Lockn’ 2018: The Lowest Brow

Mercury was supposedly in retrograde, whatever the great Gravy Crockett that meant. And this was somehow supposed to translate into everything coming up wine and roses? With hindsight being twenty-twenty, the lens of wisdom would surely suggest nades. F’sho, no. Who could know that the red haired gypsy girl’s words would herald both delicious ecstasy and unimaginable peril? Such is the way here in the proverbial pocket of things. Welcome to the Mother Land. This is the briar patch and you, little mister, have enlisted in the Army of Northern Virginia. Don’t worry. We won’t have you hiking through the brambles. This is Thomas Jackson country and The Low-Brow Summer Tour 2018 has come to a close with the wook wranglers mounting a guerrilla offensive on Lockn’ Festival. Mission accomplished, it’s Lockn’ 2018: The Lowest Brow.

Lockn’ Festival, formerly known as Interlocken Music Festival, is an annual four-day music festival held at Oak Ridge Farm in Arrington, Virginia. It is a headier-than-thou, jam-band, wavy gravy, funk heavy camping/music experience in the gentle hills of southern Virginia. It gets it’s name from the rotating stage that showcases performers as the end of one act overlaps the beginning of the next. Bands like Lettuce and Umphreys McGee played to and with each other as the musical transition took place to the seamless delight of thousands. Not since Wanee, a few years ago, has a line-up like this reared it’s ugly head. It appears as though Mohammed had come to the mountain.

Past artists include Gov’y Mule, String Cheese, moe, John Fogerty, Greensky Bluegrass, The Avett Brothers, Ween, Phish, Twiddle, My Morning Jacket, John Butler, Chris Robinson Brotherhood, Little Feat, Robert Plant, Jefferson Airplane, Carlos Santana, Tom Petty, The Wood Brothers, Willie Nelson, Hot Tuna, Zac Brown, Jimmy Cliff, Col. Bruce Hampton and who cares? That’s plenty.

For once, Baitbucket felt reasonably healthy. The yellow foam had stopped seeping from the corner of his right eye and his back felt strangely quiet. The knees and ankles were holding together and, barring an unforeseen incident, he might be able to run the gauntlet. A gauntlet to be sure. infinity Downs Farm is a gigantic property littered with rvs, tents and ez-ups. Laid out over miles of hippies and clay trails, every exploratory adventure covers several square miles of travel. And that doesn’t include the multiple unexpected detours that seem to be popping up all the time. It was a Chose Your Own Adventure book and almost every page contained a sick, silly party. Jubba jubba.

• Wednesday: Welcome to the Leaning Tower of the Yoga Machine. It’s a fact, some people should not be in charge of putting up the yurt and a man’s got to know his limitations. Broken beads, broken backs, cool nights and warm days are the order. For festival frivolity, it doesn’t get any better than this. For real. Other than Steve, Joe and Melinda, they haven’t even let the freaks in yet and this whole scene is already like an E-ticket ride at Disney World. All praise the campsite that keeps a Crock-pot running. On the top of the mountain, it’s way too early to be having this much fun and besides, the cards wouldn’t dare lie. Please be sure to check your gluten at the flap. Base camp is set up in High Field RV with three recreational vehicles, three tents, three awnings and two ez-ups. It’s true, the Huckleberries and the Baitbuckets of the world can come together and let PBR and Natty Light fans play together as one single neck of color.                                         ‘Merica.

• Thursday:  By Thursday evening, cat head mushroom chocolates had turned many of the festivarians into silly puddles of unraveled string. There were even reports of dead people out and about. Go figure. Imagine live Lettuce into Umphrey’s into Lettuce/funk and back into Umphrey’s. Some of the Umphrey’s show was, as usual, hard to wrap the head-hole around, kind of like Chinese math. In the words of Lord Buckley, “They stomped on the terra.” There may not be any photos of how much people (Liz) were dancing and sweating during their set, but the rumors can be trusted. It was so much. The search party failed to locate the red-haired gypsy, when she somehow got lost inside a porta-john. Who knew this was even an area of concern? Joe Russo’s Almost Dead closed out the night with a set that included an Easy Wind and Row Jimmy. Thank you Sarah and Steve for the late night fellowship at the Jerry Garcia Forest and everyone that came back to High Field RV for the late night think tank. It’s better when we all camp together.

Late night on the mountain, the light fog blurred the edges of the rising moon. By Sunday Funday, it would be full and the patients would surely be running the asylum. A four-day festival requires a serious personal investment of both wisdom and endurance.

• Friday:  Umphrey’s Mcgee did what they do again, and along with Jason Bonham and Derek Trucks, they shredded the Zeppelin cover, “Whole Lotta Love”.  After a complete afternoon of funk it would be up to WSMFP and the Spreadnecks to deliver the big punch Friday night and, as always, they were up for the challenge. Clayopheus III the Destroyer showed up toward the end of their set and things would never be the same. Along with the Asheville contingency, things were caught in an open loop and becoming quite ludicrous. Late night on the way to the Jerry Garcia Forest heralded the arrival of a new, bright green planet in our own solar system. Imagine the surprise.

JRAD Friday Midnight Setlist

Tell Me, Momma
Viola Lee Blues
St. Stephen
The Eleven
St. Stephen reprise
Ophelia
Atlantic City
Viola Lee Blues jam
China Cat Sunflower
I Know You Rider
Feel Like a Stranger
Shakedown Street

The Friday night party ended up at the Jerry Garcia Forest for a night of Jerry bluegrass and dancing in the street. Baitbucket couldn’t yet locate the Michiganders, so he found his way back to J’s Dablature Experiment for late night cordials and low-temperature silliness. He was last seen, walking around in small circles looking for his campsite until the wee hours of the early morning. Wormhole Watusi of the first order, to be sure.

• Saturday (SNUCKN’): The Lowest Brow–Stonewall’s festival experience had found the perfect rhythm. He’d ingested a virtual cornucopia of unknown chemicalia into his blood stream and his head was all right. He’d lined himself with such a bouquet of uppers and downers, just to let them fight it out, leaving him somewhere close to level. The Mafioso had come bearing enough gifts, like Shawsville strawberry moonshine and recreational pumpkin spice and skeletons, to weaken a large pack animal, and throughout the tents and shade canopies that lined the festival fields, everything from bath salts to space cakes were being tossed around like Mardi Gras beads.
  It was around four in the afternoon and the day had left him careless and fancy free. He was thinking about E A Sy and heading in to see Pigeons Playing PIng Pong. For a gangster, that kid loved that band and never missed a chance to see them. It would be cooler if he was here packing a vat of his crotch whiskey. Not a single care in the world. Walking through the security checkpoint, he broke the fourth rule of adult caution and forgot about the container of contraband in the lower pocket of his cargo shorts. Oopsie…Upon detection, Stonewall made a confused mumbling sound and turned to walk away in a reserved and patient manner. In retrospect, he might should have hauled some serious ass, but he liked to think that the days of climbing chain link fences barefoot were behind him. For some reason that can’t be explained here, the security volunteer alerted the legitimate gestapo and they lit out, faster than a West Texas jackrabbit, in pursuit of the unsuspecting perp.
  Blame the mafia.
  What was happening? In one nanosecond, he was back in the clutches of the pigs and they were already predictably obstinate. Things had turned due south and this was certainly not one of those “good choices” that Sunshine had suggested, in some other place and some other time.
  As he slipped away from the security guard he removed the small vial from his pocket and began dumping out it’s contents into the Virginia brush. A police officer donned in a black golf shirt, rudely snatched it from his hands and pushed into Stonewall’s face, shouting “Why did you try and dump it out?”
  “I figured if I dropped the whole thing it would be conspicuous,” forgetting, yet again, that honesty is never the best policy when dealing with law dogs of any kind.`
  With the click of the handcuffs, he accepted the fact that this was definitely on and he had finally managed to reach the lowest brow. Having penned the term, Darth Waffle would be pleased. Things were finally getting colorful. He was tossed in the back of a cop golf cart and taken to a cop single wide modular home where his fate lay in the hands of cops on computer monitors. Visions of Spring Reunion began flashing in his mind’s eye. He needed a red herring. There would have to be some way he could pin all of this on Clay.
  
  Seated in the well-lit room next to a gaggle of child cops, the next immediate goal was to hold it together and not appear too faded. Apparently, in some circles, it can be a crime. Who can imagine how his outward physical appearance  would look under a careful and prolonged examination by these trained Nazis? In a well-lit room, success was going to be a real long shot. If these Virginia puerco even suspected what drugs he’d ingested, he’d be on his way to the hospital for a good old fashioned stomach pumpin’. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what he’d taken during the first half of this day, which now seemed so, so far away. The walkabout had lasted most of the morning, visiting the headiest folk around the site and ingesting God only knows what. Here in the mid-afternoon, his innards could only be characterized as a chemical toilet and second stage reactions had begun taking place. Mission accomplished yo. As the interrogation lingered, his mouth began to fill up with what he imagined creosote would taste like and the sweat once again, began to foam and burble. There was still the business card of acid in his wallet and a couple ten strips already cut. Hopefully he wasn’t sweating so much as to render it useless. When the pigs looked closer, and they surely would, they’d find it and ship him off to Red Onion State Prison for the rest of his days. Finally the silly dream of freedom would be, once and for all, put down like a rabid cur. As he spoke with the local magistrate via skype, things continued to get increasingly foggy. There were so many questions. The whole thing seemed to be going to hell as he began to turn into warm mush right in front of the magistrate.

“Did you get a DUI in Colorado?”
“Nope. Detained but no charges.” Complete lies. These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.
“Are you sick?,  Do you have any needles in your pocket?”
Stonewall was incredulous, “Not sick and no idea what’s in my pocket.” The next few minutes blurred into each other and accurate reporting is impossible. The magistrate switched off and the frightened prisoner starred at the young cop seated next to him.
“Can you please let me know when this process has moved upstairs, past your influence, so I’ll know when to stop worrying?”
“I don’t thing you’re going to jail, but we are going to need to visit your campsite and go through your tent to check it for contraband,” he mused. Stonewall’s face hardened as he considered the idea of sheriffs loaded up in golf carts assaulting the camp site of his new people. It felt like he’d taken a big swig of rum and lard.
“That’s gonna have to be a no.” he finally said. “It would not be classy to pull up, in front of that campsite, with a bunch of golf-shirted gestapo. Besides, I don’t even know what’s in the tent.”

“Why are you saying that you don’t know what’s in the tent?” they pressed.
“Kind sir, it’s not my tent. It belongs to some spun homeless gypsy. The rest of those thugs are from the hills of North Carolina and who knows what kind of booty they’re hauling around. Just leave me out of it.”
This seemed to placate the law dogs and they eventually forgot about raiding the campsite. They were ready to get back to work hitting on hippy girls. A cop sat next to him, while they waited for the magistrate’s decision and struck up a little small talk.
“Thanks for being cool about everything. We appreciate your cooperation. We had another guy come through here and shit everywhere. The walls. The chair you’re sitting in. Everything. He sprayed his filth all over the place before we got him out of here.”
Stonewall considered the raw nature of man and the unfiltered savagery that might reveal itself if the cold gates of the underground began to seal around him. The possibilities were endless. Stonewall looked over at the cop, “I have to admit, I considered it. If you knew you were going to jail, it might be a pretty funny way to go out.”
The cop smiled, “Plenty of people think that. It’s not funny.”

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” Good news from the magistrate. This was just one spun hippy and these nice folks had bigger fish to fry. There would be free air to breathe for one more day. Park employees, however, were waiting with scissors in hand. “If you are found on the property you will be arrested” the lady supervisor grumbled. He was given one more free golf cart ride, past the cars and tents, by the front gate and all the way to the Thomas Nelson Highway. It was a dark time but it was better than Virginia jail. This whole trip was had cost a pretty penny and now he was going to spend Saturday night getting plied in the the local saloon. Weak.

Heading west on highway 29, he walked against the traffic on the gravel shoulder and considered his options. He could continue this way until he found a gas station. That would supply him with enough cigarettes and beer to make it to a hotel or a bar. He still had his phone and wallet, even if the rest of his paltry possessions were still in the yoga machine. It would all be fine. He would find a hole in the wall bar and drink scotch until he felt better. Then, he would take his first shower in days and sleep in a freezing hotel room. Not too bad for a plan B.

The whole idea made him absolutely sick.

He’d been having a fun time and he knew the people he was leaving behind. It was just another Saturday night and things were going to be getting ridiculous. He was reminded of Thatcher at Spring Reunion and how the party suffered after Live Oak law dogs took him away in chains. He would also be spending somewhere in the neighborhood of two-thousand dollars before this exercise was finally concluded, and that was worthy of a most serious effort.

Maybe there was another idea.

As he walked toward the interstate, he surveyed the layout of the surrounding fields and thicket. It was dense forest patches separated by farm fields and a few houses. For about a mile, he scouted out the land and began to consider the possibility of sneaking back into the festival without a bracelet. It would be straight out of Vinny or Scotteesha’s how-to pamphlet. Heckfire, this was straight out of Thomas Jackson’s Maxims. Just down the street from Danville and Apomattox, the 9th Alabama has always been ready to stand with the Army of Northern Virginia. In Korean combat boots, he was going to hump four square miles through country forest and sneak back in like a damn hippy. Cheyenne was right. He was the wook his parents had always warned him about. He turned off the road into the treeline, ate a five strip of acid and headed south. He would stay in the shade until he was off the main road, then all he had to do was follow the music, all the way home.

As he hiked through the Virginia underbrush, sunset brought out the woodland critters. Deer and owls joined him in his hunt for the back door. Day turned to night as he took his time weaving through the brush. He figured being impatient would lead to injury or cause him to be discovered traipsing through the brambles. Sandals seemed like a silly way to navigate the streams and fields, but at least he wasn’t barefoot on this unforgiving terrain. The briers and thorny vines clung to his arms and legs as he lumbered through the dense thicket, leaving thick red slashes across his skin. When it showed up, the moon was going to be a waxing gibbous, which would surely assist with navigation. Each time his route drifted too far south, the sing-song voice of Susan Tedeschi guided him back east, through the Virginia woods. The distant rumble of such tunes as “Statesboro Blues”, “Alabama”, by Neil Young and “Mahjoun” with Brandford Marsalis, kept him on the right trail. Behind Tye River Elementary School, back into the brush and then to cross Diggs Mountain Road. He was guided by the Aretha Franklin cover, “I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Loved You)”, “Bound For Glory” with Ivan Neville, “A Song For You” by Leon Russell and “Little Martha”. Thanks for the breadcrumbs, lady. After walking for a couple of hours, he came across some tents in the woods. This would be Forest Tent Camping, which happened to be directly across the street from High Field RV and his campsite. Things were beginning to look up. It was time to change the shirt and hat and sit down for a cold brew. The party would just be getting started.

He wasn’t entirely ready to give up on the music. Most everyone had come here to see Dead & Co. and that still needed to happen. Stonewall poked around the VIP area and behind the stage, looking for a chink in the armor, some place he could slip in. He spied an opening in the fence and started up a conversation with the nearby security guard. The guard lamented over the piece of broken wooden fence. “These hippies try to sneak in here, legs all slashed up and with no bracelet. They even broke my fence.”

Stonewall’s brain lit up with a new idea. “It’s real interesting that you should say that, because that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. I need you to let me get through that opening in the fence.”

He asked, “Do you have a bracelet?”

“Nope. They cut it off when they threw me out. But it would be real cool to get back in and rejoin my people before Dead & Co. kick off.”

The security guard began looking over his shoulder at the other gates and leaned in. “There’s folks working inside that fence and if they see you, they’re going to say something. So here’s what we’re gonna do…I’ll take you by the shirt like you’re in trouble. We’ll walk right by everyone and when we get out of sight, I”ll lose you.”

“That sounds perfect.”

• Dead & Co.: Back into venue just in time for Oteil’s birthday. Both the rail and field were thick with the best vibe ever. Something about the good ol’ Grateful Dead. They just make everything so much fun. It was a night for adventurous lurking. The first set brought out a Ramble On Rose-Alabama Getaway-Cassidy. The second set blew up an, Oteil-led Fire On the Mountain into a celebratory China Cat Sunflower. Two hours earlier he’d been alone, hiking through the back field of Ol’ Virginny, now he was sitting on a blanket, surrounded by the most beautiful people ever.                  Colorful.

1. 1. • Highlight of the festival: Saturday night’s midnight set included Lettuce with Eric Krasno Celebrating JGB, joined by Bob Weir, John Mayer and Oteil Burbridge in a set that tore up the mountain and set the beat for the rest of the night.

Finders Keepers
I Second That Emotion
Stop That Train (Oteil Sings)
After Midnight ( John in for the jj cale spectacular)
Sugaree (let Bobby sing)
Tangled Up In Blue (that makes sense)
That’s What Love Will Make You Do (it’s too serious to be funny)
How Sweet It Is to Be Loved by You (the alpha and the omega)
Cats Under the Stars (second one of the weekend)
They Love Each Other (holy moly)

Lettuce called it a celebration of the Jerry Garcia Band after it was all said and done, a celebration is exactly what it felt like.

1. 1. • Sunday Spunday: All hail a festival that uses it’s Sunday for a good cause. Bloody Mary brunch was served at Chris’ Opium Den near the Jerry Garcia Forest. Thank you SolarWolf and LunarWolf for the most seriously fun time ever. Thank you El Capitano for physically removing all the love governors. You’re headier than thy? The party got riled up when Cheyenne began lopping off her dreadlocks to trade for hugs. Fortunately, she was sedated before she could do too much damage. God willin’ and the Creek don’t rise. Check out the new Google map application that allows you to easily search for “tweakers near me”.
        
        Congratulations to Sugarplum and Huckleberry for getting hitched at Keller Williams and Grateful Gospel during Eyes of the World. These folks met at the same show, at the same spot three years earlier. It certainly is the dismal tides when Cook County trash can come down south and pilfer our own belles. It has been a proven formula for the ages, church is a great place to meet girls. Go Cubs.
      • Dead & Co.: And things were going so well for Stonewall. Left by Clayopheus, his recently acquired Staff bracelet was no more than a tattered chicken bone of a thing, held on by other bracelets and falling off every few steps. It was so frayed and torn, it looked as if he’d eaten if off of his wrist. Even the beer girl noticed when he wasn’t wearing one, and beyond the recognition, said nothing. All in all, he was back into the venue, this time enjoying the entire Tedesci-Trucks show into the night’s Dead.
        Then it happened…
        “I take a little powder, take a little salt, put it in my shotgun, I go walkin’ out…” Oh lordy, not this.
        The first set smattering Grateful ettoufee spun into a Mr. Charlie→Tennessee Jed→Althea that tripped every breaker on the mountain. The second set showed an Eyes of the World and Morning Dew with Branford Marsalis that left tears staining the front of tie dyes everywhere. Wolly bully. Mr. Charlie told me so.

Be sure to check out Roadtripmojo for more LOCKN’ gibberish and follow their social media channels on Facebook and Instagram. They have a whole other take on the festival with wrap-up and photos from the beautiful people.

Headed back to South Florida, for days the toenails would still be dyed with Virginia red clay. Charlotte storms postponed our flight and the guitar was destroyed by baggage carriers. That’s three guitars since Hulaween. This lifestyle is getting expensive.

“Does this mean I can use your ticket for Floydfest?”

Visit the Lockn’ website and follow their social media channels on Facebook and Instagram.

For our first Lockn’, it really had a little of everything you look for in a festival and some stuff you try and avoid. Deer, dead people, research-grade narcotics, titmice, moonshine and so, so much spilled wine. Everyone brought their best effort and after it was all said and done, very little was left on the vine. Old friends came together with new ones and alliances were formed that would last a lifetime. We are on the lookout for Brian at Live Oak and his Mr. Clinkies. October is one of the best times for festivals at the Spirit of Suwannee Music Park in North Florida. The weather begins to change and git-fiddle music lingers n the air. On the banks of the Suwannee River, prepare thyself, young traveler, for Suwannee Roots Revival and Hulaween coming up fast. See you under the Thunder Chicken.

Visit our preview articles of upcoming festivals such as Suwannee Spring Reunion and Floydfest.

Make good choices.