Muddy Roots Pt. 3
THE SPRINT
Right after our set ended, we had 2 things to do - get our gear off stage and run over to the merch tent.
Obviously, selling merch right after a set is essential to any band. You play your show, and people who aren’t familiar with you want to buy merch in order to support the band. From the band’s perspective, it’s always funny because after a show, we are exhausted, sweaty, smelly, and losing our voices.
Muddy Roots has a really great system down where you get one hour after your set where you are allowed to have your merch set up in the merch tent. Not only do patrons know when and where to find the bands after their set, but it takes the pressure off the bands knowing that you can’t sell merch outside that window. Therefore, we weren’t worried about constantly missing sales throughout the weekend and we could just enjoy our time at the festival.
Before leaving for the festival, I had made a point of running to the bankin order to swap the bigger bills we have in our “band fund” to smaller ones. I did this in order to easily make change for cash sales for our merch. Muddy Roots is a packed festival on an isolated ranch, so I had no idea how reliable cell service was for digital transactions via Venmo, Paypal, etc.
Either way, our better halves and Vincent were the first over to the merch tent as Julian, Riley, and I had a few more components to our rigs that needed to be packed up.
As I was organizing my cables, I looked up to see Casey (my girlfriend) frantically running towards me.
“Is everything ok?!” I asked while wrapping one of my ¼ instrument cables.
“So…there’s already at least 5 people that want to pay with cash, but I don’t have any change. What did you do with the cash?”
Before heading down to the stage from our campsite, I had made the decision to leave my wallet and keys tucked away in my duffle bag that was currently in the corner of our tent. I brought my phone with me in case the stage or production manager needed to get a hold of me. Outside of that, I wouldn’t need my keys or wallet, right?
RIGHT?????
I sighed while turning to look at our tent on top of the massive hill that was overlooking the festival.
“FFFF***************************CCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK…”
I nodded at Casey, set my cables down, and began my sprint up the hill to fetch my wallet.
For all you fans of the show “Stranger Things,” I DID have Kate Bush’s song “Running Up That Hill” playing in my head.
I consider myself to be in pretty good shape. I grew up as a multi-sport athlete. I run 10-15 miles a week. I go to the gym a few times a week.
By the time I got up to the tent, I was DEAD. Turns out that I underestimated the physical toll that the show had on me. Was I tired? Sure, but I figured adrenaline would take over for the hill climb. I forgot about dehydration because when I unzipped our tent door, I was basically crawling. My heart was pounding. I was tasting blood in my throat, and my body was struggling to sweat. Again, at this point, it was probably 95+ degrees outside.
^ I sprinted from the big white tent you see in the background to the orange tent to can see between the heads of Vincent and I. It was brutal. This picture doesn’t justify the distance or slope of the hill.
Panting, I dove into the tent, and dug to the bottom of my side pocket to find my wallet. I put my head down, took a deep breath, and headed out of the tent. It was literally all downhill from here, right?
After zipping the tent door back up, I started power walking back down the hill. My legs felt like jello and walking was the best I could do.
Admittedly, I tripped over my own feet a few times when descending due to not lifting my legs up high enough off the ground. My quadriceps were burning, so I couldn’t get much space under my feet.
Finally, towards the bottom of the hill, I had the merch tent in my sights. I found enough gas in my tank to jog the last hundred feet or so.
When I arrived at the tent, I turned the corner, and immediately exclaimed, “who needs change?” while setting my wallet on the table.
Much to my excitement, there were already about 10 people lined up who needed change in cash. I took the backseat settling those transactions as Vincent and the ladies had done a fantastic job of staying organized and getting everyone the items they had asked for.
Immediately after those initial transactions had been settled, someone (can’t remember if it was Vincent, Abi, or Casey) had pointed out that the cold bottles of water sitting on the table were for us. Needless to say, I immediately chugged one and started sipping on a second one. My body began to sweat and cool off again. The fear of passing out was gone.
Once I began to recover, I was able to take in all of the cool moments and interactions we had with other bands and fans alike.
Admittedly, I can’t remember names of all of the people we spoke to, but I do remember a good number of interactions.
One person came up and joked with me, “Where were the smoke bombs at MTAC?”
MTAC refers to “Middle Tennessee Anime Convention.” You can read about it in the Muddy Root Pt. 1 blog
“You were at MTAC???”
“Yeah we saw you at MTAC, and we knew we HAD TO see you guys here. Ya’ll are crazy!”
I personally had an awesome interaction with the guys from “Immortal Lee County Killers” who bought some merch. It was really cool how they walked us through their reactions to the smoke bombs, Vincent playing from everywhere and the energy of the show in general. The details and insights that they shared with us were really great as we obviously didn’t have any type of perspective from the crowd. They were just as shocked as we were when we told them the reason our set get started late.
We also had the pleasure of selling our merch right next to Thee Scarecrows Aka, who were really nice guys. They perform folk music while wearing burlap sack masks - they look like scarecrows. Those guys are incredible musicians, and it was really cool getting to connect with them personally about their experience at Muddy Roots and how they became a band.
Finally - I was not there for this - but Vincent and Riley were stopped by the Spanish band Moonshine Wagon from Basque Country, Spain. The band apparently raved about how much they enjoyed our set. Again, these guys are absolute phenomenal bluegrass musicians, and I couldn’t believe that they saw us play. It was surreal being recognized by Internationally known acts. We couldn’t believe it.
After our hour was up, we packed up all of our gear and headed back to the tent. We all had to take some time to talk at camp and reflect on the incredible start to our Saturday.
I THINK I’M IN DANGER
*author’s note*
The following blog post contains a story about me smoking delta 8 cannabis (LEGALIZED WEED). Before continuing, I want to make it clear that this is not a piece that advocates for any type of exhausting and over-the-top political stance in regard to the ongoing legalization/banning of marijuana. I only personally advocate for cannabis in this blog when describing trying to recover from adrenaline withdrawal immediately after a show. In my brief personal experience with legalized THC products - similar to alcohol - moderation is fine. Do what you want - don’t abuse what you want.
…
As I mentioned in part 1 of this blog, Titans has a great relationship with Roasted Hemp Co. in Cookeville, TN. It’s a relatively new hemp/dab bar that doubles down as a music venue. The staff is always wonderful to us. We always joke that we can always show up sober, but we are guaranteed to leave with a “contact high” from the smoke-filled bar. For those who don’t know - “contact high” refers to getting a buzz or a high from the secondhand weed smoke.
I guess now is the best time to note that this is completely legal. This bar serves delta-8, which is a “legal loophole” cannabis compared to delta-9. Essentially, “illegal marijuana” is defined by it’s chemical compound. The compound commonly known to consumers as “delta 9.” With weed still being illegal in many states including Tennessee, cannabis manufacturers manipulated the chemical compound in a way where it can be sold legally. This is what is known as “delta 8.” It’s legal because it’s not the exact same chemical compound as what the government strictly defines as illegal marijuana.
Anyway, Roasted Hemp Co was kind enough to invite us out to support the legendary band Green Jello for their stop in Cookeville in October ‘24. At the time, it was the biggest show we had played as a band. Cookeville is one of the stronger out of town markets that we play, and a huge reason for that is Roasted Hemp Co taking a chance on Titans early after we started playing live shows in 2021. It’s hard booking out of town shows as a newer band.
The caveat to playing with Green Jello is that we wouldn’t be getting paid directly from the venue. This was due to the amount of money that Green Jello had asked for as an advance. The good news was that not getting paid by the venue really didn’t matter to us for 2 reasons:
We would rather have the opportunity to play with Green Jello for free than refuse the offer over a small amount of cash.
We were still able to sell merch in the venue, so we would probably easily make up for whatever were were going to get paid from the venue in merch sales.
That night, we played second. Green Jello obviously played third. They were headlining and closing out the night. We threw a terrific show, and sure enough, we sold lots of merch.
After we had packed our gear off stage and were hanging out at our merch table waiting for Green Jello to start their show, we were approached by one of the workers from the bar.
“That was an awesome set, yall! These are for you guys.”
We were handed 4 skinny black tubes. Each tube contained a cap at the end.
We aren’t dumb, so we immediately knew what was handed to us.
I took the cap off the end of the tube, inhaled, and immediately started coughing.
“Jesus, that would probably kill me if I smoked the whole thing!”
We were given 4 pre-rolled joints as the initial payment for opening for Green Jello.
I say "initial" because funny enough, we walked out that night with a $300 check from the venue. Roasted Hemp Co. was packed all night, so we assumed that the turnout had exceeded expectations. The venue was very kind in wanting to pay us properly despite our previous agreement of playing for free…or for 4 joints I guess.
…
Fast forward to Saturday at Muddy Roots. The previous night, we had seen epic acts like L.I.P.S., Moonshine Wagon, TSOL, Eagles of Death Metal and more.
The day was still getting started, and Riley, Casey, and I had gotten back to camp. The first few hours of the day were filled with walking around, watching bands, checking out the merch tent, and eating lunch. We needed a break from the heat, so the 3 of us went back to camp to relax.
Before heading to Muddy Roots, I made a point of symbolically packing the joint I got from Roasted Hemp Co.
Where it was born is where it will die - in Cookeville, TN.
I still had it due to the fact that smoking it alone would have killed me. Not really - with my tolerance, it would have just made me very paranoid and not want to move. Stoned - as they say.
I meant to share it with the band after our set the previous day. The only time I will openly advocate for marijuana is after performing a rock show in the sweltering heat.
Here’s why:
Obviously, our show is composed of singing, screaming, running, jumping, thrashing our bodies around, and headbanging. After the show, I’m personally crashing from a crazy adrenaline high and it’s brutal. Sure, there’s a bit of an endorphin kick involved, but I’m physically exhausted. My throat is sore from singing/screaming. My back and neck are sore. I’m sweating profusely despite the fact that I’m dehydrated. I’m shaking from the adrenaline and dehydration. Every time I take a sip of water, my stomach starts to hurt. I have a bad headache due to headbanging and again - dehydration. Finally, my ears are ringing. Sometimes it’s tinnitus (even when wearing ear plugs). Sometimes, it’s the headbanging. Basically, I feel like I’m sick or going through what I can only describe as some type of withdrawal.
Obviously, alcohol would hinder the situation. Tylenol and any other anti-inflammatory makes your stomach hurt due to dehydration and your metabolism being sped up from the workout of the show.
Nowadays, lots of bars and venues here in Nashville serve low dose THC seltzers. “Low dose” in this case would be 5-10mg of THC per 12oz. I’ve noticed that if I consume 5mg of THC after a show, my body is much more tolerant to water. The aches also subside, and my throat starts feeling better. There is no feeling of “being high.” I feel completely sober, but my body “evens out.”
Personally, it’s the best method I’ve found for rehydrating after a show and getting back to feeling normal. CBD would probably do the same thing, but I’ve never consumed it by itself. Only when it’s mixed in with THC in a THC/CBD seltzer.
Anyway, the intention was to share the joint with everyone the previous day after our set, but I totally forgot. The excitement from our set must have distracted me.
I took a deep breath after finishing a bottle of water.
“Riley, I meant to smoke it yesterday, but do you want to split the joint I got from Roasted? I need to get rid of it.”
“Sure!”
I walked to the car, and grabbed the black tube from the center console of my car that still housed the remaining smoke bombs.
I took the joint out of its black, aroma sealed tube, and I tossed the tube in our camp’s garbage bag. I still had a lighter in my back pocket from the previous day. I was wearing the same shorts. From there, I lit it and Riley and I took turns puffing and trading it back and forth. The joint would have been gone within 5 minutes had I not had to get up 4-5 times to make sure the ashes were dumped into a small dirt patch off to the side of our tent and stomped on.
By the time the joint was 3/4s of the way gone, I asked Riley if he wanted anymore. He said he was good, and I finished the rest off. Once it was done, I threw the tail end on the ground, stomped on the ashes and threw away the leftover rolling paper and filter once I could feel that they were cool enough to not light or melt the trash bag.
Once I sat back down, Casey asked what the plan was.
I mentioned wanting to see the band “Bolt Swallower” perform as we had shared some bigger DIY Nashville/Murfreesboro punk bills with them. I couldn’t remember if we had ever seen them play though. It seemed like they were always performing hours apart from us or on different days.
She pulled her phone out.
“Well, they play in twentyish minutes. When do you want to head down to the stage? In five minutes?”
“Works for me!”
Over the next 5 minutes, I had a chance to reflect on what had happened in the moments before agreeing to go see Bolt Swallower perform. When Riley said, “He was good,” it probably meant that he had enough to smoke and didn’t need more.
I should have realized that because I had suddenly become extremely dizzy. When weed hits you like a freight train, your thoughts begin to snowball. The mental state leads to a weird train of paranoid thoughts:
The weed lead to the dizziness. The dizziness lead me to believe that I couldn’t balance. If I couldn’t balance, I couldn’t walk. If I couldn’t walk, I’d fall over and roll down the entire hill that we were camping on top of. If that happened, people would want to help and tell me to go to the medical tent. The medical tent would recognize me from Titans of Siren and think I’m an idiot. Word would get around and the festival employees would tell the organizers. We’d never be asked to come back again. We’d be asked to leave the festival.
All I had to do was stay at the camp. Stay in the chair, And everything would be ok…but I didn’t want anyone to know how much the joint affected me.
“Alright, you guys ready to head down?” asked Casey.
“Yup!” Riley and I responded with a jinxed response.
The moment was about to come. I was about to ruin Titans’ reputation forever. I turned around and grabbed on of the corner tent posts for one last line of defense before I rolled down the hill.
I used the pole to leverage myself onto my feet before my legs turned to jelly. I pulled upward and…
Then I just…stood there. Perfectly still.
Did a feel a little dizzy? Sure. But it didn’t seem to affect my motor skills. I could feel my heartrate slowing as I realized that my THC induced paranoia was…all in my head (shocker!).
“Sonofabitch..” I muttered to myself and I put my hands on my hips.
“Kirk! You ready?” Casey asked.
“Mmhmm.” I nodded.
As soon as we started walking down the hill, my entire mindset changed. The day was absolutely gorgeous. I had nothing to do but hang out with my girlfriend, some of my best friends, watch some awesome live music, and eat delicious food. Life was good.
We made our way to the Lil’ Tent and found some space in the back where we could see the full stage.
Everyone else in our group met up with us at the back of the Lil Tent. They wanted to stretch their legs and look around the vendor’s alley before meeting up.
Bolt Swallower took the stage to an eruption from the crowd.
They started their set with a wave a heavy guitar feedback. After a 4 count from the drummer, they dove head first into a heavy wall of lightning-quick punk rock. The 3 instrumental members thrashed their heads and bodies as their singer yelled and sneered into the microphone with more anger than I can describe.
The crowd fed off of every ounce of energy as a huge mosh pit had erupted in front of the stage. Bodies were circling. Bodies were flying. Bodies were hopping on stage and diving into the crowd - much to the indifference of the band.
I’ve seen Slipknot play live. I’ve seen Devildriver play live. I’ve seen 3 Inches of Blood play live. I’ve seen Lamb of God play live. I’ve never seen as angry of a performance as the one put on by Bolt Swallower. It felt real. It felt dangerous. It felt passionate. It was great.
Casey was standing next to me as they performed. She must have seen my wide eyed expression watching the show.
“Are you ok?” She mouthed.
I smiled and leaned over into her ear. “That joint got me good. I was afraid that I wasn’t going to be able to walk down here.”
“I knew it! How are you feeling now?”
I pointed towards the stage. “I think I’m in danger…”
She laughed and agreed.
Bolt Swallower ended their set with a wall of guitar feedback and all 4 members stage diving into the crowd. It. Was. Awesome.
After the set, Casey and I went to get some pizza. I love New York style pizza, and Muddy Roots had an awesome pizza vendor. Shame on me that I can’t remember their name, but I had the privilege of trying my first ever slice of pickle pesto pizza. Yes - pizza with dill pickle pieces and green basil pesto. It was incredible - and that;s not the weed talking.
We still had bands to see later in the day, so everyone went back up to the tent to rehydrate and get ready for the late afternoon shows.
THE STICKER
After sobering up for the later sets on Saturday, Casey and I walked down from our camp towards the Big Tent. From there, we stopped by the merch tent across the main pedestrian path from the Big Tent. I had already purchased a shirt from the festival (Shoutout to the organization Punk Rock Saves Lives), but I wanted to see what the bands were offering because it’s always fun to see the incredibly creative designs that people come up with.
As we walked into the merch tent, something caught my eye. There was a bass drum sitting on top of the merch table. I walked over and took a glimpse at it. There was no merch around the drum, so I didn’t know what band it was for. The only substantial thing written on the drum head at fist glance was the initials “ILCK” Whatever that meant.
There was a hand-written note on the table in front of it that said, “Please Sign.”
Simple enough. Great idea too!
I took the sharpie sitting next to the note and looked for a good spot to sign the kick drum head. Immediately, I panicked. On the bass drum head, there was ONE sticker. One sticker surrounded by hundreds of signatures. The sticker stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a design that I knew all too well which said
“Titans of Siren is my second favorite band”
Obviously, we made the sticker, so I didn’t mind the content. It was the fact that someone didn’t follow directions and put our sticker on the bass drum for everyone to see had me irritated. I didn’t want to be known as the one band that thought it was funny to ruin the signature idea. It seemed disrespectful.
The issue was - who put it there? Was it one of our other members? Was it a random person that thought it would be funny? Was it a bitter person that wanted to make us look bad?
I immediately pointed it out to Casey, who agreed that it was a bad look if it was done without permission.
“Who could have put it there?” She asked.
“Anyone, but I really hope it wasn’t someone in our band.”
I added my signature and took a picture of the drum head.
We left the merch tent and headed to the Lil’ Tent to see Howling Giant play. They were one of the only few other Nashville based bands to be playing Muddy Roots, so I figured that we should go support them. Additionally, our close friends in Year of October are great friends of theirs, so you gotta support friends of friends, right?
On our way over to the Lil’ Tent, I sent a text message in our band group text seeing if anyone put the sticker there.
After 3 “no’s,” I was perplexed. Maybe a random person thought it would be funny. I was still nervous that it would come back to bite us.
After being overly anxious about the sticker for another hour, I was reassured by Casey and all of my band members that if someone reached out about the sticker, I would apologize and reassure them that we had nothing to do with it.
We heard nothing for the rest of the night. Howling Giant provided a great esacpe too because their show and musicianship was mesmorizing. Additionally, I looked over a festival poster and didn’t see a band that fit the name of the initials ILCK on the poster. The closest was T.S.O.L which stands for The Sons of Liberty.
The rest of the night went without any outstanding incident regarding the sticker. Riley and Vincent got tattoos from one of the artists working at the festival, and the rest of us spent the night wandering around watching bands until we headed back to camp at around 11pm .
I woke up on Sunday morning and basically forgot about the sticker. The rest of the festival came and went. We didn’t hear anything about the sticker or get any backlash…
UNTIL
A few days after the Muddy Roots concluded, I was scrolling Instagram in my house in Old Hickory, TN. I was getting caught up on everything we had missed while performing at the festival. Again, cellular service was spotty, so I was drowning in texts and various messages wishing us good luck and asking how it went. As I was scrolling Instagram, I stumbled upon a photo that caught my eye:
Photo Credit: Shardik Media, Wayne Edwards
It was The IMMORTAL LEE COUNTY KILLERS!!!! It was their drummer, Doug!!! We met them at our merch tent and saw their show at the Big Tent!!!! I couldn’t see the sticker on their kick drum from where I was standing, but the Doug absolutely put it there because he loved our performance and thought the sticker was hilarious.
I was flooded with emotions of relief and giddiness. The Immortal Lee County Killers are a fantastic band, and I was floored that they put our sticker on their kick drum for their set. Again - you never know who you will meet in this crazy world and who will be there to support you.
Photo Credit: Doug Sherrard
THE BOTTLE
Sunday at Muddy Roots was a day filled with bittersweet emotions. On one hand, we had another day to listen to great music and ride the wave of accomplishment that had sustained us since Friday morning. On the other hand, we were sad that the festival was getting wrapped up, and WE WERE EXHAUSTED. We all needed showers, naps, home-cooked meals, and air-conditioning.
Personally, I was ready to get out of the sun and unwind from the adrenaline highs of the weekend. Truckfighters were the only band on my “must see” list that were playing on Sunday. Unfortunately, they weren’t playing until later in the night, and I didn’t have the energy to stay in the hundred degree sun for that long.
After we all woke up, we our morning cold brew and granola bars, and slowly started packing. Everyone was very thorough about packing because the last thing we wanted to do was leave essentials behind in the middle of an open field.
Vincent and Abi had to get back home earlier than the rest of us, so they left at around 10am. After that, it was just Riley, Meg, Casey and I.
Since the festival was noticeably dying down (lots of folks apparently were ready to head back home on Sunday), we agreed to visit the one amenity that we had yet to enjoy - Waterloo Falls.
A big part of the draw of Muddy Roots is Waterloo Falls. With the heat being so intense, Muddy Roots organizes all-day shuttles back and forth between the ranch and the falls. If there’s ever a gap in the lineup or a time where the heat is too much, you can hop in the back of a shuttle and go cool off at one of two waterfalls (referred to as “the big one” and “the little one”).
Our group was planning on visiting the falls well before Sunday, but the lines for the shuttle were extraordinarily long every time we checked. It wasn’t worth waiting in the heat for an hour, so we never went.
Luckily on Sunday, the heat certainly did not subside, but the line to the shuttle did. After walking to the other side of the ranch and checking on the line, we quickly ran back to our cars, changed into our bathing suits and headed back to the shuttle line. After 10 minutes of waiting, a big truck pulled up hauling a hayride wagon. This took me back to my central Illinois roots. We hopped in the back of the wagon with about 20 other passengers and enjoyed the brief and scenic the ride to the falls.
When we arrived, we agreed to visit “the big falls” first as they were the closest. We enjoyed a slick, shaded walk down into the cliff-surrounded cove. From there, we stripped down to our bathing suits and set them near the only shallow and flat part of the cove we could find. We then navigated an extremely slippery walk along the mossy rocks and shallow water (a few of us ended up harmlessly falling), and reached the swimming hole directly at the bottom of the falls. I took the first plunge. Immediately, I was shocked by how cold the water was. However, it felt amazing compared to the 100+ degree heat and humidity that we had to endure for the majority of the weekend.
Photo credit: Cumberland River Basin
The other 3 joined, and the consensus was that this was a great idea! We waded around for a bit, talked, people watched, and we watched a few folks climb about a third of the way up the falls and jump into the water. Being inspired from my Australia days, I followed suit and enjoyed a fun climb, jump, and plunge deep into the pool of water below.
After a few more minutes, we decided to go check out the “small waterfall.” We hopped out of the pool, walked along the slippery rocks, grabbed our stuff and made our way up to the road where we were dropped off.
From there, we were directed around a bend in the road and down into a smaller cove with a much shorter waterfall:
Photo Credit: Muddy Roots Instagram
This waterfall clearly catered towards folks that wanted a much more relaxed experience. The swimming hole was filled with kids, people floating on tubes, and a much quieter hum from the falls - compared to the roar of the larger waterfall I had just jumped from.
Due to the shallower water - the temperature was warmer and didn’t give our bodies the initial “jolt” of the cold water from the larger waterfall.
Again, we waded around a little bit, talked, and people watched. After we hit a we felt like we had properly experienced the smaller waterfall, we decided to head back to the campsite and depart for home.
We hiked out of the smaller cover and waited along with a big group of folks for the shuttle to take us back to the ranch. After a quick 5 minutes, the familiar truck pulled up with the hayride wagon in tow. Everyone hopped in the back and braced themselves for the ride back.
When the truck began moving, various conversations started to pick up to pass the time. This included a person sitting across from Riley who reached out with a red Nalgene water bottle in his hand:
“You want any whiskey?”
Riley looked up and laughed.
“Thanks so much, but I’m good.” Riley looked down at Casey, Meg, and I. “You guys want any whiskey?”
“I’ll take a swig!” I said.
When in Rome, right?
I took a pull of whiskey from the water bottle and grimaced as the burn of the whiskey reached my throat.
“Thanks!” I said while handing the water bottle back.
“No problem. Is this your first time at Muddy Roots?”
The conversation then became Riley and I telling him that this was in fact our first time at Muddy Roots, and we actually had the pleasure of performing on Friday morning.
There was a person sitting down the trailer who must have heard us:
“Yeah I saw you guys play! It was killer!”
We smiled and thanked him.
I glanced back at the guy with the Nalgene bottle. He must have been in a giving mood because he was offering everyone around him a drink of whiskey.
He looked at the group of guys sitting next to Riley:
“How about you guys? Whiskey?”
“Haha. No, we’re good.” One of them said in an accent.
“Is this your first time at Muddy Roots?” The guy with the Nalgene bottle repeated.
“Yes, actually. It has been really fun. We’re on tour right now from Sweden. We had 2 days off, and the organizer of the festival reached out asking if we wanted to play. It has been really nice and everyone has been super friendly.”
I must have had a weird look on my face as I was listening to this guy’s response because Casey was giving me a weird look back from across the aisle in the wagon and raising her eyebrows.
‘What are the odds?’ I remember thinking.
I turned towards the three Swedes and spoke up:
“Wait…are you guys the band Truckfighters?”
He gave me a surprised look. “Yes - I’m Oskar. We’re playing the festival tonight.”
I freaked out a little “Dude, I love your music! You guys are awesome!”
It’s true. Every time I listen to the song “Desert Cruiser” in the car, I should probably get pulled over for speeding. I’ve listened to that song since I was 16, so that’s…hundreds of times that their song has fuled me with enough adrenaline to break the law while behind the wheel.
I continued my conversation with Oskar for the rest of the quick ride back to the ranch. Upon arrival, we all wished Truckfighters luck and thanked the guy who gave us the free whiskey.
While walking back to our cars Casey walked along side me:
“Are you happy? Do you feel better about not sticking around to see them?” Casey asked.
“Yep. I feel like it’s a sign from the universe.”
“A sign that says what?”
“We can go home now.”
…
A very heartfelt THANK YOU! to everyone that read this blog. The Muddy Roots blog is something that I’ve worked on for a long time, and finishing it is a huge personal accomplishment. I’m going to try to make these blogs a weekly thing. Frankly, in order for that to happen, they will need to be shorter. I love prose writing and narration, but this Muddy Roots blog is 30 pages long in MS Word, and I certainly don’t have the time to write 5 pages every week describing shows, experiences, and antics. We are really trying to create a space of genuine art, personal connection, and story-telling. For anyone who reads these and enjoys them - thank you. Please stick with us and pass along the word to whoever might enjoy these stories and behind the scenes glimpses. We don’t make music for metrics, popularity, or vanity. We make music to express vulnerable emotions and to build personal connections with whoever is willing to listen, understand, and relate to our stories and voices.
