I have my father’s taste in music. Music has always been ours. It has connected us, bonded us in ways that sports and politics cannot (and never will). After I read about Desert Trip, a festival held in Indio, California, featuring the likes of the Who, Paul McCartney, and the Rolling Stones, I was overcome with chills. It was as if the stars had aligned. I’ve been dealt the unfortunate situation of being born in 1998 but having the musical preferences of someone born in 1958. Therefore, it was relatively impossible that I would ever see these artists before they were too old or too dead. But thank God for Desert Trip.
After a debacle with a third party website and counterfeit tickets, we somehow finagled weekend passes. It’s suffice to say that it was the most magical, spiritual days of my short life. I got a C in psychology, but I think I finally understand what Abraham Maslow meant by self-actualization.
Friday kicked off with a somber performance from the master of folk, Bob Dylan, who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature only days later. Although Dylan’s performance fell short of expectations, I did not really care. I was there for the Stones.
They did not disappoint. The Rolling Stones came out strong and fiery, playing their seminal classics and my personal favorite, “Tumbling Dice,” interspersing Beatles’ covers and sneak peeks of their upcoming album Blue and Lonesome.
But, by far the best part of that sacred weekend was witnessing my father lose his mind over Neil Young. My father is a pretty stoic guy which is only a testament to music’s influence and ability to move people, physically and emotionally. As he sang and cheered with neighboring fanatics, I felt more at peace with myself and my world more than ever before.
