written by Bobby Evers
On the first day of Pitchfork, my true love gave to me...a warning of a heat advisory. Over the years, I’ve come to think of Pitchfork Music Fest as the Christmas of Summer, and there are many parallels. Very music-heavy! Lots of seasonal fatty foods! Holiday specific fashion choices! Rituals that oscillate between tired cliches and sacred traditions (sometimes simultaneously!) And of course, being around your dear ones. At least that is what the experience has been for me; show up, see who I run into.
This year was no different; I dashed out of the office at about 2 pm, ready to find my friends, and hopped on the 66 bus to Ashland, waited just a few moments for that bus going South, and immediately saw people in festival clothes: band t’s with loud colors, sunglasses, fanny packs. Typically, there’s no one I really care to see during the first slot of the Friday portion of the festival, which is probably a tough spot for a working musician.
I’ll sometimes walk the less than 2-mile distance from my work to Union Park, since it’s a straight shot down Ogden once you get that far West. But, the aforementioned heat advisory made me think I should bus it. Embarrassingly, I didn’t plan my stop correctly and ended up having to backtrack on foot a bit to the vendor entrance (as a CHIRP volunteer, I am able to get in through the vendor entrance (all three days if you play your cards right) which is even further south than the main entrance). I say embarrassingly because I feel after 12 years I should have the bus stops on Ashland memorized by now. Alas.