Volunteering at Voodoo

By Andy Sipe

With its impressive lineup including Rage Against the Machine, The Smashing Pumpkins and several other big names, Voodoo Fest had a flavor all its own. Some might call it Creole, others just plain f-ing good as hell. All I know is I didn't have to pay to get in, and neither did you.

There is little doubt in my mind that free entry to such an event would be a cause for hysteria among many music fans, but for some reason hardly anyone I talked to inside the actual event grasped the concept of such a golden ticket. So, as do most people with secrets, I will spill the beans.

About three weeks before Voodoo, I was searching craigslist.com for gigs. I was poor, and looking to make a couple extra bucks. Little did I know there were a ton of promotional positions open and in dire need of people like myself to work the Voodoo festival. Well, I applied, and then I found out Rage was playing. I then proceeded to scream like the above mentioned, and wound up getting a job at a tent in the merch section. I only had to work two to three hours a day, and could devote the rest of my time at the festival to doing whatever the hell I wanted. So I did. And here’s my story.

Friday morning was a buzz with scrambling promo vendors, last minute gerry-riggings, and lackadaisical bodyguards who were still trying to memorize the color codes of the lengthy wristband system. Anyone who looked like they had to be someplace to help set up a tent, or tweak a mic on stage was allowed to enter the back gate completely unchecked by security. I walked in several times without anything but a smiling nod from several different local police.

What this meant was anyone who had the misfortune of not owning expendable bens for the exuberant ticket prices, could have moseyed on inside the festival with no obligations such as I did, at least on Friday, networked themselves into a weekend job at some random tent, and got to see all the bands they wanted for nothing more than a little expended energy you could replenish with a few slices of peanut butter and jelly. Even sneaking into the LOA (VIP) lounge was tough but not impossible.

I'm guessing since it was a Friday morning, most people were still at work, or driving to the concert from various parts of the country. So I took the opportunity to walk around and examine the layout of everything. There were lots of dreadlocks, everywhere I went, accompanied by flowing tie-dye skirts, and black band T-shirts. Vendors like Playstation and Southern Comfort that didn't quite fit the Cajun stereotypes (of say voodoo palm readers, handmade hemp tote bags, and Creole cooking) camouflaged themselves amongst the Spanish moss, black mud, and live oak trees. I decided to take advantage of same for myself, since I had forgotten to apply a thick coat of 50 proof sunscreen on my susceptible Irish skin.

The heat of the Louisiana sun mixed with a mild oceanic/Mississippi River breeze created a laid back climate for observing the scene. Even within the macho infringing security jock trenches separating the massive roaring crowds huddled around the main stages, the guards were routing on the bands as loud if not louder than we were. Perhaps they were looking for action, or just interested in seeing what chaos would ensue once the bands appeared under the colorful array of lights. Either way, the general tone of the festival had started off on a good note, and you could really feel the excitement in the local music tents, which gave the local bands an intimate fireside chat spirit. Not even the mosquitoes and the smell of port-o-potties could dampen the anticipatory air.

[More to come.]