FloydFest “Aurora” 2025: Vertigo Manifesto

Welcome home, friends both young blood and old school, to FestivalPark and the 2025 edition of FloydFest (One word, capitalize both Fs). Quite possibly the most well-run, family staffed event anywhere. On this, our ten-year anniversary tour the Wranglers have managed, once again, to get mired into the interior of the beast. Thank ye gods. FloydFest, Aurora. This is what a party looks like when it’s done correctly, built on sweaty hustle and love, from the top down. This event delves into the highest levels of operational success and despite being littered with fruitcakes, they somehow manage to pull it off. High water mark, low scum line. Impressive by every standard of the modern framework. Dear friends, let us not pray to the false prophet that is the expectation monster or get lost in a deep haze of hubris. It’s never too late to look bad and at the end of the pay week, this is the Wook Wranglers FloydFest post festival wrap-up article and by now you know what you’re getting. No longer must content be fabricated. It’s just business. We’re gonna play Cat Stevens in your redneck bar even if you don’t like Muslems. The gospel states, you get what you pay for and these guys are still learning to single space after the period. Could it be time to start using artificial intelligence? What do we say to the god of death? Not today. It never was a profit deal and that takes the pressure off. What’s less than zero?  Hard questions for hard men. You have found your way to the FloydFest “25 Vertigo Manifesto. Don’t believe everything you hear. Or read.

FloydFest has been held annually since 2002 and “Aurora” marks the second year at FestivalPark, the new location positioned between Roanoke and Floyd, Virginia. This year’s headliners included Gov’t Mule, The Black Crowes, Mt. Joy, JJ Grey and Mofro, Paul Cauthen, The California Honeydrops, The Wood Brothers, Futurebirds, Cimafunk, Femi Kuti & the Positive Force, Geese, The Travelin’ McCrorey’s Presents the Grateful Ball, Maggie Rose, The Brothers Comatose, Big Something, Caitlyn Krisko and the Broadcast, The Last Revel, The Jared Stout Band, Issac Hayden, The Kamp Happiness Family Band and more. With improvements everywhere at the site and some different stage placements, the weekend quadriceps workout is back and better than ever. Boots on the ground.

Lucy and Bfly arrived at the site Tuesday midday. They’d been listening to “It Ain’t No Use” by The Meters. “You got me where you want me (where you want me). I’m shackled to your love (to your love”. Set me free, set me free, set me free, set me free, set me free now.” As always, Lucy’s first instinct was to complain about having to move up the hill but, for once she just said “Thank you” and shut the big mouth. Turns out other than a few robust pickin’ sessions, they managed to get along as small dog and enjoy the weekend as what the wooks called a “restival”.

Just down the hill, Her Dankness and Hillary manned the volunteer tent. This event is different in the fact that everyone knows each other. Virginia and North Carolina cousins. Working stiffs? We don’t need no stinking  badges. Lucy had done about everything since her first year working artist transpo and loved helping to build the party but now they were making a conscious effort to stay in their lane. They had given up on monetizing the site and from now on, they would take photographs, sleep and actually listen to music.

Tuesday: Hobo Kamp and Shadier Pastures. The media area from last year had become first aid. The Hobo Kamp was no longer with Craig and the rest of the media team so the younguns wouldn’t have an opportunity to abuse the photographers. They made friends with the thugs in Staff A, sharing space with the bartenders and security guys. A lady and her three-year old put their tent up about four feet from the living room. A bold choice, Cotton. It wasn’t that they were up all night cajoling. They definitely were, but it was reasonably quiet. It was the content of which was utterly foul. Pinthing? Is that what the kids were doing now? He’d never heard of anyone putting chemicals in that place but it’s a fool who looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart. Mom agreed and she and her brood packed up the next morning and gravitated to shadier pastures, as if that was possible.

Later that night, the crisis crew got a call from Four Day Old Brie with an urgent request to move Kamp Happiness Creekside closer to the water closet in an effort to keep the hippies and their fecal matter out of the creek. Joined by the interns and wranglers, the mission was a complete success and luckily, thanks to the Litter Kitty some of the Asheville contingency ended up moving up the hill to Hobo Kamp. Like the rest of kamp, he was off work during the festival, allowing for more rest and subsequent fun with the absence of shadow people. Come and be redeemed.

Virginia is for lovers. Bfly and Moonpie survived last year. Between her lifestyle and his job as world’s greatest busboy, they rarely saw each other. This year, the only real plan was to enjoy the festival together, and that they did. They slept way too much and actually enjoyed music. The Wood Brothers date night set was their slice of high science. Congratulations to Dirt track and Cambone on their engagement after meeting at the same event, years ago. DD, helping other guys look bad since 1976. FloydFest is for lovers.

Wednesday, Oasis/Pringles Can: As part of their daily ritual, the camp would avoid the heat for most of the day and chill in the shadiest shade with the bartenders and security guards. At some point in the afternoon, they would stroll to one of their favorite bars on campus for a couple hours of ciders and conversation. Who could forget the bong disguised as a water bottle on their way to the Tan and Sober Gentlemen set? The new spot for the Oasis Stage was Gucci. The sound was great and there was little blending from stage to stage. Foot-stomping goodness from the get down to the waltzes. Peppy to be sure. They caught Issac Hadden and then Tan and Sober Gentlemen with Brian from Big Daddy Love at the late-night throw down at the Depot. That was the only time all week they made it up to the Sampound and it was so late by then, they got distracted by the possibility of some light pirating. They were nearly successful in taking off with Marcus’ booty before getting busted by his crew. The next day they exchanged gifts of VIPness laminates and homemade art. In the modern era, pirating is how we make friends and civilians are encouraged to play.

Thanks to everyone who sported the Wranglers Media VIPness laminates that completely melted in the rain. Although it’s not her fault, can’t we blame Katie Waffle? They’d spent more time at her camp than anywhere else because at the end of the day for many, this festival is about playing homemade music around the campsite. Lucy had never even seen an Aurora so how could she really believe in them? Like weaponized hurricanes the government had been seeding into the clouds since the thirties, one couldn’t be too careful these days. The only real Auroras she’d ever witnessed were flashed inside darkened Porta-Johns. Speaking of, their facilities near the camp at Media parking were immaculate and among the best on site. She preferred overhead versus lower illumination as she imagined he looked younger in that kind of lighting.

“I didn’t hear a yes sir.” Their camp was littered with empty pre-rolled containers from Michigan and the dream was finally over. It was obviously time to head back to Detroit. These security guards were an expensive habit but well worth it. Having originals from the Wook Nook made everything better on the hill. In Asheville they called him Jaundice and yes, he did sound like a hillbilly. How do I know you are country? In your deep freeze you’ve got the skinned head of a deer and a tick in a sandwich bag.

Thursday: They sat on the hill together during Maggie Rose and actually felt bad for her tamourine. It was taking quite a beating and she was another of their new favorites. Lucy was asleep again during Mt. Joy and missed Sarah and Brie at Cimifunk. Somewhere along the way, Joe sat down at camp and got poison ivy on his rear.

Nature Aplenty: Brie’s husband Neil came home to his perch at Kamp Happiness Creekside to find a raccoon, sitting in a puddle of cheese puffs, wearing his Ecuadorian hat and trying to get into his bottle of peanut butter whiskey. Eventually, they realized they were both Parrot heads and became fast friends. The raccoon imagined he saw hammerhead worms crawling out of his whiskey drink and said he could feel Daddy Long legs walking on his neck. The butterflies landed on the Indians blankets and Over 21 bracelets searching for succulence to the point of ridiculous.

Stolen beer during the code red? She was definitely not above enjoying the occasional contraband cocktail and while that sounded like a great idea for a bad movie, this time they were not in bed with the culprits. Lots of handsome thugs out there. They considered trying to use last year’s blue beer tickets, still in the wallet but they never got around to it. Next year, they might try to use some of the leftover purples from this year. They remained at camp during all the of code reds, staying close during recent rains in an effort to be on bubble patrol and save her bargain canopy. Hell, they even had pool noodles for the corners. Hashtag wook science.

“Sarah, do you have a golf cart?”
“I don’t even have a fake radio.”

Friday: Mt. Joy Once again, Baitbucket went to bed pretty early. He’d made the tent and bed too comfortable and after years of sleeping in the back of her vehicle, now they were living the good life in the darkened out tent, getting their money worth. Equipped with bear spray and whistle, Emad and Benjamin joined Tom and Jerry with the Florincia crowd at the Oasis Stage. Smoking cigarettes in the middle of the crowd at Big Something, on the hunt to rip someone’s pocket off the back of their trousers. What were they even doing in Staff A at five in the morning? He’d left the bass at Sarah’s General Store, surely it would safe.

Icepick woke up around three am to harmless frivolity in his nearby living room. He joined the posse as they lurked toward the Depot for more late-night jams. Around eight Icepick realized he had only three hours until Brian Gray’s memorial at the Canopy Stage. For most folks it would have been plenty of time for primping but he was moving a little slow. Next step was to wash off the stink, outside and inside, yet he found the showers closed and waiting for the water truck. With a loose flexibility, he changed clothes at his vehicle and washed off in the pump sink outside the honeypots. Teeth brushed and face clean, he was ready for water and an egg sandwich from the Sugar Shack. At 10:45 he received a text from Litter Kitty. “Boots on the ground.” “On my way”. Everyone managed to rally and meet up to celebrate the memory and legacy of Brian Gray.

FestivalPark isn’t around nature or close to nature, it is immersed and within. Sitting in the shade on the hill, enjoying Cimifunk, Lucy found Corey, their neighbor working security. He and Deon had gotten comfortable, in spite of them only having a borrowed tent.

He’d been well behaved most of the weekend. They all slept more than they ever had. Even the Warhammer. He’d traded Saturday for a meal token only to realize it was for Friday. He would be saving that for next year. This shit is chess, not checkers.

There was Joe’s chocolate prison hooch which tasted like it could only have been processed in a prison urinal. It was hard to know whether it was more terrible separated or shaken up. This is the coagulation station. Of course they drank every sip of it. On Friday, Lucy got paid and could finally tip some bartenders and buy some renegade contraband as soon as she found an ATM. Once she realized she was out of luck, a deal was worked out with the messes who traded rubs for money for venmo.

He remembered camping out with the original Virginia “thug” back in the early dirt at EForest, getting sunrise primordial after a full night of tossing pizzas. Now he was doing laps in a golf cart, pretending to work. Like Boston, very official, almost administrative and with facial hair that made him look like an Amish pimp.

Saturday: They spent the entire day at camp listening to Rachel Cantore as she kept them up to date with the most recent weather reports. She even loved to carry ice! After the Code Reds, they eventually made their way to KH Creekside for some homegrown music with Brie’s husband Neil and his raccoon. Next, the early birds made their way to Jared Stout while the Wood Brothers were so good, Lucy considered swimming across the moat and get closer to Chris Wood. The sound was good and loud for the the Black Crowes and they sounded as tight and crisp as they have in a hot minute.

Thanks to the FloydFest team for making things professional and friendly. Not every group operates this way. For whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee, not me. While not beyond the pale of reason, one couldn’t give these people more credit than they deserved. She’d slept in her car many festivals, even “slept” in the trunk of his Audi, so many FloydFests ago. Delta Lot trash. They knew who they were and it remained a badge of pride.

It’s all about the figuring. FloydFest is a real business but it’s impossible to separate the family from the work. Everywhere you look is someone you love, putting their time in to make it special for the rest.

It’s good we’ve now saturated the market with two years worth of contraband VIPness laminates. We may be have to use forged paperwork next year in order to keep our spot. He’d learned so much from the Phish fans. The slippery ones always wore Hi-Vis. At this point, most of them were actually bona fide but they still went with the Hi-Vis. Monday at sunrise they opted to take one more lap around the site and celebrate the completion of the festival. Somewhere therein, the whiskey took hold and Lucy got caught in the eye wall of a full blown gravity storm. Like Jimmy said, “It don’t give no warning sign.” Luckily it was sunrise and most of the pilgrims were still retired, lulled by the sound of their portable air conditioner and CPAP machine. As always, thanks for not calling the cops.

They were still expecting their own Prevost but until then, their plan next year was to stay where they were and try to run power from somewhere close. Welcome to the idea factory. Oh yeah, they also were planning on asking for meal tickets. Food is real. Reckon they would manage to cross that bridge when it was time. Baitbucket was just happy he didn’t get scolded for getting “creative” with content. Thankfully, those days were over and now, between fact and rumor, there was more than enough to fill the pages.

As always, FloydFest represents that part of the festival spectrum where things are just done better. Classy and smooth, blurring the line between patron and worker, bridging the bourgeois and the proletariat. Stay the course. Keep the faith. FloydFest 26. July 22-26. When in doubt, believe in what the coach called “the process”. See you next year.

Visit the FloydFest website and like their social media sites on Facebook, Instagram, X and YouTube. Keep up with Wranglers Media ten-year anniversary tour as we send troops to Orange Blossom Revue, Earl Scruggs Music Festival and Lost Lands and Bristol Rhythm and Roots Reunion. October comes with the fray at Spirit of Suwannee Park for Suwannee Roots Revival and Hulaween.  Thanks for enjoying our FloydFest manifesto. Welcome to the Wook Wranglers Family. You can check out but you can never leave.