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A River Runs Through It.


Let me tell you a story….
This isn’t one of those pretty bedtime stories where everything works out neatly in the end and the lessons are learned and the heroes are rewarded….
This isn’t the story about a father who puts his work before his wife and kids and waits until the last minute to try and find the coveted Turbo Man action figure, complete with all accessories…that was Jingle all the Way, my friends…and this….is not that story. We didn’t see Sinbad once that whole weekend.

This is a story of Mud.
The kind of mud that gets everywhere…gets all over you…gets into everything…deep.
This…is the story of Bonnaroo

Early on the morning of the 11th of June, 13 Men and Women carefully packed an airport shuttle bus, a late 80’s model 15 passenger van, and a 1967 Shasta Tow-along Camper. Now, you may ask yourselves why 13 people would need over 25 seats worth of vehicle space and only camper space to sleep 8…well, my friends, this was Bonnaroo…a place where math doesn’t exist and logic is clouded by hallucinogenic drugs and hippie body odor. Not to mention Mud.

When we arrived, no less than 3000 cars were stuck in various mud holes in and around the fields of Manchester, TN. We alone made it through the swamp, knowing that if we were foolish enough to stop we would surely sink and die…until this guy with a badge and a poncho waved us to a stop in the very middle of the bog of eternal saddness. And so we sank… And there we stayed for 4 long days… Taunted by the mind-numbing repetitive mind-numbing repetitive beats of Paul Oakenfold. Disheartened by the fact that we knew every word to every song that Jimmy Buffet played in the distance. and hopeful that somewhere not too far away, Moe’s tour bus was in the same nightmarish predicament that we were in. “Move, you stupid horse,” indeed.

That was Thursday.

I’m happy to say that the sun came out on friday and dried up all the mud…I’m sad to say that the sun failed to dry out any of the mud in and around our particular campsite. Somewhere along the way, one of us thought it wise to find bails of straw to cover the worst parts of our campground river. This effort was applauded…for the first 30 minutes. Shortly thereafter, we found that once wet, straw tends to give off a smell that it no doubt learned from the place from whence it came…a cow field. It wasn’t long before our campground smelled like a steaming pile of ddb.

Now all this may sound like the long and muddy set up to a terrific tragedy…but nothing brightens up a rainy day like the sound of war drums on the horizon.
We came to Bonnaroo to battle Phish. And battle Phish we did.

We prayed to the gods the morning of the 12th, We smeared war paint on top of the mud on top of our faces, We heaved the official Bonnaroo transport golf carts we’d been commisioned out of the mud around us and made for the stage…like falcons covered in mud head for a muddy rabbit on the mud prairie. Keymaster even painted a fresh pair of shoes. When we got there the only deity we’d prayed to that actually managed to show was Jesus Christ…and we’re pretty sure he was stoned…but nonetheless, we prepared ourselves for the fight.

It was a glorious fight.

We lost….big time.

But we had fun…and as Commander’s high school football coach used to say…”you kids stay away from those Sodomy Parties”.

…and stay away from those sodomy parties, we did.

The End.

We’d Like to thank everyone who showed up to help us battle Phish. Together, we made for a tough tough foe.
We’d like to thank Mikie Martel for decorating the beautiful Artist VIP Lounge …oh and playing trumpet for us.
We’d like to thank Converse and Onitsuka and Korg USA for greeting us with open arms, no matter how many assholes we tried to pile into their tents at once.
We’d like to thank BMI, Mercy Lounge, and Bonnaroo for having us out and making the trip a glorious one.
We’ll see you guys next year…
Protomen out!

Oh….I guess there’s more news to be had…

From the Dept. of All Things Act II related:
I know many of you marked your calendars with a large question mark based on a strange countdown on the new and improved ProtoSite.
We would like to officially announce that the end of that countdown will mark the beginning of a post-Act II world.
Get ready.
No word on the official release party date.
More info to come.

From the Dept. of What can I do to hang out with my favorite Protomen between now and then:
You can get your ass to Nerdapolooza. It’s in Florida… it’s on the 12th of July…and it’s name even scares us.
Along with Nerdapolooza…we’re playing a few select shows in route. Check the tour schedule for more info.

From the Dept. of Merch:
New Shirts will soon be available online. They’re beautiful and much less stifling than those hoodies we’ve seen some of you sporting out in the hot June sun.
Don’t be a dummy. Put the hoodies away until the fall. Buy the new shirt…very soon(we’ll let you know as soon as the pre-order starts on Zambooie).

From the Dept. of Past and Future Members of the Proto Army:
We’d like to officially send our condolences to the wives of Scartoe and The Keymaster.
We’d like to officially send our Thanks and regards to the wives of Sir Robert Bakker.

Those who are gone will forever fight upon the eternal stage of glory. Except Keymaster….he’ll be a pharmacist.