Great Taste of the Midwest 2009 - Part One

There are many things to be said about perspective. Whether one organizes an event, attends or is a participant, the view is unique. And so was this year's bacchanalia at Madison, WI's Great Taste of the Midwest Beer Festival unique.

Once again inside in exchange for my volunteer hours, I was prepared to play music outdoors in august August sunshine. Of course knowing the propensity of Wisconsin summers, the possibility of rain was always in mind. What was not anticipated were high winds, super-soaked soils and the deluge - with hail - that inflicted the area the night before.

On an ultimately hot and muggy afternoon, a ticket to the Great Taste of the Midwest Beer Festival in Madison, WI could have been both a boon and a bust. The mud of Olin-Turville Park was a curse, especially near the water troughs and the ingresses/egresses. The heat and humidity were hard.

Earlier that morning, I had awoken to a chilled wind and thunder - preceded by lightning less than a half-second prior - after playing a private party the night before. I had whet my whistle well that night and needed to rid myself of the phlegm ball the plagued my throat.

A might of my misery was mitigated when bandmate Ricardo walked up to the digs at which I am graciously granted - my friends Don and Cathy honorable hosts -- when traveling to Madison from Chicago. I was eating microwave-heated noodles and veggie sausages on the front porch looking out at the rain when my buddy - embraced by the shelter under his daughter's Pooh Bear umbrella - came waltzing along.

The sun peeked from the clouds, but just so.

Yet, tutt, tutt, it still looked like rain.

And so we loaded my trusty Camry and headed in on East Wash, under the Convention Center, crossed the causeway, and began the process of negotiating our way in to load in.

Each intersection near the festival grounds is controlled, as it should be. Announcing ourselves and offering the 'password', Ric and I eventually found our way up to the top of the hill at Olin-Turville and -- assisted by a bevy of Great Taste volunteers -- were loaded into some space under the check-in tent.

A wealth of wind drove a host of deep, dark clouds closer.

Undaunted, Ric and I proceeded through the service entrance -- already slick with 3"-deep clay-heavy mud - with our solution to the rain: a tarp and pole kit, replete with multi-sectional aluminum poles.

Finding semi-level ground under an ancient oak tree - different from the one under which we played last year...that one now sheltering a phalanx of porta-potties - we endeavored to make camp.

Note: do not attempt the following at home, or elsewhere. If you do, don't tell your insurance company.

The grounds of Olin-Turville park were soaked from the previous days rains, so much so that in low places there was standing water. The truck that delivered ice to the brewers was making ruts everywhere it merrily went. Winds were augustly gusting at 30 MPH and a fine mist to a steady rain fell from the skies.

Oh. And there was lightning...lots of lightning. Some of it was close...really close.

You know that time-told device: one second from flash to thunder per mile distance.

Some flashes were almost instantly followed by the report.

Keep in mind we are setting up our metal supports under one of the tallest trees on the highest points of the city of Madison.

I kept at my work -- knowing it was as good a day to play live as it was to die -- laughing with Ric while we played with the poles that inevitably fell apart, tightening the twine the held our wing-like tent to the stakes we had too easily pushed into the wet, soaked ground.

We held our ground hilariously re-replacing stakes as they popped from the soil and re-set poles as fast as they fell apart from the wafts of wind and the waves of rain.

Ultimately, she stood, the tent, mostly, intently sheltering us, mostly, from the elements.

Realize it is now Noon, no one else eligible to enter the grounds other than 'staff', an hour before go-time. Yet, there are hundreds (my sources say there are as many as 1,500 volunteers and brewers comp admissions for the entire event) of people already drinking, scampering in the rain from tent to tent, already tasting the wares. Some are already, obviously, drunk.

The rain looked like it had passed to the east, semi-clearing away from the west. With the tarpaulin falling less and less by the minute, and one o'clock approaching, Ric and I felt it best to muster our instruments and equipment from the hidey-tent and set up for the gig.

Please know, there were over a dozen bands scheduled to entertain the masses over the five hours. A very acoustic duo set up under a tree under 30 yards from our encampment. They were stunned - and with beady eyes eyed us -- when we started carting the tools of our craft to our space under the shelter they had derided only minutes before. I told them we'd point our sound away, out over Lake Monona, so we'd be less likely to impede their operations. Really, what were they going to do? Hit me over the head with their $2,000 resonating guitar? Maybe, if they were mad enough, they'd muscle me behind the porta-potties and shove harmonicas down my sound-hole.

...for more, check back in a few days for Part Two....