Next I wandered over to see Kylesa, the Savannah sludge-psych band notable for its two (sometimes three) drummers and for having, in Laura Pleasants, one of the few frontwomen in modern metal. Their pummeling riffs were a reminder that metal bands can groove, too. Spotted backstage at the show: Knox County school board Chairwoman Indya Kincannon. Unlike me, she was wisely wearing ear plugs. (Other Knoxvillians seen out and about yesterday included downtown developers David Dewhirst and John Craig.)
Over on the main lawn (aka the What Stage), the evening ran to rock of various kinds. I saw only some of the Decemberists, but they sounded good--even with the beard and all, Colin Meloy will always look a little bit like a kid playing at rock star, but that's part of his charm. They were follwed by My Morning Jacket, who provided an obvious answer to the long-running question of just what kind of band they are (roots-rock? hippie-jam? Southern boogie? indie-psychedelic?). In their first appearance on the big stage, the Kentucky quintet convincingly presented themselves as a full-bore Arena Rock outfit, with big swelling choruses and mid-tempo grooves redolent of predecessors from U2 to Prince. The loping songs from their likable new album, Circuital, seemed built for a space this big, and in his white furry boots and occasional cape, leader Jim James strutted like a down-home Jagger. (That's how you do it, Colin.)
(Pictured: Not Colin Meloy or Jim James.)
After that, there was time for most of a good, taut set from the reunited Primus, sounding as genre-defiant as ever. How a band that combines outré funk with brainy Zappa-fied quirk and gonzo virtuosity ever got to be superstars is still an open question (it ain't their hummability, for damn sure), but even up against Arcade Fire, Les Claypool and friends drew a huge, glowstick-bearing crowd.
(Pictured: Primus, probably, somewhere.)
The late-night hours were all about hip-hop, with Big Boi delivering a funky, energetic set at one of the smaller tents--his spirited entourage of step dancers, friends, and family completely filled the stage, making it hard to even see his band or DJ. Then Lil Wayne took over at the Which Stage, the second-largest Bonnaroo venue, slinking and rasping his way through a bevy of hits that, when placed back to back, revealed a single-minded dedication to the art of the lay. As one chorus put it, "I wish I could f--k every girl in the world tonight." And given the number of young, female Bonnaroovians shouting every line back at him, you had to like his odds. It occurred to me at one point that this was sort of the nightmare of segregationists in these very parts a few decades back, a field full of white girls screaming sexual suggestions at a muscular young black man. But one of the nice things about Bonnaroo is that those kinds of thoughts don't linger long--everybody's having too good a time to care much about the politics of the outside world.
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