Welcome to Bottlerock, 1999! The Napa music festival announced the lineup for its second annual concert, and it’s full of ‘90s nostalgia. Weezer? LL Cool J? Outkast? Ok, I get those, but Third Eye Blind? Barenaked Ladies? Smash Mouth? That’s where I’m lost. I mean, Smash Mouth actually played at the Sonoma-Marin Fair three times in the past eight years. At least Bottlerock didn’t book Tower of Power and Elvin Bishop (nothing against those excellent groups but they play the fair every year, too). Want more ‘90s? Blues Travelor. De La Soul. Spin Doctors. Gin Blossoms. Camper Van Beethoven. Oh, how I wish I were making this up.
The Cure is also headlining, as is Heart. So there’s some ‘80s love being spread around, too. But these old-school bands are being placed alongside hip, young acts like Robert Delong, Empires and Deerhunter. Shoutout to Moonalice for representing the North Bay, maybe they’ll challenge Matisyahu, Sublime with Rome and Tea Leaf Green for the most smoke-filled stage. Oh, and country star Eric Church is the other big name, here. Robert Earl Keen is also playing. Diverse, indeed.
There’s still “more to come,” but I can’t imagine any huge names being announced. Spread out over three days, this will make for an interesting concert. Three-day passes are $249, and will rise to $279 soon. Single-day tickets are not yet on sale, but when they were available last week (at a discounted Napa residents price), they were $129.
As for this little gem, you’re welcome.
The full lineup, mostly for SEO purposes:
Camper Van Beethoven
De La Soul
Hurray For The Riff Raff
Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe
Keep Shelly In Athens
LL Cool J
Matt and Kim
Robert Earl Keen
Sublime with Rome
Tea Leaf Green
The Black Angels
The Stone Foxes
Thee Oh Sees
Third Eye Blind
We started taking bets on what the Cure’s opening song would be. “‘The Kiss,’” I said, “it’s gotta be ‘The Kiss.’ Can you imagine how awesome that’d be?”
When the lights went down and faint chimes tinkled over the stage, I knew I’d guessed wrong. The bells, the chimes, could it. . . would they. . . oh my God, for real? Like an avalanche, the Cure laid down the opening chords of “Plainsong,” the first song off Disintegration, and I squeezed my eyelids shut, balled my fists, and let out an ecstatic cry of release. And I pretty much didn’t stop until the end of the night—37 songs later.
Until Wednesday night’s show, I was never a total superfreaky Cure fan. Over the past 20 years, I’ve loved them incrementally—album by album, song by song—but never signed up as one of the fully obsessed. That’s all in the past now. Show me where to sign. On Wednesday night, during a staggering three-hour and fifteen-minute set, the Cure was even more than a great band: they were the greatest band in the universe.
Superfreaky fans abounded, that’s for sure. Around us, there was The Reciter, who blankly spoke every lyric back to Robert Smith as if it were scripture; The Dancer, who occasionally made his way out into the aisle to do some ’80s prom dancing before being shown back to his seat; and The Hoochie, a girl who kept the ticket stub stuffed in her very-exposed cleavage and who at one point stripped down to her bra, singing wildly.
As for me, I stood in awe and sang along to an onslaught of fantastic song after fantastic song—for over three hours! Take that, Bruce Springsteen!