It wasn’t until Friday that the truth of what we had gotten ourselves into finally sank in. By then my car was already a canvas of the preceding nights: Remnants of spilled red wine splotched my Camry like liver spots, candle wax dripped down the windows and a thin layer of dust was cemented to the paint.
An alarm clock came in the form of a near-naked flutist modestly piping down the main thoroughfare sometime around 9 a.m. Uncommon to be sure, but the sights grew more common at Sasquatch as the morning stretched into afternoon. Two hairy men dressed as stars passed by our campsite. The occasional green man suit exited the grounds’ Porta-Potties. Later, an inebriated kangaroo stumbled past our group as we made our way into the Gorge.
But all spectacles gave way to the Gorge itself. The main stage was set at the bottom of a sloping grassy hill. Immediately behind the stage’s metal risers was one of the most picturesque landscapes I’ve ever seen. The panoramic scene could have come straight from the front of a greeting card at a Christian bookstore. Dozens of clouds hugged a set of rolling hills that led to the pristine Columbia River, snaking its way around the arena. I was in complete disbelief that, somehow, I had encountered more than a thousand miles, three states and a speeding ticket to finally make it here.
Then Foo Fighters took the stage. Dave Grohl tore through a spectacular setlist, playing hits and songs from the band’s new album “Wasting Light.” Even after more than 15 years of playing and seven albums with the band, Grohl proved himself a true rock star, one that wasn’t planning on slowing down any time soon. Thousands sitting on the hill sang with Grohl as he shouted through dangling, sweaty hair into his microphone, and screamed at the more aggressive parts of his songs. The pit ate it up and danced for hours into the night.
But this was just the beginning. There were countless bands at Sasquatch and, unfortunately, no time to see them all as there were multiple stages hosting artists at the same time. Oddly — and atypical of a music festival — there was no such thing as a bad performance at the venue in George, Wash. There was the occasional speaker problem, sure, but every band played with as much ferocious intensity as the next.
As Local Natives played its set, thousands of unshowered hipsters started a dance circle in the high grassy parts of the main stage’s seating. Kim from Matt & Kim smiled from ear to ear as she drummed through every song, even attempting her “sexy dance” on the hands of people in the pit. Death Cab for Cutie and Modest Mouse pleased tens of thousands of fans as they played through each of their hits, even as Modest Mouse’s Isaac Brock drunkenly berated and joked with the audience.
By far, however, the best performance of the 4-day weekend came from an unexpected source — The Flaming Lips. A towering video projection screen opened to give passage to the band entering the stage. While the rest of the band jammed out, lead singer Wayne Coyne rolled across the audience in what could only be described as a giant plastic hamster ball. Confetti exploded out of cones facing the audience as balloons the size of Smart cars bounced playfully on the crowd’s fingers.
As The Flaming Lips played each of its songs, girls dressed as Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz” danced on each side of the stage with lions, tin men, scarecrows and Totos. After each of the Lips’ songs, Coyne would explain the heartfelt message behind them and a small video camera on the edge of his microphone blew up his face a thousand times onto the projection screen behind him. Even if you didn’t find yourself a fan of its music, there was no doubt The Flaming Lips played the most unique show at the festival.
Waking up Tuesday morning, it was hard to believe Sasquatch had ended. Nothing physical remained of the festival save for our tents, the few toppled chairs that sat lamely in the grass and the long drive ahead of us back to San Diego. Yet the experience was one I won’t soon forget. This short column doesn’t do the festival justice. What I can tell you, however, is that plans for next year’s “Squatch” began just a few miles from the venue. Sasquatch, I’m coming back, baby. And you better be ready.
— Chris Pocock is a journalism senior.
— The views expressed in this column do not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.
