt Shultz, but this proved a daunting task for two women under five feet tall. We bobbed and weaved our way to the front of the herd.
Along our journey, we enjoyed every song bopping to the beat, Ma beaming and giddy. We belted every lyric to “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” with pride.
We met festival veteran Erica Weir. Her cheekbones dusted with sparkling silver wrinkled into a smile as she watched us both dance. She told us she had accompanied her mom to festivals since she was 28 years old.
“Your relationship is precious … what you have is special,” she told us.
Weir pushed us in front of her and we continued to make our way forward. We reached close enough to see Shultz at the beginning of “Cigarette Daydreams.” The lighting warmed the crowd as the band’s most popular song livened audience members. Our faces were lit by stage lights as we all sang the words in unison.
Once the set ended, we found ourselves nearing the barricade an hour before the Chili Peppers’ set. Ma seemed thrilled … until 10:45 p.m. crept closer, stirring the unruly pit.
A group of younger men behind us schemed storming the crowd when the Chili Peppers began. Another pit member’s girlfriend squeezed her way ahead of him and the mass of bodies closed — he started screaming at everyone.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ pit lacked Bonnaroo’s convivial energy and persistence to radiate positivity. We found ourselves surrounded by starstruck sharks prepared to bite for a better view. Ma looked at me with panicked eyes.
Bumping our way to the front of the crowd wasn’t what we had in mind for our concert experience, but neither was the turnout for the Chili Peppers. The number of heads blocking our vision exceeded expectations.
“I’m ready to go. I’ve had my fill,” Ma said.
Our new seats were near the concession stands, where we could sit without being trampled. Ma loved that.
“Californication live! We did it!”
I asked her if she still thought Anthony Kiedis was hot like she did when he had his luscious long hair.
“No … he looks like a cowboy without his hat on,” she said.
She was half right. We left our decent view before the cowboy found his white hat during the encore, concluding the night with “Under the Bridge” and “Give it Away.”
We sealed the day with waffle cones, which ended in a chocolatey, melted disaster.
Ma bear-hugged me before walking to her car, but I lingered by the reddened stage. Fireworks burst in the dark and sprayed glittering heat into the night sky before I closed my eyes to capture the moment forever.
Hannah Carley is a staff writer for MTSU Sidelines.
To contact the Lifestyles Editor, email [email protected].
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