Hangout Fest: Bringing Down the House

This weekend, I attended the long-awaited Hangout Festival in Gulf Shores, Alabama. I devoted one of my first blogs to the Hangout Fest and my excitement at such a prospect. Not only was I looking forward to hearing some of my favorite, "off the beaten path" bands, but I found myself feeling excitement for my home state in hosting such a publicly praised and progressive event. I can only imagine what wonders the past weekend has done to boost the economy of Alabama's Gulf Coast after the repercussions of last year's BP oil spill.

Folks from all over the country travelled the many miles and shoveled out the funds to make it to The Hangout Fest, and that fact is not lost on me. For many years, Alabama has been ridiculed and looked down upon for various reasons that I won't embark upon; we have somehow always been viewed as second-rate. In some walks, maybe we deserve this, but the show put on in Gulf Shores that attracted people and praise from all around perhaps gave the country a different perspective. Not only were we aiding ourselves in the post-oil spill struggles to regain a fraction of the prosperity we once knew, but we did it in a culturally rich way, welcoming people from all walks of life. Sure, I met plenty of the typical music festival-going hippies, but I also came across suburban moms hauling around wide-eyed kids; older couples probably reminded of the original music fest, Woodstock, of their own hey-day; and people like me, not a hippie, not a suburban mom, but somehow blending into this crowd of people united by their love of music. 

... music. The music was phenomenal; and, of course, it had to be. That's what we expected. From the inspiring technical mash-ups of Pretty Lights to the hard, raw sounds of The Black Keys, the music surpassed our expectations. My Morning Jacket lit up the crowd with their quirky, energized performance that can only be described by the presence of the stuffed bear from the cover of their awe-inspiring album, It Still Moves. Grace Potter and The Nocturnals oozed soul, sweat, and lust if you asked the guys. Drive-By Truckers rocked the house as always with their unflinchingly honest lyrics and sounds from the guitar that can only be found in the South... social commentary at its finest. I am no music critic, but I surely guess it was a field day for those who are. 

Sure, I was hot, wickedly hot from the lack of clouds in the sky (a plus), and covered in a layer of sweat under a layer of sand. Sure, I paid $6 for a beer and $9 for a hotdog. Sure, I waited in line for a wristband a whole hour... but in the grand scheme of things, was it worth it? Hell yeah.