The Ultimate Music Festival Survival Guide

Music festivals have fascinated me for years. While the popularity of music and arts festivals in the United States waned significantly in the years following Woodstock ’69 (not to be confused with Woodstock ’99, aka Durststock), they’ve experienced a revival in the past 20 years thanks to the popularity of Lollapalooza, Coachella, Burning Man and the Humongous Fungus Festival.

My interest in these festivals has manifested itself not only in my attendance at the last three Firefly festivals in Dover, DE, but also n the form of a grad school paper and a post on Everybody Hates Cleveland (just trust me, I wrote it, not Jim), which dove deeper into the social and financial reasons the US of A has embraced going to see hundreds of bands in one weekend, as Europe has for decades. I plan on discussing none of that here.

Instead, as a seasoned veteran of the festival camping circuit (twice), I’d like to impart some wisdom onto anyone willing to get some friends together to meet some boys and maybe eat some mushrooms, or cruise some chicks and get a suntan. There are hundreds of Pinterest sites and Buzzfeed articles that’ll give you full lists of the supplies you’ll need if you feel like WASTING YOUR TIME. (Wait, you’re telling me I should bring clothes to this festival? Gee, thanks, “Buzzfeed Entertainment Editor” John Sucksalot!) I’m here to give you the REAL advice you’ll need, which you can apply to festival camping, tailgating or getting ready to go to the DMV on a Saturday.

Sure, it’s neither timely nor helpful to craft a list of festival tips after many of the major festivals (Coachella, Bonnaroo, Firefly) have already passed, but I’ll forget about all of this if I don’t do it now, and besides, it’s my blog and not yours, so shut your mouth. Let’s go.

1.   Number of stakes you need: MORE

Stuff falling down is hella lame. You need extra stakes and extra shit to pound the stakes into the ground. Bring twice as many stakes and mallets as you think you need for every tent, canopy, shelter, and camper dressed as a Walking Dead character you expect to encounter on your journey.

2.   Number of hot dogs you need: ALSO MORE

They don’t go bad, they’re easy and quick to cook, and no one really dislikes hot dogs; they just don’t like eating them while embedded in normal, civilized society. But you’re not a part of normal, civilized society for the next week: you’re at a music festival, the true representation of post-apocalyptic life, and the only goods of value in this God-forsaken world are stakes and hot dogs (and alcohol, but not for the purposes of this joke). They’re utility goods, and they’ll serve you in a million different ways. Camp grill keeps falling over? STAKE IT. Buddy getting sick from all the hot dogs? HOT DOG HIM AGAIN (to build resistance). Torrential wind and rain threaten to tear down your campsite? Stake some damn hot dogs in the ground in the shape of a pig to appease Hatfield, the Norse God of Storms and Meat Byproducts.

3.   Establish a pee spot

Let’s not beat around the bush here; you’re going to consumer your own weight in awful food and cheap booze 25 times over during the course of your weekend, and there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell you’re going to make the journey to the port-o-johns and wait 45 minutes for one that isn’t submerged in pure human waste every single time nature calls. For #1, it’s best to establish a single community area to decimate for the duration of the trip. Do it near one of your cars whose open door can give you a little cover from the world, and whose owner doesn’t mind never being able to sit in or sell the vehicle ever again.

There is no easy solution for #2. The punishment for trying to pull that shit (literally) anywhere that isn’t a john is immediate death by having a hot dog staked through your heart.

4.     Get water at off-peak hours

Hey, while you’re staggering around the campgrounds at 4 AM in a drunken stupor, wander over to wherever you get water and fill up. Everyone’s going to want it in six hours, which is also about how long you’ll need to wait if you go when everyone else does, so beat the rush. Plus, the water stations provide an excellent new location for you to pee on the ground so you don’t kill ALL the grass in your own campsite.

5.     Clotheslines

Nobody at this festival is camping to get acquainted with nature or prove your mettle by choking a grizzly to death for his or her only food for the week. You’re a millennial suburbanite hoping to time your acid drop just right so it lines up with your favorite MGMT song (which is definitely “Siberian Breaks” – Oracular Spectacular just isn’t who they really are anymore, man). This means you are probably also terrible at camping (like me), which means your tent is probably going to flood and all your stuff is going to get soaked and reek of rainwater, mildew, and urine, because you are literally pissing EVERYWHERE, YOU FILTHY ANIMAL. So you’re going to need something to dry all that out.

Tie clotheslines to your other structures and proudly hang your shirts, shorts, socks and other garments for all to see. If you’re worried the weight of all your Hulkamania boxers might pull your tents and canopies to the ground, then you weren’t listening to me earlier when I told you to STAKE IT ALL DOWN. STAKE STAKE STAKE ALL THE STAKES.

6.     Find a meeting place, and don’t try going to shows with a group bigger than 4

It’s just not happening, man. You cannot bring a dozen of your friends from the campgrounds into the festival and expect them all to stay together, even if you’re all going to see the same bands that day, so establish a meeting place and time after each act to reconvene. You’re inevitavbly going to lose a couple people in the midst of the crowd, either by someone stopping for food, striking up a conversation with a dude wearing the same Bryan Reeves Vancouver Grizzlies jersey as they are, or excusing themselves to take a leak in the PIZZA STAND, OH COME ON BILL, WE TALKED ABOUT THIS.

Invariably, cell phone service will be minimal, and your phone will probably die within 20 seconds of entering the festival grounds anyway due to the Rules of Being In A Situation Where You Need A Cell Phone, so don’t count on that either. It’s as simple as, “Okay, meet me back here at the hot dog stand after Bon Iver for some hot dogs! I miss hot dogs!” or “Hey, see where those security guards are beating the crap out of Bill? Be there at 5.”

7.   Speaking of phones…

As mentioned before, your phone will be nigh useless as a communication device for the duration of your stay at the Sludge ‘n’ Smirnoff Inn & Suites, but if you plan on using your phone for playing music through some Bluetooth speakers (preferably the same song over and over again all weekend to endear yourself to your neighbors), you will probably need something to charge it. Portable emergency chargers are as useful as they are easy to lose, which is to say “very.” Your best bet is to gas up your truck, Sea Doo or whatever you plan on driving onto the campsite beforehand, bring a car charger, and just run the car occasionally. This way, you’ll give everyone the juice they need without killing your car battery, which is vital because…

8.   Speaking of cars…

You’ve always dreamed of owning a pickup truck. Not necessarily one with all the bells and whistles, but an old beast of burden, capable of hauling all the cement blocks you could dream of and eliminating your need to ever rent a moving van ever again. You love driving the truck. You love the idea of the truck. But then, the day comes when you own the truck, and you regret everything, because now – to your friends, family and neighbors – you are The Guy/Girl With the Truck. You are putting your local U-Haul out of business because everyone just wants to borrow you and your wondrous 26-cylinder moving machine to transport furniture, TVs, and tons and tons of junk. It’s like winning the lottery and seeing old acquaintances and strange third cousins emerge from the woodwork, only instead of an annuity, all you get are payments in the form of few slices of Papa John’s pizza and whatever PBR is left in Uncle Bo’s tool shed, because that is worth eight hours of your Saturday and $40 in gas.

Anyway…the same concept holds for owning jumper cables at a music festival. On the one hand, having a heavy-duty set of cables will be a godsend if you accidentally leave a light on all weekend. On the other, once someone two campsites over with a shot battery sees you wielding a 10-foot, black-and-white ticket home, word spreads quickly. Soon, whatever time you hoped to spend packing or drinking the last of your beer is burned playing the Mother Theresa of Cartman Cables.

Of course, if you don’t bring jumper cables, no one else around you will have any, so you’ll need to wait even longer for the on-site AAA guy to get to you. So your best bet is to just not let your battery die, which means run the engine. Sorry, environment. Sure, your chances of blowing everything up while leaving your car running is much higher than if you just left it alone, but look at it another way: think of how quickly the hot dogs will be cooked!

9.   Please, for the love of God, pace yourself

Whether you’re tailgating, camping at a music festival or running a marathon, a great piece of advice is, “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.” Like gunning your engine before the race starts, going too hard your first day at the festival before things have even really gotten underway is a recipe for failure. Also, vomit. You will probably vomit a lot, because if this weekend proves anything, it’s that you are a disgusting creature that barely deserves to live.

There’s little point in me telling you how much alcohol to buy (more) or what kind to drink (light beer and refreshing stuff – this isn’t a brewery tour, it’s 100 degrees outside), and I won’t pontificate on use of certain other paraphernalia that may or may not be legal in your state or municipality (do what you want, man, just maybe not within 20 feet of a state trooper). I’ll just remind you that, although you may be incredibly hyped up once you’ve arrived and set up your pad, you will be living this lifestyle of debauchery for several more days. Don’t wear out the novelty too quickly.

Note: This rule does not apply in situations where, oh, just as an example, a huge f***ing thunderstorm tears through your festival and you're forced to evacuate. In this situation, you should start drinking immediately and with vigor. Like you're gonna be any safer sober or something.

10.   Remember, music festivals are hyperreal spectacles that have more in common with megachurches than they do venues for genuine artistic connection, designed to distract you from the ills of society and your own personal limitations and failures as a person via the simulation of a single artist or group’s image over huge screens and sound amplifiers in a grand attempt to convince you that you are part of this generation’s Woodstock when, instead, you just plunked down a grand sum of money to ostensibly live the way citizens of developing nations are forced to live every day by eating awful food and wallowing in your own filth for days.

Er, I mean, see you next year!

To: Heat. From: Matt. Subject: F*** OFF

The summer solstice comes on Friday, June 21 this year. According to “scientists” and “officials” and “everyone else,” this is our annual indicator of the start of summer, which, with all due respect, is bullshit.

For about two weeks now, I’ve spent my nights super-glued to my bed, sweat fastening my skin to the fitted sheet on the rare occasion my fitted sheet has actually lived up to its name, or to the mattress itself for the lion’s share of my evenings, when my fitted sheet curls up in some corner of my bed as if recoiling from my never-ending perspiration.

On any given day, my body runs about as hot as your standard diesel engine. When the temperature skyrockets here in the Northeast, the only places I’m capable of sleeping comfortably are a freezer chest or someplace 80 feet below the floor of our basement. (I’m working on making that room happen. Trust me, the sub-basement has serious Mitt Romney-type potential).

I will always take exercising in the cold as opposed to the heat. You can always layer up to combat the cold. While most people get starry-eyed at the prospect of living in Southern California, South Florida or some other tropical locale, my mouth starts to dry up just thinking of living someplace where the average temperature rests “comfortably” at 75.

So no, I’m calling shenanigans on this whole nonsense about summer starting in late June. This isn’t an outright denouncement of the season of bands, beaches and boozing, though; simply the small sliver of time I spend each night pretending I care about how I perform at work the next day by getting my 40 winks.  Come summer, that usually gets cut to somewhere between 10-15 winks. I’m typing this from my bed right now and it’s only a matter of time before I’ll need a spatula to help peel my skin off my laptop.

The biggest problem, really, is the lack of ways to counter the heat. Yes, even in a first-world nation in a relatively modern home complete with luxuries such as “electricity” and “windows,” I have proven terrible at combating high temperatures.

I’ve tried…

Wearing less clothing: Unfortunately, I don’t fit into my old pair of Daisy Dukes anymore, so no dice.

Opening a window: Not effective, plus it lets in even more of the sound of the enormous freight train that comes by our house every night right around 11:30. This train has to be five miles long. It never ends, and it’s louder than an electrocuted herd of goats.

WHOO WHOO HERE COMES THE "FUCK YOU" TANK ENGINE RUMBLIN DOWN DA TRACKS

Air conditioning: No, hold on a minute, I'm not done with this train. It rolls by at 2:30 AM too and I swear it tries to outdo its prior decibel production. It's the locomotive equivalent of Justin Verlander: instead of wearing down as the night goes on, it actually gets stronger as it works. If I could see the damn thing, I am positive every one of its cars would be extending me a pair of anthropomorphic middle fingers at me the whole way by, too. Jeebus, Mary and Joseph.

Anyways. Oh, the air conditioning unit. The oasis in the desert. When it works, it’s like manna from heaven. When it works. Which, at my current place of residence, it does not.

At my old apartment in West Chester, the centralized air conditioning was sparsely used for a few reasons. One, my two roommates were extraordinarily cold people, which didn’t mesh well with my brick-oven body, so they didn’t see having the air on as a cost-effective maneuver. (Having the heat blasting all winter, though, was a necessity, of course)

It didn’t help my case that our air conditioning barely worked there, either. On the rare occasion it did operate, it took five hours to get the room to a noticeably lower temperature. The air conditioning became one of those things we told friends we had so they’d actually come over. Every time they’d ask if the air was really on, one of us would “check on it” by flipping a couple switches and knobs on the thermostat aimlessly with a confused look on our face.

Of course, the usual work-around for this is…

A fan: Nothing beats a fan when you’re looking to blow hot air all around a room. Much like the Catholic Church, fans don’t solve a problem, they just move it from place to place and hope nobody notices. (I'll see you in hell, guys)

My aforementioned roommates in West Chester let me use their desk fan in my room at night to counter the sweltering heat, which basically only stung my skin and dried out my throat. (Yeah, I know)

There’s one option I haven’t tried: a cold shower before bed to cool down. But what’s the fun in that when you could…

Just jump in a tub of ice water and sleep there like a normal person without a brain condition.

Yeah. That’s better.