The Shangri-La stage in all its glory. Photo by Lauren Kent for Radio Rubber Room. Sunday, Sept. 20: Sunday has arrived and caught me unprepared. I’m tired. I am physically, mentally, and emotionally drained, overwhelmed, and disoriented, and I would be lying if I said there wasn’t some part of me that was ready for the comforts of home. But I don’t want to go home right now. Right now, I want to live here on this mountain with these
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The author (left), Matthew Hunnicutt, rocking out Saturday night with fellow RRR staffer Jason Wade. Photo by Nicole Wade for Radio Rubber Room. Saturday, Sept 19: Three hours after serendipitously stumbling into a wayward hammock, I wake feeling a new man, the anticipation of Saturday rousing me, perhaps prematurely, from my slumber. I’m just in time to catch Gold Rush playing to a mostly-seated afternoon crowd. An acoustic string trio, this upbeat, optimistic romanticism is exactly what a body needs
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Friday, Sept. 18: The chill of Thursday evening is long forgotten and the noonday sun beats down on a Pink-cheeked crowd cheering Spoon Fight at the Loco Pickle Stage (LPS). WV’s own Lawless Brown brings soul, funk and Rock-Reggae to the SLS. Little Bird soars over the OHS and Threesound brings the LPS crowd to their feet and keeps them there with soulful jams that blend sophisticated Jazz riffs with catchy Pop-Rock grooves. Meanwhile, Step Into The Flow yoga class,
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Thursday, Sept. 15: Upon waking I decide to try to catch up with everyone I couldn’t find in the dark the previous night, and get a general lay of the land. As I crawl out of my sac I realize I don’t even have to leave camp to do this. From where I stand I can see all three stages, Shakedown Street, and even base camp all the way at the bottom of the hill. On closer inspection, I spot
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Wednesday, Sept. 14. Finally the big day arrives. I get out out of Richmond around 2pm and make good time getting to Rock Camp. Once I arrive in town, however, things get a little tricky. I found no shortage of Residents, well informed on the matter of Pink Moon, and eager to supply directions. Unfortunately, I find little consensus on where the festival will actually be held this year. For the last six years Pink Moon has been a September
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Sunday, Sept 20- I wake to the crinkling sound of the plastic canvas beneath me. I’m not sure whose tent I’m in or how I got here. Can it be Sunday already? I take a moment to gather my remaining strength and roll to the nearby tent flap. Poking my head through the now unzipped lower corner I spy a nearby inflatable couch. I rise to my full achievable height and, from my knees and elbows, close the seven or
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