12:57pm

As I near the Harvard Athletic Complex for the third and final day of the Boston Calling Music Festival, I hear a Red Sox game playing on the radio. As a Yankees fan, I’m obligated to hate the Sox, yet instead, the broadcast gives the city a pleasant, cozy feel. I must be going soft.

1:24pm

Outside the Athletic Complex, I’m feeling a bit lost until I spot a guy about my age and an older woman (his mother?), both of them wearing King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard shirts. I follow them. These are my people.

1:36pm

As I combine with the tide of eager concertgoers, two things occur to me. First, that I must look like a complete tool, what with my clear drawstring bag packed with SPF 50 sunscreen, water bottle, and box of tissues. Second, that I forgot to pack my cough drops. (I’ve got some sort of cold.)

1:43pm

Juice opens the day on the Red Stage. They’re energetic and fun, with three lead singers and a guy on electric violin who’s absolutely nasty.

I try to navigate around a metal barrier protecting the center of the viewing area, but I’m informed that’s reserved for VIPs. Now I feel like a pleb.

1:43pm (continued)

Not even a full minute later, I leave this note for myself: “And by the way, where are the bathrooms?” I consult the festival app, but my phone is getting sluggish and I realize it must be overheating. So am I, since there’s a high of 87. Next priority: Finding something to drink.

1:53pm

I discover the bathrooms, which end up being a small village of portable toilets. On the way back to the Red Stage, I notice a woman in leather pants.

…Leather pants? I reiterate: It’s 87 degrees out. When does fashion supersede personal safety?

1:55pm

You know you’re in Boston when the line for the Dunkin Rewards Lounge is 100 people deep.

2:05pm

And now I purchase my first beverage of the day, a Truly Strawberry Banana hard seltzer. It costs $12.50, which really irks my inner cheapskate. What’s worse, it tastes not only bad, but slightly nauseating.

2:06pm

I find my way back to the stage to see Juice’s penultimate song. I decide their drummer looks like the son of David Bowie and Harry Styles.

2:19pm

There are some eccentric characters at this festival. Example: A shirtless guy with a green mohawk and tattoos of Pichu, Pikachu, and Raichu scattered across his back.

2:56pm

I next opt for a Twisted Tea, saving a whopping 50 cents compared to my previous purchase. This goes down much better.

3:30pm

The line for merch looks like a standing army. I give up on my idea of buying a new King Gizzard shirt.

3:41pm

I catch the Linda Lindas, again on the Red Stage (because it’s the only stage I can find). They urge people to “Stay hydrated!” Also, they ask, “Do y’all have a favorite kind of dinosaur?”

3:51pm

It’s hot as hell and everyone’s fighting for shade. I catch random snippets of conversation:

  • “Oh my god, I texted you, I said, ‘Where you at, bitch?'”
  • “I’m the Jacob that hates being called Jake.”
  • “Back in our day, it was weird to punch people in the face.”

4:02pm

Another Twisted Tea. I don’t feel so much as a buzz, probably because I’m instantly sweating out anything I put in.

4:14pm

I tally the shirts I spot. Gizzard count is at five, Taylor Swift count is at two. BTW, T-Swift isn’t playing at this event. I find it remarkable that her appearance in the film Cats hasn’t damaged her popularity whatsoever.

4:18pm

I search for the Blue Stage, because that’s where Gizz will be in about four hours. I catch a band called Brutus, a three-piece hard rock/heavy metal group that I like but don’t love. I sit on the grass with a bunch of other people, roasting like a turkey that’s paid for the privilege.

5:11pm

I return to my trusty Red Stage to find a band called Bleachers. With the singer’s tucked shirt and blue jeans, along with not one, but two saxophone players, I’m instantly reminded of the E-Street Band. Then the singer’s like, “I’m from New Jersey!”,  and he invites his dad onstage to play a song, and I’m wondering if his dad is actually Bruce Springsteen.

(Addendum: He’s not.)

5:55pm

There’s a hidden stage. It’s called the Orange Stage, and I find it more or less on accident. Ali McGuirk sings there with three backing musicians, and they’re outstanding. I enjoy them all so much I forget to take notes.

6:34pm

A hairy man passes me, points at my chest, and asks, “You ready? You ready? You ready?” It’s only when he passes that I realize he’s talking about Gizzard. (The shirt count is up to nine, by the way.)

6:47pm

The merch line has not moved. At all. For all I know, those are the same people who were there this morning, now forever locked in a Sisyphean struggle for a new t-shirt.

7:08pm

While standing between the Red and Green Stages waiting for Queens of the Stone Age, I see him again.

“You ready? You ready? You ready?”

This time I’m ready. I accept his fist bump and say something to the effect of, “Yeah!” My voice is reedy and hoarse, not from screaming, but from that annoying cold.

7:10pm

Re: Maren Morris: She’s very talented, but I just can’t do country. I’m sorry. I can’t.

She’s playing the Green Stage while I wait for Queens at the Red. There’s a definite schism between these two fan bases. Nobody on my side is clapping, or even reacting, to her.

7:20pm

Queens of the Stone Age hits the Red Stage, and it occurs to me that, as a musician, you’re frequently photographed with your mouth wide open.

8:01pm

I leave Queens early to get a good spot for Gizzard. That ends up being the front-right of the Blue Stage, about 10 rows back. My right shoe sticks to the concrete.

8:10pm

20 minutes until showtime and the band’s already here. They’re practicing a song I don’t recognize, though only a few of their instruments are plugged in; all I hear is Lucas on bass and Cavs on drums (we’re on a first name/nickname basis). Could they be debuting a new song?

8:20pm

Gizz goes live. People go crazy, including me. A swirling mosh pit emerges, and I back up to avoid it. At some point, I stop taking notes.

10:05pm

A mass swarm for the exits. Paramore is still playing on the Green Stage, yet this crowd doesn’t seem to care. I overhear someone behind me say, “Aderol and weed was the perfect mix for Gizz.”

Glad he had fun. I did, too, though without the assistance of substances (unless you count the Twisted Tea). They did indeed debut a new song, and I was one of the first people to see it.

Now I need to get some sleep (and possibly a shower). I steel myself for the walk back.

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.