This is the end. My only friend, the end. 

I’ve decided to switch formats, and I now have a functional all-music blog called Rock Out With Your Blog Out. Specialization should help me to focus and post more often. I already have reviews of the Radiohead and Wilco shows I attended this weekend and managed to import all the music-related posts from this blog to the new one. 

There’s plenty to see there, so please check it out.

Thanks for everything. Where Isn’t My Mind? signing off.*

*Just this site. All you have to do is update your bookmarks to continue our relationship…

Saw Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg last night. Only without Dre and Snoop. And that superfluous “g” that all the kids love. It seems like I only pay compliments on this site - but I gotta say, Dr. Dog owned during their 90 minute set.

Are they original? Not particularly. I swear I heard the riff from the end of Abbey Road’s ”Golden Slumbers / Carry That Weight / You Never Give Me Your Money Reprise” medley during one of Dr. Dog’s jams. Pitchfork said it feels like a cop-out to call them ”Beatle-esque,” but there’s simply no way around it. Why be afraid to call a spade a spade?

For me, their familiarity is not a shortcoming. It’s their allure. I can’t go back to the sixties to hear the Fab Four do it better. Dr. Dog is as good as it gets when it comes to retro retreads. It’s practically a misnomer to call Fate a “new” album because it sounds like it was made in 1968. They don’t write tunes about current events or modern things because they know their niche. There aren’t any “interweb” moments here (listen to My Morning Jacket’s “Librarian” if you don’t understand this reference. 

Not everyone can be Radiohead. Five guys wearing fedoras and sunglasses while singing harmonies that slide in and out of key aren’t going to revolutionize music. But that doesn’t prohibit them from putting on an excellent show.

For lack of a better word, Dr. Dog is spunky on stage. They jumped around a lot and strummed with mucho gusto. “Oh No” was my favorite from last night, switching from mid-tempo stomp to fuzzed-out blitzkrieg to audience-supported singalong.     

Other highlights included “The Breeze”, “Ain’t It Strange”, “The Way The Lazy Do”, “The World May Never Know”, “Easy Beat” and meeting the band afterwards.

Yeah, that’s right. Where Isn’t My Mind? managed to score an interview with Taxi (lead guitarist and vocalist Scott McMiken) and Text (keyboardist Zach Miller) following the show. Only it wasn’t really an interview. It was more of a conversation shared while waiting in line for drinks at the bar.

Through the discussion, I learned a few things about the band: 1) They are extremely approachable and grounded - just good dudes. 2) They had nothing but nice things to say about my new favorite band My Morning Jacket, who they’ve toured with in the past. 3) They are somewhat bummed that they won’t be able to catch Radiohead during their tour of duty at Lollapalooza this weekend. 4) There is no Dr. Dog dress code that mandates that all members wear fedoras on stage. They just all really enjoy hats. 

NOTE: The picture above was taken on my cell phone. This marks the first time that I’ve used a photo with proper permission.

In honor of the $50 gift certificate to Red Lobster I recently received, I present to you…another pointless list (Told you I was back).

5. “Crab” - Weezer 

4. “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi” - Radiohead

3. “Octopus’s Garden” - Beatles

2. “Packt Like Sardines In A Crushd Tin Box” - Radiohead

1. “Rock Lobster” - The B-52’s

to start blogging again. It only took a month of inactivity for me to realize that I missed it. Between work and awkward pseudo-relationships, I couldn’t figure out where my mind was for a while.

Devoid of distractions again (except my full-time occupation), I can once again confidently suggest, Where Isn’t My Mind? It’s all over the place, I tell ya.

We have lots of catching up to do. It will be on my terms, so I may continue to post only sporadically. But content is coming. This blog isn’t dead yet.

BTW: The last two days of Bonnaroo = sort of a mixed bag (made of hemp, obviously). Pearl Jam was incredible. Ben Folds was fun. Broken Social Scene sounded awesome. Ghostland Observatory made me dance even though my sandals were caught in the mud. 

Cat Power sucked (Would it kill you to play something off You Are Free?). So did Jack Johnson. The same would have been true for Kanye, but I didn’t have the energy to wait up for his pompous ass. Death Cab For Cutie was a huge letdown. That’s how Bonnaroo ended for me. As prophesied, I skipped Widespread Panic. Go ahead middle-aged hippies, flame away. Continue to insinuate that I love bands like Chicago, even though every other post on this blog suggests otherwise.

The rumor is that there’s lots of nakedness at Bonnaroo. I only saw a few isolated cases, though. There was one couple who ended up posing for an unholy number of photos with people who love nudity but like keeping their clothes on. I don’t remember what the girl painted herself up as (I was distracted by her breasts, obviously), but the guy painted his junk to look like the trunk of an elephant. Upon seeing this man’s decorative wang, my friend suggested that if he even developed the gumption to expose himself to 80,000 people, he would paint his region up like the ass end of a tiger. 

It was such a fine suggestion that it forced me to contemplate what could possibly be better. After hours of deliberating, I’ve come up with the perfect costume for nudists. Just hear me out. The guy should paint his parts to resemble a stingray, while the girl decorates her pubic area to look like Steve Irwin’s face.

Brilliant, right? Now that I’ve offended everyone, let’s talk about Day Two….

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Day Two - Friday, June 13

My moment of euphoria: “Run Thru” by My Morning Jacket. For me, this was the highlight of the Louisville band’s three-hour long set. My buddy and I had finally worked our way up to the front row, only to go absolutely ballistic once the jam started up. Fuck the rain that had soaked us for the past few hours. We didn’t care about anything. Sure, it could have been the booze, but I’m pretty sure the music was even more intoxicating.

MMJ’s new album certainly isn’t my favorite from their catalogue. But, man, do the songs hold up well in concert. “Highly Suspicious” was simply blissful - the epitome of the cheekiness that makes the band truly unique. Look at Jim James’ hat in the above picture. Unlike all those lead singers you know who cash their paychecks righting depressing songs, it’s obvious that the mastermind behind MMJ truly loves being on stage.

That’s why the band sprinkled its setlist with R&B covers and brought out comedian Zach Galifianakis for last call. Seeing Galifianakis prancing around in a dress while reading lyrics off a sheet was simply too much. I really don’t know how anybody could dislike MMJ after watching them perform. They rock hard and have a blast doing it. What else is there? 

My other moment of euphoria: Yep, Friday was fucking phenomenal. Nearly seven hours before MMJ blew the roof off my mind, The Raconteurs delivered an incredible set on the main stage. Although it sounds blasphemous, I’m convinced that Jack White should scrap his two-piece band and stick to his four-man side project. 

Although White justified his superstardom with his showmanship, I was pleasantly surprised by Brendan Benson, the group’s other singer-guitarist. His songs were superb. Because the tones of their voices are similar, I always assumed that White handled the majority of the vocals. But this isn’t the case. “Consolers of the Lonely” and “Rich Kid Blues” demonstrated just how valuable Benson is to the group.

Of course, they forced me to miss !!!: As much as I hate exclamation points, I was really looking forward to acquainting myself with !!! at Bonnaroo. But their performance started 30 minutes before The Raconteurs, so I only ended up catching the first two songs of their set. Even though I didn’t see much - I walked away feeling like I just saw something that I’d absolutely never seen anything before. 

They really knew how to work the crowd, to the point that they were borderline hypnotic. If Nic Offer asked everyone to gouge their right eyeball, there would have been more people walking around with eye patches the following day than at a pirate convention. Missing them because of a scheduling conflict was one of the few musical minuses of the weekend.

Ironically, Minus the Bear was a big plus: Being somewhat familiar with the Seattle math-rock outfit, I though there was a chance that they might be a real snooze live. But they sounded like a cross between Death Cab, Bloc Party and Incubus. My friend ended up tabbing these guys his favorites out of the bands he knew nothing about going in. I’d go see these guys again in half a heartbeat.

Sonic Stage shakedown: I saw The Fiery Furnaces twice, albeit briefly in both cases. I really enjoyed their 30-minute performance on the more intimate Sonic Stage. though. All the pretentious noise wankery from their studio albums was missing. With brother shredding and sister singing, I found the Furnaces quite endearing. I think that “Straight Street” is one of my new favorite songs. 

Quick hits: Umphrey’s McGee was disposable, and Rilo Kiley was bland. Chris Rock’s standup was top-notch. Glad to see all those crappy movies he’s been in haven’t ruined his biting sense of humor. I sat in my tent during Metallica, who sealed their fate when Lars introduced Chris Rock and explained to the audience that “hell was about to break loose at Bonnaroo.” If you’ve been reading, you know how I feel about hell.

So, what sucked besides Rilo Kiley?: Well, our campground was positioned closest to the main stage at Centeroo, which we assumed would be a good thing. Of course, nearly every time we tried to use the What Stage entrance, it wasn’t open, which extended our walk from half a mile to a mile and a half. This really took a toll on us Friday night when we decided to leave during Metallica’s set. All the good chi we built up during The Raconteurs and Chris Rock evaporated instantly when we realized that Bonnaroo event organizers were trying to trap us inside Centeroo.

Honestly, we tried about five different exits marked on the grounds map, and none of them were open. We ended up sneaking through a VIP opening after 40 minutes of trekking around with no success at all. Once we finally got back to the tent, everyone was pissed off, and thoughts of skipping MMJ crept into our heads.

If that’s not the work of the devil, I don’t know what is. 

So here’s the deal. For the next four days, I will be breaking down each day of my Bonnaroo experience. It will be the blogging equivalent of the “tape delay.” If you weren’t there, it will still be new to you.

Before we delve into Day One, I would like to make a blanket observation about America’s most hyped music festival - it was pretty awesome, but far from perfect. Although I attribute the brutal heat and humidity to a few moments of misery, I don’t think moving our generation’s Woodstock to a more temperate climate would transform it into 96 hours of complete bliss.

The fact of the matter is that once you get into the Bonnaroo gates, you’re totally stuck. A few hours of slightly uncomfortable sleep is the only time you’ll have away from the people you came with. Spend 12-15 hours with the same folks each day for four straight days, and you’re bound to experience some frustration. The same can be said of occupying that much time in front of the same stages underneath the same sun. Moderation and variety are important, but they’re not part of the Bonnaroo M.O.

Consequently, each day of the festival unfolded in a similar manner for me - at least one moment of absolute euphoria, eight hours of fun, and three hours of insufferable shitiness. So if you keep reading, you’ll get the great, the good, and the Kanye-esque.

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Day One - Thursday, June 12

My moment of euphoria: An early morning visit to the Silent Disco. If you’ve never been to Manchester, the Silent Disco is a tent where people put on wireless headphones and dance together to music being broadcast by a DJ right in front of them. Yeah, it’s dumb. But it’s also hilarious. And a hell of a time.

As we walked in “Revolution 909 / Da Funk” was playing from Daft Punk’s Homework album. Although it probably shouldn’t be surprising considering the crowd, this was thrilling to me. I knew the songs that were playing, even though my knowledge of electronic and dance music is limited to ostensibly two artists (have I professed my love of LCD Soundsystem before?). Needless to say, I had no trouble conjuring up my inner French robot and really getting down. 

I don’t know if I’ve properly conveyed it, but I’ve found few things in life more energizing than flailing appendages alongside a Greyhound busload of semi-sober young people who have no qualms about looking goofy as fuck.

If it wasn’t for the disco: It would have been Vampire Weekend’s performance. Even though I am a fan of their eponymous debut, I tempered my expectations for the Columbia University classmates, especially hearing from a friend that their Saturday Night Performance bordered on boring. Such was not the case at Thursday night. VW ended up being one of the more energetic bands I caught all weekend. The B-side “Ladies of Cambridge” was a highlight. But even songs I never much cared for on the CD, “One (Blake’s Got A New Face)” in particular, convinced my feet to stomp and shoulders to turn.

The only complaint I had about VW is that the crowd (mostly female) seemed almost too into the band. I don’t get it - It’s not like these guys have anything going for them. So what if they’re wealthy, Ivy League-educated, critically acclaimed indie rock darlings? 

Who am I kidding, even Eminem would go gay for the boys of VW. 

Under new MGMT: That’s where Vampire Weekend was on the schedule. Battles played before them, with interesting but not terribly memorable or melodic results (although I probably should have been paying more attention). Before Battles, it was MGMT, a duo that I was hyped to see after posting their video on this blog a week ago.

I don’t partake in psychedelics, but these guys were almost awesome enough to make me reconsider. “Electric Feel” was astounding live. I pretty sure it put the entire crowd into a trance. Of course, I can’t say for sure, since I spent those four minutes scouring the grounds for pieces of my brain.

It was mind-blowing, did you catch that?: And so was Grand Ole Party. Not because they mirrored the ethereal trippiness of MGMT. No, instead because they’re one of the tightest and most impressive three-piece bands I’ve ever seen, and yet, no one ever talks about them as one of the best upcoming acts in the business. 

It was enormously impressive to watch Kristin Gundred pound the shit out of her drumkit while belting out a bunch of great tunes. I know it’s hard to play drums and sing - I’ve played Rock Band, after all. But I was hesitant to force my friends to venture all the way over to The Other Stage to see a band that I’d listened to for about a total of five minutes before the festival. Nevertheless, everybody loved Grand Ole Party. I fancied them as a more hungry and compact incarnation of The Raconteurs with a female lead singer. I would discover just how much of a compliment this was the following day.

I would continue, but this is tape delayed, and that tomorrow hasn’t happened yet.

So, what sucked?: Well, the drive to Manchester from Indianapolis was awful, especially because I was the one driving from 1 to 6 in the morning. I had to pull the old karaoke trick to prevent my mind from going into shutdown mode (I can sing just like Eddie Vedder, believe me). But that wasn’t even the worst part. The shit hours of the day were from 10 a.m. until 2 p.m. before we finally decided to head into Centeroo.

After further exhausting myself by helping to erect a tent as soon as we arrived at the campground, I tried to reward myself with a nap. Of course, the only place available for me to sleep at the time was the front seat of the car. This was dreadful. With the heat rising by the second and my back in a position that would make me a candidate to become a scoliosis model, I think I dosed off for about nine minutes or so.

When I woke up, the rest of my crew was asleep, and I decided to bury my head into the ground. Only l didn’t have a fucking shovel. I’m pretty sure Jesus and Satan both ventured to Bonnaroo this year (to see Pearl Jam, I would presume) because they’re simply wasn’t much separation between heaven and hell during my weekend in Manchester.

See you tomorrow for a recap of Day Two.

It’s official. Where Isn’t My Mind will be blogging from Bonnaroo so that everyone gets a taste of the total experience. But I won’t be live blogging because I’m terrified that my laptop will get broken or stolen. There will be an extensive recap (or probably series of recaps) when I return from Manchester on Monday

Sorry for the brevity, but I still have to adequately prepare myself to rock. 

Grand Ole Party - “Look Out Young Son”
7:15 to 8:15 p.m. Thursday - The Other Tent

Rilo Kiley - “Portions For Foxes”
6:15 to 7:45 p.m. Friday - This Tent

Ben Folds (Five) - “Song For The Dumped”
5:45 to 7:15 p.m. Saturday - Which Stage

Rogue Wave - “Lake Michigan”
1 to 2 p.m. Sunday - Which Stage

Vampire Weekend - “A-Punk”
11:30 p.m. to 12:45 a.m. Thursday - This Tent

My Morning Jacket - “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Part II”
midnight to 3 a.m. Friday (technically Saturday) - Which Stage

Iron and Wine - “Lion’s Mane”
6:30 to 8 p.m. Saturday - This Tent

Death Cab For Cutie - “Cath…”
7 to 8:30 p.m. Sunday - Which Stage

How do I feel about Coldplay? Are they better as a band or a punchline? Honestly, I kind of like them. Parachutes is a pleasant listening experience. And A Rush Of Blood To The Head has some solid cuts (”Politik”, “Warning Sign”, “A Whisper”, “Amsterdam” and the title track) that counteract the sucktitude of “Clocks”. X&Y is on my iTunes but I probably haven’t listened to it in a good year and a half.

I saw Coldplay at Deer Creek during the X&Y tour. Although I don’t remember a great deal from the concert, I left with the impression that Chris Martin is a pretty formidable showman, which can compensate for a lot in a live setting (see: The Hives).

When I heard a new Coldplay album was coming out, my initial reaction was one of general indifference. When I found out it was going to be called Viva La Vida, I braced myself for something terrible. But when I saw the following video for the first single “Violet Hill”, my curiosity piqued. Outside of The 40-Year-Old Virgin, this has to be the single greatest anything to have any association with Coldplay.

Within a day or two of watching the vid, my friend told me that the band had released a second single on iTunes. He described the song as the traditional Coldplay ballad, except backed by a full orchestra. He also called it “awesome.” If a bigger paradox has ever been uttered, I certainly haven’t heard it. The song is abysmal. Judge for yourself.

So if you like sports analogies and want to keep score, Coldplay is 1-for-2 with a grand slam and a three-pitch strikeout that concluded with Martin flailing wildly at a pitch that bounced twice before it crossed the plate.

What will Team Coldplay do with their next at-bat? Who cares? I’ll probably just download the new CD illegally and eat the cost if it sucks.