With such an impressive lineup, this year’s Rock the Bells made many musical bucket list dreams happen.
With a last minute request for our slinging services and a venue change for the festival, it took a swift course of action to make these Rock The Bells dreams come true. After Pete and I rummaged through Ma’s garage, we got our push cart and supplies and headed out to the Inland Empire.
A change in venue was an unexpected detour as my auto pilot took me back to San Manuel Amphitheater, the scenic, grassy venue for Rock the Bells in previous years and the annual Smoke Out Tour. After arriving a little late and receiving assistance from security, I finally made it into the concrete jungle that is the NOS Events Center, sweating and slinging along the way in.
Setting up in the VIP area, Graeme and Pete arrived and helped the gratuitous ice cream dispensing get underway. People are always stunned that our refreshing treats are free, so we often take the opportunity to share Matt’s story any chance we can get. On this particularly sweltering afternoon, the push cart’s surplus didn’t stand much of a chance. In the first hour of being in the VIP area, we had almost completely run out of supplies. Passing out our last frozen snacks backstage to the press station onlookers, Graeme re-upped at the local Target.
With a newly stocked cart, we hit the behind the scenes meet and greets. Despite being in the air conditioned press area, the re-stocked Ben & Jerry’s items were gone in less than ten minutes. In giving away the remains of our refreshments to the general crowd, we incidentally became entangled in an organized circle dance off.
After loading up our gear, we sent the last of the secret frozen stash with Graeme into the photographers pit for Lauryn Hill, never to be seen again.
To see Lauryn Hill in the flesh was a historic sight, witnessing the same timeless beauty that befell the masses with the rise of the Fugees. Over the horizon of heads and blurry haze of heat, I saw that Ms. Hill wore a sequined yet matronly black dress framed by a fitted tweed jacket and an orange, wool buret; a bold move in the desert heat. While she may have still looked like the same artist that filled our 1990’s TV screens, her tracks had evolved, taking on a new creative approach with a live band. Opening with a high power, rock rendition of “Lost Ones”, Hill reinvented many of the tracks from “The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill”.
Announcing time had marked thirteen years since the album began, the songstress highlighted the beginning of her solo journey with a soulful, extended version of “Zion”, while later came an uncharacteristically uptempo “Forgive Them Father” and Ex-Factor”. Opting against the solo album’s biggest hits, Ms. Hill decided to take it old school by bringing out a ferocious medley of Fugees’ songs like “Ready Or Not” and “Fugee-La-La”.
A Tribe Called Quest was more than I could ever ask for, delivering the powerful versatility and swagger that lacked from last year’s comeback. Classic tracks, like the taboo “Sucka N****”, were cushioned by the famed female voice over on the Midnight Marauders album. Tearing through the designated setlist, it seemed Tribe had signed up for an anthology set, incorporating tracks from Low End Theory and People’s Instinctive Travels. A highlight of this epic performance, Tribe brought show stopper Busta Rhymes to the stage, which ignited the crowd into a riotous flurry for “Oh My God” and “Check the Rhyme”.
At one point Q-Tip began singing a tune akin to the Brady Bunch, which charmingly prologued the eponymous song: “There’s a story about a lady who grew up in a neighborhood of mine. She was 5’5″ and really pretty, needless to say she was a dyke. Until this one night, her and I, we smoked some reefer, we got high and we dazed up looking for the sun. She had a funny name, fellas would tease her. Her name was Bonita Applebum.”
Unfortunately, after a long day of schlepping and slinging, Pete and I took a break during Wu-Tang Clan to rest our feet and get some food. This years beverage and food system was a bit different, requiring inordinate prepaid cards for purchases. With lots of leather lounges, an indie style deejay, and our favorite LA Times crew, we soaked up the flurry of the festival.
Snoop Dogg tore it up in his hometown doing it Doggystyle. The set ferociously kicked off with “Afro Puffs”, bringing The Lady of Rage to hype the mic. Offering the ultimate throwback, Snoop had videos featuring an appearance by Dr. Dre and other narrative vignettes to thematically introduce the historical jams to come.
Favorites like “Murder Was the Case”, “Gin and Juice”, and “Lodi Dodi” were personal standouts from the 1993 album. The intoxicating blend of new and old songs demonstrated that Snoop Dogg is a king and sustainable treasure in the hip hop, pop culture, and Southern California community. Unsurprisingly the audience (myself) was singing along to “What’s My Name?”, “Lay Low”, “Next Episode”, and many more tracks from the indelible archives of my childhood.
Before the dust officially settles from RTB, next will come Cypress Hill’s annual Smoke Out Tour. This year’s unlikely and diverse lineup (Erykah Badu, Basement Jaxx, Daedmau5, MGMT, Incubus) is enough to get you high on music. With the success of RtB, Smoke Out promises to be an affair you won’t want to miss.
