I Went to ‘Oldchella’, Felt Old, and Loved It
By: Marc Geffen
Tags: Bands, Desert Trip, Music, Festivals, Aging

Twenty-eight years old, I’m sitting on a pristine grass field that happens to be in the middle of a California desert, when I realize that I really need to pee. I’m at Desert Trip, or, if you prefer, ‘Oldchella’, the inaugural (and maybe once-in-a-lifetime) music festival featuring six legendary rock n’ roll acts. It’s Sunday night, The Who have just finished a raucous set, and our friends are off checking out the merch tent, so it’s just my wife and I chatting as we hold our spot in the crowd. I tell her that I’m going to the bathroom and will be right back, and I walk away, leaving her alone because she’s a grown ass woman and can hold her own even among 70,000 people. We’d been to four editions of Coachella at this same venue, as well as numerous other festivals, so while there’s a new vibe to this one many of the tropes and motions here are pretty familiar — including navigating a massive throng of people.

Weaving my way back through the dense crowd, average age fifty-one, I’ve got a pep in my step because there are several beers about to break the levee of my bladder and because Roger Waters, who is closing out the first weekend of the festival, is scheduled to take the stage in a few minutes. My wife saw him perform The Wall several years back, one of the few memorable concerts we hadn’t experienced together, and she’d raved about it ever since, stoking my jealousy and anticipation for this finale show at Desert Trip. Better hurry, don’t want to miss a second of it.

I do my business at one of the upscale portable bathrooms, ostensibly an accommodation tailored for the older, classier-than-usual festival crowd. They have actual toilet seats and toilet paper and hand soap, a far cry from the sometimes putrid porta-potties I’m used to at these types of things, which can challenge even the strongest stomach and existential fortitude. I get-in and get-out rather quick, and heading back toward the stage I’m overcome by a strong wave of happiness. Partly because I’m reflecting on a great week of west coast travel and a weekend full of live music, basically my favorite things to do. But I’ve also got to give some credit to the edible I munched about forty minutes ago.

Feeling good, I audible and head for another drink, one of these tequila-spiked lemonades with ginger and cayenne, which I’ve decided are the perfect hybrid of buzz-inducing and sinus-clearing for the dry, dusty atmosphere. Fifteen dollars. I haven’t thrown cash around like this since I was studying abroad in college and convinced myself that Euro coins were funny money.

With the concessions crowd thinning as the show is about to start, I’m able to walk right up to an open bartender without a wait. He meets my eyes and raises his eyebrows, a tacit “What can I get ya?”

“How’s it going,” I say.

“Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day,” he says.

I smile, I think, because the reference spurs my excitement for the show and the way he says it is almost perfectly eerie, trippy maybe. I tell him I want the spiked lemonade with tequila and lots of cayenne. He nods, slides a few yards down the bar to grab the right booze, then starts to pour.

“You’ve seen him before?” I ask, assuming the lyric-drop means he’s a fan.

“Yeah,” he says. (Then something about the first time being ‘89.)

“What do you think he’s gonna do tonight?” I say. “The Wall? Any Darkside?”

“I think he’ll do a mix of it all,” the bartender says. “He’ll show this crowd that he’s got more depth than anyone thinks, lots of great songs. His sound is also incredibly good, like three-hundred-sixty degrees. He’s gonna blow your mind.”

As he’s saying this, whistles and hoots and claps rise up out of the crowd, a response to graphics flickering on the massive screens behind the stage. Moments later the band drops into Breathe. Dark Side of the Moon. Holy shit, yes.

I slide the guy a nice tip because why the hell not, I’ve already sunk hundreds of dollars into this thing, I just perfectly timed a pee break, and by the first few sounds I can already tell this last show is going to be epic. Turned toward the crowd, power-walked back to my crew, and let the music wash over me.