Who knows if it was the UT-OU game, the long line at the gates, or just the relatively early set time, but the weekend two Father John Misty show seemed less crowded. And maybe a not quite so high strung. Just a feeling. It was also hot hot hot, so instead of heading towards the packed stage right, it felt like a good time to grab some shade by the porta potties.
Judging by golden tweets like this one, FJM’s crowd-mingling antics continue to be a hit. Last weekend an adorable middle-aged Austin couple nearby were admiring Josh Tillman’s irrepressible swagger. “He is smoooth,” the man said. “You know Shiny Ribs?” He asked. “He is exactly like this.”
Tillman’s intensity and sarcasm were a hit in the hot ACL day stage once again. Instead of ragging the crowd for what he declared was undoubtedly a veritable orgy of hedonism, on weekend two, he sarcastically suggested methamphetamines to keep the energy up.
Drugs aside, there was a hit new drink trend making waves at Saturday’s ACL. It’s called water, and judging by the lines at the filling station, mid-afternoon, it was beating beer ten to one.
For good reason. While waiting in the long water line, a girl in front of me sat down. When she got up, she gave her friends a fright by simply taking off. “She went to throw up,” her friend said. Heat stroke is real, folks. Welcome to October in Texas.
At last weekend’s Father John Misty show, a petite young woman near us just dropped, like a puppet whose strings were cut. Police came after awhile, and EMS a whine after that. Heat stroke again, it seemed.
After Father John went out on a banger, came Shakey Graves, in his Macho Man Randy Savage sunglasses. Even the local boy hollered at the heat as he brought his band back. “At this portion of this eveni…aftern, uh….seering hot oven…”
After waiting in a line to exit the festival (hooray for re-entry, but this is so annoying, ACL), you came upon the dusty, chaotic corner where the throngs enter the fest and the scalpers congregate to do their thing. This corner’s already been a mess of golf carts trying to cross the path as hundreds of people trying to get in. The fest now has de facto traffic cops running traffic, but it’s a whistleblowing mess.
And it got messier Saturday afternoon as there seemed to be a congress of scalpers buying and selling wristbands, in serious numbers. Maybe some of those folks were waiting for friends, but as I left to cross the street, a security guy hollered real loud, “If you don’t have a wristband, you have to leave!” He said that a few times and seem to get a dozen or more folks to to at least cross the street, but that’s as far as they went. Later in the evening, the same spot was full of kids debating jumping the fence, or making deals with scalpers. Lesson here? People really want to see Drake.