Originally published July 26 & 28, 2008, on ClickByLavalife.com
Day One: chaos, Coors, and Canadian soundscapes
The inaugural Pemberton Music Festival kicked off in the stunning mountain-ringed valley north of Whistler, British Columbia, drawing an estimated 40,000 attendees per day. Despite early traffic snarls—two hours to drive half an hour—and overpriced beer ($7 Coors Light, anyone?), the natural beauty and lively atmosphere made up for the growing pains.
On Friday, Serj Tankian and Nine Inch Nails brought intensity, but even they couldn’t compete with the breathtaking scenery. The Bacardi B-Live tent buzzed with electronic beats and music industry types in search of free booze.
Backstage moments included running into Robin Esrock, host of a travel show on OTN, and lounging beside Janine Jankowski while her DJ boyfriend Jesse James worked the scene. The dance tent pulsed like a barn rave, while Kathleen Edwards stole the spotlight with a fierce performance of her post-heartbreak anthem “Back to Me” — in a black evening dress, no less.
Meanwhile, my girlfriend-type-thing (a phrase coined by her own friend Rachel!), aka the Texas Twister, is staying nearby, in Whistlerl. But she’s with five other girls as part of a stagette for a friend of hers named Amelie. I’m hoping, so I have something interesting to report next time, for stories of decadence and debauchery.
Day Three: hookup haze and festival fantasies
The tents were so close together that the campground looked like a refugee camp, which caused more than one person to remark that, nine months from now, a lot of babies were going to be making appearances. Specifically, Pemberton Festival babies.
All of which brings me to think about hookups at music festivals. Looking back on my past, I can’t recall ever having gotten esp. lucky at festivals. Oh sure, there was that time I found my contact lenses when I thought for sure I’d lost them, and the acid was just kicking in, but you know what I mean.
Actually there was this one Winnipeg Folk Festival, back in the days when I would actually CAMP at one of these things, where I found myself sleeping in tent with a bunch of people from Regina, including a cute redhead named Erin. Sigh. Erin. Although, the memory is hazy, and I can’t recall the association moving much further than that one tent night.
Truth is, though, I haven’t been to a whole lot festivals, certainly not where I’ve camped. I’m not much of a camper, for one thing, so unless someone’s got a tent and a Coleman stove and an extra sleeping bag, not to mention copious amounts of bourbon, I won’t be going off into the woods anytime soon.
I’m certainly glad I didn’t camp at Pemberton, hearing about the problems campers faced (traffic, getting to and from camp-sites, baggy shorts). Yet my imagination runs wild at the idea of all that irresponsible, ill-informed, and probably sloppy attempts at coitus.
Meanwhile, my imagination ran amok at the prospect of the stagette party going on in Whistler, the town near Pemberton where I stayed during the festival.
Apparently though the only action occurred when, in her sleep, the Texas Twister groped Amelie, apparently mistaking her for me (or so she says).
In fact, the Twister informed me that she indulged overmuch in the afternoon and passed out, missing a nightclub scene that included an impromptu striptease by a dude at the bar.
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