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| Photo courtesy of HallandOates.com. |
After almost a year’s time, a Packers Super Bowl run, the discovery of something called “Pippa Middleton” and no fewer than 27,000 inches of snow accumulation, Summerfest finally made its triumphant return to Milwaukee on Wednesday. Like most, I had to work most of the day. But Milwaukee Magazine press pass in hand, I managed to get out to the grounds in the evening to indulge in some of the food, music, fireworks and (of course) abrupt stops by people pushing strollers on major walking paths. Here’s a broad timeline of my first abbreviated night of Summerfest attendance.
6:47 p.m.: Like last year, my Summerfest experience began well outside the grounds, at the sudsy confines of The Bomb Shelter bar in Walker’s Point. Hoping to avoid the nightmarish festival parking situation, I planned to grab a quick beer in a travel-safe plastic cup and utilize the free Walker’s Point shuttle bus, just as I had last year. No dice. Bomb Shelter doesn’t do the bus anymore. So I grab a beer anyway and watch an inning of the Brewers game while chatting it up with the bartender/sousaphone player of The Squeezettes, who’d played Summerfest earlier in the day.
7:19 p.m.: I head over to nearby(ish) Stenny’s to see if I have better luck in the shuttle department. Fortunately, I do. I grab a Red Bull (what an eventually responsible journalist!) and hop on one of the bar’s free mini shuttle busses.
7:45 p.m.: After a short wait and subsequent ride in which I was treated to talk about how Ryan Braun (current owner of a .314 AVG and the seventh highest RBI in baseball) has been struggling all season, I stop grinding my teeth. I’ve arrived!
Forever p.m. (estimated 8:10 p.m.): I track down my friend Bryan and we get to walking in search of some appealing music. Instead, we happen upon Tacoma, Washington band He is We, which lies somewhere between Paramore and, well, Paramore stylistically. Despite the cute singer’s revelations of her past heartbreaks (I CAN HELP YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AGAIN!!!), He is We just wasn’t Me. Bryan and I forage on after a few songs.
8:30 p.m.: We arrive at the Cascio Interstate Music Groove Stage to take in the soulful stylings of Chicago band The Right Now. It was a bit more enjoyable than the last band, but with so much music happening at once, it’s hard not to wander off in search of something better. Later, The Right Now.
8:48 p.m.: I realize, “Man, there are a lot of hippies here.” The smell and subsequent sight of a young couple both wearing pullover ponchos (aka “Baja Jackets”) only serves to prove this point. At that moment, I fully commit myself to avoiding Matisyahu’s 10 p.m. set.
9:03 p.m.: After clocking the walking speed of the average Summerfest attendee at 0.08 mph, I take solace in having the opportunity to take in a song or two by 12-year-old blues guitar prodigy Quinn Sullivan. That is, until I heard Quinn Sullivan. Nothing against Sullivan himself; when I was 12, I had a bowl cut and played Nintendo 64 with my neighbor. He’s opening for Buddy Guy. Good on him. I’m just not a blues guy. Next.
9:04 p.m.: I realize I haven’t eaten yet. I have this thing where I need to eat to survive but am willing to not eat if there’s any semblance of a line. Fortunately, Wong’s Wok has no line. I imbibe in its cheapest and most difficult to eat option, chicken lo mein and we grab some bleacher seats at some BMX bike show. It feels good to stop walking and cram some festival food into my face hole as men jump adolescent bikes just feet away.
9:30-45 p.m.: Fireworks! Summer is officially here. Bryan and I say our goodbyes as he heads to see Jack’s Mannequin and I head in the opposite direction to see anything that isn’t Jack’s Mannequin.
10:15 p.m. sharp: Hall & Oates start playing to a MASSIVE crowd at the M&I Classic Rock Stage. The crowd goes nuts as a full band busts into “Maneater.” Admittedly, I’m not a huge Hall & Oates fan—I always thought it was a solo project by a guy named “Holland Oats” (KIDDING, KIDDING!)—but they were spot on with every song I heard. The crowd was moving around, waving its arms in unison and growing by the note.
In time, I had to slink back to a more spacious area to take in the jams. There, near some golf game I ran into none other than Milwaukee Magazine managing editor Cristina Daglas. Later, my friend Angela swung by too. As “She’s Gone” permeated the cool lakeside air, both decided to move on. My departure followed shortly after, as I needed to shuttle home to write this and to rest up for more Summerfest coverage in the coming weeks.
