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The crisp shudder of rainfall over Bonnaroo's grounds chilled the inhabitants Sunday morning.
Bearing the conditions was only part of an experience such as this one. Some had been lucky enough to make it through the night dry. While others not so much as the squish-squash sound of wet shoes paced towards the music site's main gate.
After enduring a weekend full of both physical and mental exertion, those that had not already run from the weather of these hills looked a little bit worn. As if some had been road hard and put up wet,.
Delta Spirit's raspy drawl, along with ALO, Gary Clark Jr., Fruit Bats, The Black Lips, GROUPLOVE and Here We Go Magic were the first of the acts for this final chapter of jeopardy.
Legendary musicians The Beach Boys, (with Brian Wilson, Mike Love, Al Jardine, Bruce Johnston and David Marks), took the main stage and the majority of Bonnaroo's crowd that afternoon. As while Mac Miller, War on Drugs, The Antlers and City and Colour performed their sets in the tents.
Bon Iver, Ben Folds Five, The Joy Formidable, Kurt Vile & The Violators and Kenny Rogers took their places at the curiously named stages across the festival before The Shins, Young the Giant, Fun. and The Civil Wars played their sets that evening to a steadily stage shifting crowd.
The Eleventh Annual Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival was concluded with a four hour headline performance by Phish. Rumors of this being one of the final performances by the hippie-indulged group kept those that still vibrated with adrenaline and psychedelics riding one last wave of this post-modern Woodstock.
What once stood of the make-shift hipster empire built out of tents and shirtless bodies had begun to deplete and scatter through these Tennessee hills. Back to the hole-in-the-walls, communes, nine-to-five jobs, classrooms and reality they went. Our bodies were withered and tired, but each and every mind still so vivid and awake.
The weekend had seemed so surreal, so transparent. An illusive version of a world that didn't deserve to function more than one weekend every year. A place where everything had an alternative motive, where there were no lines between the law and wrong. It was a second home to the gifted, the seeking, the lost and the found.
One last sun had already set while our wheels beneath us were already turning. Fifteen hours of mismatched interstates and songs from the weekend stuck in our heads were ahead of us. And another year until the weird wins again.
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