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September 21, 2007 > Arts & Entertainment > Remembering the fun and music of Austin City Limits

Remembering the fun and music of Austin City Limits

By Nikki Metzgar | Thresher Editorial Staff

As I walked to class the Monday after Austin City Limits, I overheard a dreadlocked male speaking rather condescendingly about the festival’s set list. I supposed from his nonchalant manner and his little hemp hat that he was the type of person who attends music festivals fairly often, wandering around barefoot while smoking bud. But for me, ACL was a first experience that made me hope that people would see my sunburn and identify its source. Although this particular hemp-headed concert snob dampened my prideful glow, I still felt the event was indispensable. A hedonistic expression of youth, ACL allowed me to realize the full potential of my twenty-somethings before my collapse into aged obscurity.

Music must be better live rather than through a stereo — why else would 65,000 people have flocked to Austin this past weekend? But it’s not just the sound; it’s the people. There was nary a police officer, security guard or even a dude with a Staff tee to be seen. It was a lawless land ruled by rockers.

Ben Kweller was adorable and enthusiastic, even previewing a few songs from the album he’s currently recording in Austin. The sad-sack Brooklynites from The National mistakenly chose to overdress for the Texas heat, but despite looking wilted, shredded some serious guitar for an excited audience.

Fans waited on the lawn all day to score a good seat for Bob Dylan, which was smart considering I heard “Rainy Day Woman #12 and 35” from about half a mile away. From that distance, Dylan might as well have been an animatronic bear if not for his ultra-gravely voice.

My Morning Jacket was far and away the best show on Sunday. Singer Jim James appeared decked out in a blonde mermaid wig while the rest of the band sported sunblock and floaties. Statuesque luau babes framed the stage holding pineapples in various poses before rocking out for the last song. Singer-songwriter Andrew Bird even guest starred for a few tunes.

At the Midlake show, the concert was put on pause while a man proposed to his girlfriend, and Colin Meloy of the Decemberists joked at another show that even he had to shake his head when he penned the lyrics “If you think your life is bad, what if Dracula was your dad?”

Almost as important to the event as the bands themselves were the things that make old people cringe at the mention of a music festival. There were crowds of panting, writhing bodies slick with sweat with limbs slipping all together. As the day wore on, people resorted to taking off their clothes, with the weekend uniform consisting of a swimsuit and bandana. The only exception was the man exposing his freckled ass through his leather thong. To stay cool, we gnawed on $3 slices of juicy watermelon and stood boiling in front of misting stations.

For the 10 hours I was in Zilker Park, I may have inadvertently inhaled more marijuana smoke than oxygen. But I must be grateful because after all, the green created blissful cloud cover and a few minutes respite from UV rays during Common’s performance. And in an ode to those same people, Common appropriately covered Kanye West’s “Get ‘Em High.” The rapper also called a girl on stage, and after mumbling sexy-sweet nothings to her, allowed her to gyrate around the stage while other women jealously looked on.

By the time I returned to Houston at 3 a.m., I was the dirtiest and smelliest I had ever been. Yet, through the salt and dust caked onto my body, I smiled because I knew that to be young is to be free.

Nikki Metzgar is a Baker College senior and assistant arts and entertainment editor.

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