The Fest 7 - Gainesville, Florida, October 31-November 2, 2008 Feature by Guest Contributor
I decided to go down to the Fest—No Idea Records' showcase of hardcore and punk music held every October in Gainesville, Florida—about 12 hours before my friend's van was leaving for it. I had never been, and didn't know much about it, but when my best friend Sean Yeaton, one of the guitarists for Daniel Striped Tiger, told me that there was an extra badge and a spot in the van, I thought, "Alright. Let's do the damn thing." Plus, I may have had a thing for the drummer, which also may have helped sway my uncharacteristically impromptu decision to skip two days of work, blow my rent money on gas, and hang out in Florida with a bunch of punks.
To get to the van, I took a bus out of New York's Port Authority, which, at 5:00 in the morning, could be the saddest place in the world, but I perked up as I neared Amherst, MA, the weekend's launch pad. There were two vans that would take me, Daniel Striped Tiger, Ampere, Sinaloa, and all their equipment down to Florida. We crammed in, and I sat with my bag on my lap and my legs sandwiched between two cabs as we left for the sunshine state.
Twenty-five hours (and many a coffee) later, we arrived in Gainesville at 6:00 pm on Friday, and the Fest was already in full-swing. Punks streamed out of the hotel where they had hastily registered and picked up their badges. We, too, hastily strapped on our wristbands and ran over to the Kickstand where Ringers was about to play. The line had already grown to a full-block wrap-around, so we decided to duck into a bar and drink a pitcher of beer while we studied the overwhelming Fest schedule. Like all festivals, it was both enthralling and infuriating; There would be no way to see Dillinger Four AND Comadre. But, such is life.
After our beer, we set off for the Atlantic to see Tubers, a three-piece made out of members from Twelve Hour Turn and the South based out of Saint Augustine. They played gritty, catchy guitar licks welded together with rod-iron vocal screams. Their set consisted of the thoughtful, cut-throat tracks from their 2007 release Shell Out, and was the perfect raucous start to the weekend.
All the body-shaking and fist-pumping sobered us up a bit and reminded us that we hadn't eaten since sometime in South Carolina. The Tigers and I split up from the group, and we used our free-meal ticket to get burgers and beer. While we were enjoying the best burgers of our lives, we ran into our friends in Teenage Cool Kids, four amazingly talented Denton, Texas punks who dole out heaping servings of pop-punk riffs like they were the cheery cafeteria ladies at Rock 'n' Roll High. They informed us of a house show they were playing at midnight and somehow Daniel Striped Tiger got slapped onto the bill.
We arrived at the house (big shout-out to whoever lives there) and for a second I felt like I was in Boston again seeing Now Denial play in a packed, smoky basement. The place was full of beer and friendly people, and while there were no mics available for shouting out lyrics, everyone sang along to the Teenage Cool Kids' amazing set. Sean got a little rowdy and poured a bunch of beer on people in the crowd, who welcomed it, and I ended up ditching my camera in a litter box to save it from drowning. After their sweaty set, Daniel Striped Tiger picked up where TCK left off, playing crowd-favorites like "Disconnection" and "The Midday Heat." We left drunk, happy, and sweaty.
After a few hours of sleep at the near-by Econolodge, we awoke early for another house party where Ampere was playing. We got coffee and beer and blinked away hang-overs against the blinding Floridian sun. The house, referred to throughout the day as Weed Beach, had just rid itself of sleeping bags, and punks lounged lazily in the backyard telling stories of their travels. A sweet aroma rising from the skillet where an egg scramble was scrambling wafted from the kitchen and filled the living room, which was decorated with battered American Flags. People fled inside when they heard screeches of a sound-check. Brainworms, a wondrously riotous bunch from Richmond, started off our day by playing vicious tunes, and we bounced around as the crowd kicked their sleepiness to the curb. Cult Ritual came next, and it was one of the best shows I'd ever witnessed. With intense Black Flag-esque vocals and torrid guitars, this band fucking killed it. Fists were thrown, teeth were bared, veins bulged.
Next up on the bill was Ampere. While I had hung out with them for years (hell, I live two blocks away from Stephen Pierce, the vocalist) and they had played with Daniel Striped Tiger more times than you can count on your fingers, I had somehow missed every one of their local performances. It was a helluva thing. Will Killingsworth, the guitarist, ripped through my personal favorites like "Conquest Success" and "At Its Heart And At Its Head," jumping off the bass drum every so often, which riled up the crowd's energy to a frightening high. Meghan Minor's bass was unbelievably brutal and lovely, Andy Skelley held no mercy on the drums, and Stephen donned one of the flags as a cloak before tearing through the lyrics. How had I not witnessed this before? Luckily, Ampere had a slot on the bill at the Atlantic after Daniel Striped Tiger, Sinaloa and Comadre played, so I would see them again, and be just as thrilled.
After the house show, we soldiered on to the No Idea BBQ, where pulled pork sandwiches and home-made potato salad satisfied our post-show hunger. There were also boxes full of free records that people scavenged through when they were done filling their gullets with delicious meat (or veggie burgers—the more popular menu order of the weekend). While it was a welcome break from the deafening morning, we couldn't linger too long— Coalesce, a band Sean and I thought we both would never see, was set to play at the Venue, and that was not a show we could pass up.
We saw a bit of Atom & His Package's performance before that crowd cleared out. We got beer and prepared ourselves by keeping to the outer edges of the pit, which quickly became, to say the least, utterly insane. People did back flips off the stage into a circle pit of bull-dog punks as Coalesce ripped through songs off of 0:12 Revolution in Just Listening, before they, too, jumped into the undulating crowd.
After a much needed food and drink break, we headed over to the Atlantic where DST, Sinaloa, and Ampere would be playing before Young Widows victoriously finished off the night. Daniel Striped Tiger went on after Die Hoffnung, a Gainesville punk duo who is so loud and tight, you'd think there were at least a few more of them. DST played an amazing show, and, despite competing with the masses who'd fled early to Dillinger Four, had an amazing turn out. Sinaloa, another band that I probably should have seen by now, also played an incredible set, full of beautifully crafted and intensely articulated songs from their LP Oceans of Islands. Ampere followed up with an amazingly hard set that inspired crowd surfing and crazy antics, so crazy in fact that, once again, I had to hide my camera from all of it.
After another short night at the Econolodge, I had to pack up my things and head off to the airport. While another 25 hours in a van snuggled up to an amp sounded interesting, I simply couldn't stretch my pneumonia excuse that I had given my co-workers any farther. I got into a cab and headed for Gainseville Regional Airport, where I collected my thoughts, and nursed a hang-over (and possible concussion) until my flight brought me back to ol' New York.
I can say with all honesty, that it was the best Halloween I'd ever had. While I did see a mummy, a sexy cat, a sexy nurse, and a sexy nun, the majority of the crowd had forgone the Halloween masquerade and donned their every-day attire. They were there for the music, not some face-paint acid-trip shit show. They were there because they wanted to be a part of the DIY punk scene. They wanted to check out the home-made zines and silk screened t-shirts. They wanted to throw their fists in the air and lose it. 3,000 people from across the country had made it to Gainesville to support these bands, show their love, and dance and kick their way to the front to scream out the choruses to their favorite songs.
The whole experience was incredible, and, along with being my favorite Halloween memory, it was also one of the best impromptu, irrational, and poorly thought out decisions I have ever made. Going to the Fest made me remember why I enjoyed music in the first place; it's not just about the records, but the community and conversation they inspire. I knew I needed to do this, despite my financial strain and the stress of possibly losing my job. I needed to remember why I started going to shows in the first place, and why I drove to Boston every weekend to see my favorite punk bands play dimly lit basement shows. I haven't yet gotten fired, and I'm pretty sure everyone at work bought my pneumonia excuse. But really, when it comes down to it, what's more punk than just saying "fuck it," and doing the damn thing because you need to be there, need to hear it, need to live through it despite the stress of travel and money and pseudo-psycho responsibility?
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Kristina Grinovich is a writer and artist from Boston, MA. She currently lives in Brooklyn, NY with her cat, Dracula. Her words and photos have been published on SPIN.com. Get in touch with her at grinovich.kristina@gmail.com
Photos in order are: Daniel Striped Tiger, Teenage Cool Kids, and Sinola.
I decided to go down to the Fest—No Idea Records' showcase of hardcore and punk music held every October in Gainesville, Florida—about 12 hours before my friend's van was leaving for it. I had never been, and didn't know much about it, but when my best friend Sean Yeaton, one of the guitarists for 
We arrived at the house (big shout-out to whoever lives there) and for a second I felt like I was in Boston again seeing Now Denial play in a packed, smoky basement. The place was full of beer and friendly people, and while there were no mics available for shouting out lyrics, everyone sang along to the Teenage Cool Kids' amazing set. Sean got a little rowdy and poured a bunch of beer on people in the crowd, who welcomed it, and I ended up ditching my camera in a litter box to save it from drowning. After their sweaty set, Daniel Striped Tiger picked up where TCK left off, playing crowd-favorites like "Disconnection" and "The Midday Heat." We left drunk, happy, and sweaty.
After a much needed food and drink break, we headed over to the Atlantic where DST, Sinaloa, and Ampere would be playing before 
