By Molly Freedenberg
I used to wonder if there was some unspoken law about Burning Man that the only music appropriate for Black Rock City was electronica – as though somehow the magic would be lost if someone played Kiss instead of Kruder & Dorfmeister, or maybe you’d just get jumped by moon-boot wearing playa rats if you blasted the Descendents from your art car instead of DJ Ooah. And after six years of visiting the playa, I’ve noticed that there is some kind of symbiosis between the stark desert landscape and the driving, thumping, not-quite-earthbound beats of techno music.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve ever been fully converted. I can tolerate most electronic music. I even genuinely like some of it. But after a day or two being assaulted by ooncha ooncha from what seems like every goddamned corner of the earth, I inevitably find myself craving good old rock’n’roll – hell, I’d even settle for some whiny folk music – the way I used to crave real Mexican food when I lived in Portland (land of white cheese, black beans, and whole wheat tortillas. Good? Sure. But Mexican food? Hardly.)
Another thing I’ve been doing since my first Burning Man? Joking with friends about burning the man early. Or, even better, flying an airplane equipped with fire retardant over the man just as it’s about to burn, putting out the flames: biggest communal buzz kill EVER.
Man, that guy's DJ decks look a lot like drums.
Well, it seems this year two of my deepest playa desires were satisfied: Someone (Paul Addis?) burned the man on Tuesday – which, though I feel sorry for the people who had to do five days work in one night to build the man again by Saturday, I find hilarious and appropriate. And people played music with actual – wait for it, wait for it – instruments. Yup, you heard me. Drums. Guitars. A bass or two. Not simulated by computer programs, but stroked and slammed and banged and picked by human hands.
It started Day One, when my friends and I took their art car for a spin while blasting Guns’N’Roses from the speakers buried beneath the car’s mattress. I expected sneers or even outright boos from onlookers. But instead our music was met with smiles, sing alongs, and air-born fist pumps. Could it be these people were as sick of electronica as we were?
Once we got to our friends’ camp, someone was setting up a drum set, an amp, and an electric guitar. And when we left to cruise other camps, we found more people playing rock’n’roll, country music, and novelty rock than we found techno. It seemed the tide had finally turned, from our lone bar car last year pitting our Tom Waits against everyone else’s DJ Lorin, to our neighbors blaring more punk than psytrance.
And unlike the man burning early, the upsurge of rock at Burning Man doesn’t hurt anyone. El Circo and Opulent Temple still get their hundreds of pilgrims coming to them every night to spin real or imaginary poi all night long. And the rest of us get to hear guitar riffs, scratchy screams, and (gasp!) actual lyrics.
This is why, despite the phenomenal flop of the year’s theme (which I don’t really mind, since I find the themes mostly uninspiring – anyone remember Floating World and its 500 boat-themed art cars?), I’m declaring 2007 a banner year: the year that Burning Man brought the metal back. And you know what? There’s also a peculiar, and not so subtle, symbiosis between Burning Man’s psychotic, psychedelic landscape and a nice, loud rendition of “Welcome to the Jungle.”
May we playa rockers go forth and multiply, and live in harmony with electronic music lovers everywhere. Or, if necessary, unplug all their generators. You know, either way.
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Comments (1)
See the interviews at http://loadingvault.com
Posted by Opal | April 13, 2008 08:44 AM