Bartow, WV - We were somewhere around Bartow in the heart of the mountains when the signs began to appear – “CB4” underlined with an ominous arrow pointing down some unmarked dirt road.  I remember saying something like “Are you sure this is the right way…” before emerging onto a cluster of festival organizers standing under a makeshift tent.  “Remember,” I advised my driver, “these mountain people don’t take kindly to city folk.  We must exercise extreme caution.  Better let me do the talking.”  We pulled forward to the table for ID inspection.  “I’m with Magazine33, and I have very important business here this weekend.  I will need full access to your facilities, as will my driver, and this coverage will not be possible without VIP passes and a campsite among the hippies.  After all, we must live amongst them in order to truly understand their intentions.”  I showed my ID to a woman with long, braided hair, and she promptly returned with our VIP lanyards.  “Hmmm…that was a little too easy.  Best stay on our toes.  Without cell phone reception we’ll have no way to call for help.”  My driver nodded in agreement and pulled forward into Camp Hidden Meadows, the campground chosen to host this inevitable freakshow.

Not long after setting up our tents, a car pulled up next to our campsite with none other than Magazine33 photographer James Young behind the wheel.  “How did a degenerate like you even make it past security?” I called to him.  “Someone had to be around to crack the whip on your lazy ass,” replied James.  “For chrissakes, you’ve got an awful big job ahead of you stringing all those adjectives together.” 

He was right, after all.  We certainly had our work cut out for us.  There was a plethora of music available to be ingested this weekend, enough to make any amateur in attendance curl up in the fetal position completely overwhelmed by schedule anxiety.  Luckily, there were two highly capable professionals camping next to each other who had the experience necessary to withstand all of the obstacles associated with festival life.  The first obstacle had already been made clear: locate the third stage.  At least for that night, I had a strong feeling that stage three was the place to be, as it was showcasing some serious local (i.e. Richmond) talent in a completely different setting from the hippie bars and hot dog restaurants I was used to frequenting in the city.  After a trek through the woods following the not-so-distant sounds of percussion, we stumble up to the third stage, nestled securely in an intimate wooded setting.  Whereas the main stage resides in your typical wide-open field, stage three was simply a tent in the woods.  In fact, it was barely a stage at all, but nevertheless provided a very personal setting for its featured bands.  I knew immediately that this was where the real action went down, where you could easily get caught up in the thick of the madness and lose yourself entirely.  I could only hold on tight and hope to make it out in one piece. 

When we arrived at the stage, the Former Champions’ set was in full swing.  Their futuristic, progressive sound took on a primal urgency in this outdoor setting, reminding me vaguely of the massive, sweaty dance orgy that coincides with the awkward Keanu Reeves sex scene in one of the shitty Matrix sequels.  On the one hand, we are in the future and robots are taking over, but for some reason we are still wearing togas and dancing in our bare feet.  (Note: Camp Hidden Meadows is extremely rocky.  I would not advise going barefoot at Camp Barefoot.)  While the Champs’ alien synths and cyborg guitar lines plowed us headfirst into spaceland, the rhythms (and in effect the audience) remained firmly rooted in their primitive, caveman boogie.

This would provide a most fitting introduction to the Silo Effect’s late night set, one that I would consider a highlight of the weekend.  With their sights set firmly on the skies, Silo pulled the audience into a whirlwind of psychedelic rock that shot us into the ether before pummeling us back to Earth, barely given a chance to catch our breath in between.  Their lighting rig was stellar, to say the least, capturing every dynamic swell the band had to offer by bathing the forest in warm glows of green and purple before culminating in an exploding strobe freakout.  Having seen them countless times around the bars in Richmond, I can honestly say I have never seen them play better.  Their set never lost focus or lacked momentum, and the audience was enthralled.  Every single time some sort of peak had been reached, they reached higher still, until the final bars of their set faded out in an eerily peaceful manner.  Something otherworldly seemed to have possessed them that night, although what exactly I cannot comment.  Some things are better left a mystery.

I was kicked awake by James the next day.  "Get up, you lazy bastard.  There's work to be done."  And once again, I found myself heading to the third stage for an afternoon set from LarJar, another hometown favorite.  Their loose, groove-oriented keyboard funk provided the perfect warm-up to what promised to be another raging schedule, especially after the sheer intensity of the night before.  Time to catch my bearings and formulate a plan.  There was much left to do – best not get ahead of myself.  But by the time the Kyle Hollingsworth Band (best known from the String Cheese Incident) hit the main stage that night, the reins had been dropped once again, and the horses had taken off into the forest.  Anyone attempting to maintain some semblance of control that weekend was soon found flailing around, completely adorned with glowing, neon apparatus.  We had found the mother load, and after a closing cover of the Talking Heads’ “Naïve Melody”, the madness had reached a whole new level.  I knew there was no going back.

With that in mind, it was not the main stage headlining sets of RAQ and Conspirator that truly topped off the festivities for me.  Instead, I was once again drawn back to the third stage where on two consecutive nights, Papadosio brought their unbelievably tight live act to the freaks of the nighttime forest.  While more structurally conventional than their other late night counterparts, they were no less progressive and psychedelic.  The level of professionalism brought by this band was exceptional – never was a beat missed nor an opportunity wasted.  The compositions were very orchestrated and arranged yet sounded completely organic and natural.  And with the addition of a spectacular light show, Papadosio were truly the kings of late night Barefoot. 

With the assistance of his headlamp, James fried up a massive amount of bacon upon returning to the campsite.  This seemed the one true way to effectively culminate the weekend.  Reintegration into society the following week would be most difficult.  However, I could return with the comfort of knowing that somewhere outside of that world, mini-rebellions such as this one, where the main light source is glow sticks and bacon is consumed at all hours of the night, can and do exist.  One just has to make it out alive.

You can see more of James' CB4 photos at RichmondImage.com.

By Editor-In-Chief and Correspondent: Andrew Lutwin

Andrew is originally from Boston, but has spent equal time in Richmond and considers both home.  He graduated VCU with a B.A. in English and looks forward to seeing if his degree will be worth a damn.  While attending Northeastern University, Andrew began covering music for the Zig-Zag Live website and tour campaign, which won him the undying affection of Bostonians because of his access to free rolling papers.  He is fortunate enough to have parents with great taste in music and owes much of his musical sensibilities to them.  Some of his favorites include the Beatles, the Clash, My Morning Jacket, Mastodon, Mission of Burma, all 70s R&B, and anything that can be considered "outlaw."  Other hobbies include food, guitar, whiskey, hiking, Boston sports, and maintaining his beginner-level fish tank.