There’s an episode of Spongebob Squarepants that was particularly relevant to my life on Sunday in which Spongebob spends an entire beautiful day inside attempting to write a paper for school while everybody else is having a blast outside. Rather than enjoying certain green refreshments with my buddies on St. Patrick’s Day, I procrastinated to the brink of insanity. Eventually, I gave up on pretending to do school work and decided to see where my friends were. They were at a St. Patrick’s Day music festival at The Jam.
I had never been to The Jam; I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had only heard myths of bonfires and good times from my friends who frequent the establishment regularly. From the moment I stepped in, I realized that it was a place where creativity and individualism flourish. Artwork and musical instruments lined the walls of what could pass off as your dreadlocked friends’ house that you go to when you want to melt into a couch. Groovy. I made my way to the back door to check out the dope tunes I was hearing. Super groovy. Before I stepped outside, I noticed a sign above the door that read “NO HEAVY INTOXICATION, UNDER AGE DRINKING OR ILLEGAL DRUGS.”
Via: The JAM
After I stepped outside, I couldn’t help but feel that the sign was a joke. In the back yard was the kind of funkadelic dance party that would make Jerry Garcia proud. Two dollar PBR tall boys, sangria and sake? It was time to get weird. I snagged some drinks and walked to the front of the stage to check out local group Ill Cosby. While I was disappointed I didn’t see any dope sweaters, the music was a trip. The group mixed elements of funk, soul, rock ‘n’ roll and everything in between. The crowd couldn’t stop moving and I couldn’t help but join. St. Patty’s Day had finally become the party I was hoping it would be, a tie-dyed green fiesta without a trace of a frown. Local musican James Wesson even jumped on stage with the band to throw down some vicious rhymes, prompting one of the band members to yell out, “I’m no longer wearing socks!”
The Jam was jamming and jamming hard. Everyone from the middle-aged men and women tangoing to shirtless dudes sweating up a storm was getting down, and the main act hadn’t even come on yet. For those who were worn out from dancing, free massages were being offered next to the stage. There was a sense of unity and camaraderie that filled the drizzling night air. The people danced without thought of judgment, not in fear that they might look silly. They embraced the silly; they embraced everything.
When The Heavy Pets finally came on, I got lost in the Stevie Wonder-esque grooves of the opening song and couldn’t tell if I was at Bonnaroo or in Gainesville. I looked to my left saw the members of Ill Cosby kicking it with the crowd. I’ve always liked smaller venues because they minimize the disconnect between the artist and the crowd. On Sunday night, there was no disconnect at all. I congratulated everyone that I had seen on stage for a job well done of making me boogie and they seemed happy to talk.
The Heavy Pets continued their set for as long as the rain would let them, fusing all sorts of genres to produce what my buddy called “really fast elevator music.” The keyboard player threw a towel over his instrument’s keys halfway through the set so that the band could keep on playing. Eventually, the band decided they’d play one last song before getting off the wet stage. The crowd didn’t seem to mind. They were more than satisfied with the sophisticated jams they heard and went inside to commence the drum circling.
By the time I left The Jam, I had completely forgotten that I had spent my day tormenting myself about schoolwork. My only regret is that I didn’t get to the festival earlier. In a town where 99 percent of the concerts I go to involve nothing but a mixing deck and a laptop, it was refreshing to see music that emphasized instrumentation and improvisation. It was refreshing to be blown away by a group of humans rather than a machine.
Image courtesy of: The JAM
