At 9:59 a.m. on a Saturday in July, I entered an epic Internet battle. The stakes? A free ticket to the Virgin Mobile FreeFest. My challengers? The 30,000 others also vying to see Pavement, LCD Soundsystem, M.I.A., and Ludacris without dropping an obscene amount of cash. By 10:03 a.m., the ravenous hordes had crippled Ticketfly.com and claimed all of the available tickets. Thanks to my expert refresh button skills and lightning fast Internet connection, I was among the victorious.
My iCal awareness clouded by the triumph, I didn’t realize that FreeFest happened to fall on Sept. 25—Homecoming. When the fated weekend rolled around, I found myself weighing my options: Hoya t-shirts and keg-stands versus jorts and hipster dancing. Although my ticket to FreeFest was free, I felt that giving it up would have been tantamount to Charlie selling his golden ticket to Slugworth. So I put on my Keds and acquiesced.
The festival, held at Maryland’s Merriweather Post Pavilion, was outfitted with three stages—the Pavilion Stage, the West Stage, and the Dance Forest—arranged in a massive triangle. As if two stages surrounded by orgiastic 20-somethings and one forest full of head-bopping nymphs wasn’t enough, the area between the stages featured a state-fair-themed fête. There were unicycle riders, a Ferris wheel, a Chuck Taylors decorating booth, temporary tattoos galore, and authentic Native-American massage teepees (naturally). More obscene than this anachronistic hodgepodge of sweaty decadence, however, were the lines for and general upkeep of the port-o-potties. Oh God, the port-o-potties…
Like a neon-clad Odysseus hearing the Sirens, the music drew me immediately towards the Dance Forest. I stationed myself next to a particularly colossal Ent and tucked into the glo-fi throb of Neon Indian’s “Should Have Taken Acid With You.” Given the euphoric madness taking place in front of the stage, the song choice seemed apropos. It seemed that every hands-in-the-air nymph-person in the D.C. area was spinning and swaying, so I had no trouble letting go of any agoraphobia and practicing my chill wave dancing techniques.
Despite their DJ’s excessive use of the airhorn, the following band, Maximum Balloon was less exciting. Really? Maximum Balloon? Talk about false advertising.
After taking a break to get inked—a tear drop on my face and huge rose and skateboard combo on my chest—I returned to the Forest in time for Sleigh Bells. I braved the horde by climbing onto a fellow concert-goer/new best friend’s shoulders, and from that vantage point enjoyed 30 minutes of noise-pop heaven.
Everyone knows that nothing is ever actually free, so I wasn’t surprised when my quick stop at the food tents robbed me blind. My $8 hotdog and $9 Stella in hand, I settled into a Pavilion seat—which was originally available for $125 but was empty, because that was just ridiculous—for the final act: LCD Soundsystem. As if “Dancing Myself Clean” and “Daft Punk is Playing at my House” combined with an overpriced beer-buzz, wasn’t enough reason to freak out one time, the geniuses behind FreeFest set off a spectacular display of fireworks before the performance. As I watched the sky light up with green, pink, and orange lights I knew that I’d made the right choice. Virgin Mobile FreeFest, you are my Homecoming.
