Mountain high

I was driving 8 miles per hour through the hilly camps of High Sierra Music Festival. A guy walking in the road in dreadlocks and a tie-dye shirt didn’t immediately get out of my way.

“Whoa,” he said. “Slow your roll—there are children here.”

He was not joking. Neither was the aging hippie who asked if I could feel the oxytocin pulsing through the air.

It took a while to settle into the High Sierra mood. Unlike Outside Lands or other music festivals I had been to before, no one was in a rush at this annual four-day affair held each Fourth of July weekend in Quincy. No one was competitive, shoving to get to the front of the stage. Everyone was way chill, and having too good a time just being present and whatnot.

The fairgrounds were gorgeous and green. Campers set up turntables in their tents for late-night grooving. An air-conditioned room screening the World Cup brought hordes of people with drums and flags for each match. Plus fire dancing every night and yoga every morning. I attempted acroyoga for the first time and balanced a 60-year-old man with a long, gray ponytail on my feet.

And I relished in nearly nonstop, excellent music.

Headliners STS9 and Beats Antique brought out the rave kids, wearing LED-lit clothing and inflatable animals on their backs. (Side note: Is that a thing now?) Smoke made the air so thick during STS9’s set that I actually felt like I was indoors. Beats Antique concluded with belly dancers surrounding a giant, inflated cyclops kitty. After explaining how much he loved High Sierra as a green 20-year-old and how glorious it was to return, multi-instrumentalist David Satori ditched the heartfelt tone and yelled “All hail the cyclops kitty!” over and over again.

I also danced hard to Nevada City-based The Polish Ambassador, clad in a neon jumpsuit and mixing funky electro beats under an overflowing tent.

There was plenty of excellent indie rock and folk to go around—Thao & The Get Down Stay Down and Lord Huron delivered particularly spectacular sets. Though, I was most moved by the Carolina Chocolate Drops. The North Carolina, old-timey string band sang of cornbread and slavery, but a traditional Scottish Gaelic tune was the true stunner.

The Travelin’ McCourys provided the ideal Fourth of July bluegrass set to a sunburnt, beer-guzzling, raucous crowd, which got even more raucous when the Del McCoury graced the stage for one song.

The weekend was packed with similarly legendary artists: Bill Frisell, Ernest Ranglin, Fareed Haque, Bombino. At a more intimate, casual gathering, Haque and Bombino met for the first time and engaged in an improvisational, bluesy jam session. The looks on their faces—especially Bombino of Niger—were of pure honor and gratitude.

Really, the whole festival was a thankful place. I don’t think I’ve ever heard so many fans shout, “Thank you for being here!” after sets or in between songs. Plus all the thanks between festival-goers for being lovely and beautiful and stuff.

I would like to thank Moon Hooch in particular, for the most surprising, badass dance party all weekend. With a drumset and two saxophones—sometimes swapped out for a very cool-looking contrabass clarinet—the three New Yorkers played an incredibly fun, groovy, raw version of house music that recordings inevitably can’t deliver. Regardless, thanks, Moon Hooch. And thanks, High Sierra.