I just love writing about music so much
And talking about it, thinking about it.
Hell, sometimes, I even like listening to it.
Music was in many ways a great equalizer.
The highs, the lows, I could understand their forms.
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nostalgic
On my last trip of the year, through Sonoma County, I stood at the gates of Camp Newman, outside Santa Rosa. Fire consumed much of the property and the surrounding area. Yet, across the street, some properties operate seemingly untouched.
Now, instead of campers and counselors, its inhabitants are maintenance and security staff, EPA and insurance inspectors. No one is sure of the future of the camp.
Fire has nipped at the heels of most of my childhood retreats. Years ago, much of Camp SWIG suffered the same fate. It was sold off. The Yosemite fires nearly consumed Camp Mather, and Strawberry Bluegrass Festival may never return to that magical home. I remember when flames have threatened Brandeis-Bardein Institute in Simi Valley.
(more…)Iām searching. Iām guessing you are too. Me, Iām here at Lightning in a Bottle 2017 and Iām searching for my keys. Fortunately, not the ones that start my car, Iāve got those. No, Iām looking for those keys, those symbols, the ones to unlock the destiny ahead.
Iām drawn to The Compass, the educational peninsula. I look around and I see each of us finding our own sacred keys. My feet follow fingers fluttering across the skin of drums. I dance alone. We dance together.
Lightning in a Bottle has always been a complex entity to write about. Critiques Iāve written in the past have been dulled on the cutting room floor. Both by myself and by others.
(more…)Note: This article/editorial originally appeared in Fest300/Everfest, now defunct.
Well, that got weird. And not the good kind of āwhere is this going because why the hell notā kind of weird, or the clowns in Lucent Dossier Experience start parading as half-naked goblins kind of weird.
No, over the last two years, Evolvefest producer David Bryson has weirded out all over the event’s massive social media channels with a steady stream of overt, Christian, apocalyptical soapboxing. With tirades covering perceived enemies from every corner of society, the event has gone from a perennial stalwart for the East Coast Transformational Festival scene to something more resembling a Donald Trump rally.
It’s a unique blend of conspiracy and paranoia, the kind that turns Uncles into embarrassments at Thanksgiving dinners.
(more…)This originally appeared on the Lucidity Festivals blog.
Alright you Lucid rainbow warriors. We got clobbered. Swept up. The world turned upside down and we lost our footing.
Now what? Itās a new year. Itās a new world. Weāre back in the counter-culture. So letās dig in. Letās act like we have a message and we believe in it. Letās organize and support one another in deeper, more meaningful ways.
Iāll tell you this, in 2016 at Lucidity, I didnāt talk about Trump once. He never came up. I even mentioned it on a panel and almost everyone in the audience had had the same experience. He didnāt exist.
It wasnāt even about whether it was a possible reality. It just didnāt change the reality we were creating together. He doesnāt. We werenāt afraid. And thatās all that needs to be said about it right now.
It just doesnāt change the reality we are creating together.
Did you know that in 2016, we bought land for the Lucid University initiative? And that there are founders of Lucidity Festival currently living together on land that we all bought right now?
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This article was originally published on the Lucidity Festivals blog
Beyond the party, after the substances lose their mystery, once our friends have disappeared into the aether of āsee-you-at-the-next-one,ā we finally arrive home. We put on some downtempo beats, step into that long, delicious post-festival shower, and eventually find our reflection, staring strangely back at us in the mirror.
The wristband, the speck of glitter, the costume piece we just donāt want to take off, theyāre the subtle reminders of the freak flag flying inside of us. Our return to normal, the ādecompression,ā after a festival, is a stark and sometimes painful reminder that there are facets to our personalities longing to be openly expressed and accepted.
In 2011, I had to drive off site to pick up some thousand feet of extension cables for The Do Lab. I decided to keep my little pink pig ears on as I walked into the Home Depot. They fit so perfectly, the headband disappearing into my shaggy, wild hair. Upon asking the way to the bathroom, an employee pointed in the directionā¦ And then turned to me with a smile and said, āDo you want to race there?ā
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