WeFest: The Tenth Circle of Hell Part 2

I’ll begin with the disclaimer that I’m not really into country music. The fact that most country artists don’t write their own songs costs them a degree of credibility in my eyes. When they sing about love or loss I simply don’t believe them because they are singing in the first person about someone else’s experiences.

That and I really don’t care about their trucks, their dogs, their tractors or their women. I think Toby “we’ll stick a boot up their ass” Keith is ignorant, I’ve heard rumors that Keith Urban is a coke snorting dick, and Alan Jackson seems to have about as much personality as an old boot.

With that said, those mo-fos put on one hell of a show. Each night of concerts was better than the last. Starting on Thursday with Jackson rolling out hit after hit (many of which I was completely unaware he even sang) to Friday with Keith Urban bouncing all over the stage (he plays a mean guitar, too) to Saturday with Toby Keith whipping the swelling crowd into a frenzy and paying tribute to our soldiers (I found it very respectful, but bear in mind I was intoxicated).

I’m in some ways embarrassed to say that Toby Keith was my favorite performer of the weekend. I still think he’s ignorant, but his songs are perfect for a mega concert full of drunkards – cheeky, irreverent and catchy with simple choruses even country newbs can sing along to.

The only disappointment was Carrie Underwood. Her songs are some of the few country tunes I would listen through if they happened to come on the radio. Plus I’ve got a bit of a crush. She looked overwhelmed by the massive audience (sort of a deer in the headlights effect) and ended up playing the whole show way too safe. And she had a side-pony. Enough said.

The real treats of the WeFest concert bowl actually had nothing to do with the concerts at all. One of these was found in an obscure corner of the bowl. A gamblers dream game, which was essentially a combination of roulette and darts. The game consisted of a large checkerboard, a single thrower, and a circle of gambling addicts willing to win or lose on a whim. Participants placed money on the color they thought the dart would hit (red, white, or black (line)). Hit the color, double your money. You can imagine the wild swings. I’m not even sure how the game could’ve been legal.

And then there was the legendary Oof-Da Taco. Heaps of ground beef, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, jalapeños and sour cream all atop what could most accurately be described as a puff pastry. My fellow concert-goers had been hyping the Oof-Da for months, so by the time I got in line for my first experience my expectations were sky-high. I wasn’t disappointed. Messy to eat, brutal the next morning, but definitely worth the trouble.

I felt like I was hung over for a week after WeFest. Severe dehydration, a mild case of sunstroke, and several days in dangerously unsanitary conditions had left my immune system weakened and my body begging me for a little compassion. It truly was a harrowing, horrifying experience.

WeFest, I loathe you…until next year.

Thanks for reading.