A man swings flashing bulbs during DJ Harry's late-night Saturday set at Tripolee Domes (Nick Meador).

The Ranch Stage was massive for a temporary set-up, and set in a yard surrounded by huge trees that felt almost like a natural amphitheater. It was the ideal place to lay on a blanket in the shade and soak in the music. The fact that most of my favorite performances took place on that stage probably boosted its appeal. It was there that I saw the Disco Biscuits, Yonder Mountain String Band, Of Montreal, Primus, and Sam Beam (of Iron & Wine). There was nothing wrong with the Odeum, the headline stage, but it just didn't feel as special. Likewise, the nearby Sherwood Court stage seemed barren, with less grass to lie on or trees to provide shade. I only went to the Establishment circus tent (which hosted mostly nonmusical events) and the Wagon Wheel (an indoor venue where many DJs got second performance slots) one time each.

I was amazed that Rothbury hired staff to guard the trash stations in the music area. There was always at least one employee standing at three bins marked "Recycling," "Compost," and "Landfill." Rothbury had made a commitment to being a sustainable festival. One way to accomplish that was by serving all drinks in petroleum-free, biodegradable cups made form corn. These cups, along with food, tissue, and similar items, went in the compost bin. I'm not sure if Rothbury accomplished their sustainability goals, but even forcing people to sort waste correctly is a step up from other festivals.

Rothbury had also advertised a lake on the festival grounds where attendees were allowed to swim. However, they failed to mention that the lake is filled with mucky, sediment-laden water that leaves black specks all over your skin. Because of this, the outdoor shower at the lake had a line of about 30 people during the day. I guess this wait was ideal to some, when compared with the $10 shower out in the campground. I didn't try to shower -- I used antibacterial wipes and steady applications of deodorant. I did shampoo once, using the large jug of water I had brought from home.

Speaking of bathing facilities, the porta-potties were kept in good shape most of the time. One benefit to having a camping spot near far northwest corner of the cornfield was that the potties were not as busy. But there's no doubt in my mind that'd I'd prefer to be deeper in the hustle -- and closer to the music area entrance -- if I go again next year. I didn't arrive until around 11 am Thursday morning. I saw pictures of cars passing the security check while it was still dark out, which means that Rothbury must have broken their 8 am entrance plan. It couldn't have been past 6 am if it was dark out when cars began entering.

I also didn't plan well for Sunday. In the future, I will make arrangements to camp Sunday night and leave Monday morning. I barely saw any music on that fourth day because I was too tired to go back to the concerts after packing up my camping gear. I drove away from Double JJ Ranch, passed through the nearby cherry fields, and turned onto southbound US-31, feeling like I hadn't experienced the weekend to the fullest potential. I was mad at myself for missing so much music. I hadn't danced enough. I emitted no screams of joy. I wasn't overtaken by any fits of gut laughter.

Leaving Rothbury was a little like being dumped by a girl who never really took the time to get to know you. Of course, that means you never got to learn her imperfections either. All surface defects were accepted at face value in the instinctual pursuit for sex. I imagine it's also like walking away from a long visit to an oxygen bar: for a while you received only pure life-fuel, then you're put back on an diet of thinned-out, contaminated, deficient air.

Almost every individual response to Rothbury that I've read on the Internet has been overwhelmingly positive. On YouTube clips, the Rothbury Facebook group, Archive.org (a site where people post microphone recordings), and What.cd (a torrent site where people post soundboard recordings) -- everyone posted endless praise.

Many of them even proclaimed that it was the best weekend of their life. I agree it was amazing, but I can't say the same. It might be that I'm a bit older, or that I've had the opportunity to travel extensively, or that I've been to Lollapalooza and All Good and other kinds of festivals. The truth is that I don't really have a good reason, and a part of me feels empty for not being able to honestly give such high praise. However, I don't discredit their impression. In fact, if this was the best festival ever or the best weekend in the lives of many attendees, I'm glad that it happened in Michigan.

But, in a way, it wasn't Michigan. It looked like Michigan, especially the rows of pine trees in Sherwood Forest and the cherry trees just north of Double JJ. But for that four-day stretch, it wasn't a real place that corresponds to a name on any map. It stood alone, like its own planet, its own galaxy... it's own alternate dimension. Rothbury Music Festival has the potential to become a strong figure in Michigan's culture, if organizers stay committed to this original vision. If they keep it at less than 100,000 people, somewhere in northern Michigan, focus on the sustainable mission, and invite musicians who are dedicated to live performance, they can't go wrong.

Previous-1-2-3-4-5