Disasterpiece: A Blue Ridge Rock Fest Entry
How the 2023 edition of the festival actually happened.
I thought we had gotten lucky.
As my partner and I entered the festival campgrounds on Thursday night, we should have had plenty of daylight to set up what we needed before heading in for our first night of four days of musical mayhem.
Located at the Virginia International Raceway in Alton, VA, Blue Ridge Rock Festival attracted us by the absolutely breathtaking lineup of bands and the not-so-backbreaking road trip there. It’s a scenic, winding drive through the mountains and I had made most of it many times over the years visiting family who live in Charlotte, NC.
When we got to the campground, however, mother nature had already booked us an entirely different show.
Rain began to pour as we started to set up our tent, with winds picking up to make our task increasingly impossible. Like the house from The Wizard of Oz, our rain fly began to catch with the wind and, for a moment, I thought we would fly away with it.
Winds sharply gusted to a brutal 60 miles per hour for minutes at a time, taking most canopies away from our neighbors in Oz and flinging them into the darkening skies.
Poseidon himself made an appearance, bringing with him torrential rainfall that coated our bodies and the inside of our tent like a brush dipped in fresh paint.
Soaked to the bone and standing outside for what felt like an eternity, holding the rain fly felt like a lost cause. Fearing for our safety and drenched in nature’s gift, we relented and broke down the tent and scurried for cover inside our car. Leaving the tent to the elements, all we could do is hope for the best.
After an hour or so of taking shelter, with a guest appearance from Hailstorm (no, not that one), we emerged from our cocoon to witness the carnage of the campground. Canopies and tents from our neighbors collapsed and were strewn about like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Two of our tent’s loopholes for our stakes had ripped completely off the main body, while the tent itself resembled a deflated kiddie pool. The only way we rescued the tent was with a bit of country ingenuity and using our coolers as weights.
And we were some of the lucky ones.
None of the above would be unfamiliar to seasoned campers and festival goers alike, as these conditions come with the territory and certainly didn’t ruin our experience. What was unusual was how out-of-nowhere the weather came in (no one else on the campground had seen it in the forecasts either) and the tone it would set for the whole weekend.
It represented what the festival organizers would use as a shield for the true disasters unfolding over the weekend; unsafe working conditions for staff leading to mass walk-outs, botched evacuation protocols, fans stranded in shuttle bus lines for hours at a time, blazing heat with not enough water infrastructure, bands being left hung out to dry, and three out of the four days of the festival being outright cancelled due to “severe weather” that didn't actually exist.
This is the horror show that unfolded.
The first sign of organizational dysfunction occurred even before the storm came through Thursday night, when driving through the camping security line.
Workers there asked us verbally if we had weapons, glass, or drugs, and then proceeded to barely look at the inside of our car. When they did their brief look, instead of pulling out and throwing away the glass bottles of alcohol we had accidentally brought and owned up to, what they did manage to throw away was the glass jar of pickles we had in our small cooler we also identified. Our neighbors the next day shared similar stories, with some admitting they had accidentally forgotten camping equipment such as machetes and pocket knives. Security had completely glossed over them.
We also learned Friday from new neighbors that security had completely turned away campers from entering the grounds not long after we arrived due to the storm, being forced to drive back into the closest towns to find their own shelter.
As we made our way to the campground’s grassy areas, there were no designated lines for our spots in sight. We were supposed to have a 10x35ft plot for our camping set up, and instead we received an…awkward space instead. Much longer than 35ft, and slightly narrower than 10ft wide, it was an eyeballed amount of space much like you would eyeball some spices when you follow a recipe you’re not sure about and just go “eh, fuck it, close enough”.
This odd shape, though, left our neighbors to the right precariously close to the asphalt race track in which this set up was located. It wasn’t a surprise, then, that once Friday afternoon rolled around, they up and left.
Maybe they saw what we hadn’t yet.
By the middle of the day on Friday, the toilet closest to us (and the only one in our area for dozens of people) had already filled up level with the seat.
The one further down the hill? Done by Saturday morning, and we were supposed to be there until Monday morning. None of them would be changed at all during our stay.
For roughly a few hundred people in our area, there were less than five toilets for all of us. These quickly devolved into a mess, and the storm had destroyed many rolls of toilet paper left unattended by people taking cover. There were no hand washing stations either. Those were only in the festival grounds and they ran out of water by Friday night.
For most of that Thursday night and Friday before heading into the festival, we along with our neighbors were left perplexed as to just what the hell was happening.
It was only the beginning.
Recovering from the night before, and the weather supposed to be clear for day two, we were excited to have a full day of the festival. We had mostly come for Sleep Token, a fast-rising band from England that has chosen “yes” as the answer to the question “what genre of music do you guys play?” We decided the first band we wanted to see was Crown the Empire at around midday, my partner’s favorite band.
As we headed into the festival grounds, my spidey-senses arose even further. Walking to the entrance, there was trash everywhere. Most festivals have copious amounts of trash cans that are changed frequently; cans here were sparse and already full, with trash piled high around them in real-time frustration. Pointing this out to her, I knew consciously for the first time that something wasn’t right. If cans looked like this, it was rare and usually only reserved for the very last moments of a festivals existence.
We had full cans on the first actual day of music.
Going into the festival security line, we had made sure to remember all the information Blue Ridge sent out making clear what was and wasn’t allowed to be brought into the main festival grounds. We weren’t allowed to bring anything other than clear bags (unless they were small solid fanny packs), no hydration packs, no empty/half full bottles of liquid (only a sealed bottle of water per day allowed to be brought in), and no standard sized camping chairs.
In what amounted to our only day in line, we noticed several people had brought all four with them, with security waiving them through like nothing ever happened.
And we’re talking full-sized hydration packs/backpacks. Security there had one man briefly open his hydration pack, took a one second look, and cleared him while he took his chair around the metal detectors.
Some of the detectors didn’t even look like they were on, let alone actually being monitored. I had my car keys in my fanny pack and nothing went off when I walked through. None of the security there had metal detecting wands either, so it really was a free for all.
Organizers have gone as far as to alter the main website, post-festival, to include “empty plastic water bottles are also allowed and can be refilled at our free water stations!” to cover their asses.
Who knows what else they’ve altered after the fact to save face.
Once in the grounds, it didn’t fare much better from there.
Trash mountains as far as the eye can see, a mini-dystopia erupting from the collective confusion and disrespect spreading throughout the festivities.
As the temperature soared, getting well into the 90’s, our main priority was drinking enough water and maintaining hydration throughout the day. Getting to the stage for Crown the Empire was no problem, and once on stage, they put on one hell of a show! Andy Leo, the lead singer of the band, led a “fuck the Sun!” chant near the end of the show to highlight just how awful the heat was.
Looking to my left and right, there were plenty of bright red faces of all shapes and sizes. Beer vendors brought with them water-guns to soak the crowds with melted ice water throughout the show, bringing the freezing over to Hell itself.
After the show, we had quite a bit of down time until the next band we wanted to see. We took that as an opportunity to look around the grounds, find a water station, and then rest under some well-deserved shade. Yeah…
About that.
In an email fans received on August 16th, 2023, organizers had this to say about water refill stations across the festival:
*For those on mobile: “Water Refill Stations: New for 2023 - We have expanded to 12 free water refill stations this year! There are 8 hydration stations divided over 4 locations in the festival arena. There are 4 hydration stations divided into 2 locations in the Campgrounds.”
Not only were there no water refill stations on our campground (at least where we were located), there were only two refill stations in the festival arena.
Oh, and one of them was locked behind the VIP lounge.
Hell, even their updated map on the main website reflects this:
Though I didn’t attend college on a math scholarship, I was able to count only one water refill station (with about 12-15 faucets) for the tens of thousands of general admission fans that entered the festival.
On a weekend where the temperatures broke 90 degrees with 80%+ humidity.
And with Blue Ridge being oversold by as much as 15,000 fans. (spoiler alert!)
Not only were we lied to, it was a lie that could potentially (and did) negatively impact the lives of thousands of people a day. Any organizer with half a brain knows that when temperatures skyrocket, water must be provided in a safe, accessible manner. None of these things happened.
Worse, Blue Ridge price gouged during the heatwave. Though I’m not sure how much water bottles were sold for in the festival (some said $5 per bottle), when we went to get ice on Saturday at one of the general stores near us, 20lb bags were $13 each. And in short supply. We had attempted to go Friday multiple times and both times they were sold out, with truckloads coming in every forty-five minutes to an hour at best.
With people dropping like flies around the campgrounds and inside the festival, you’d think, “oh yeah, won’t there be proper personnel to handle the load”?
I think you know where this is going by now.
You ever been to a concert and wondered, “where is the security?”
No?
Neither have I.
Since 9/11, you can pretty much count on high security for any mass gathering, even otherwise peaceful concerts. Most rock/metal concerts, indoors or outdoors, will have plenty of security around the premises and stages ensuring crowd-surfers land safely in front of stages, hand out water, assist EMS in spotting troubled (or troubling) fans, and a host of other needed tasks.
Not at Blue Ridge.
After making a pit stop at the only water station accessible to us, we made our way over to some shade nearby. We sat and leaned on a green fence surrounding a beautiful tree, which encased it how a small child might stand in front of Big Foot and attempt to wrap its arms around his legs.
After the lumpy grass and dirt in front of the fence made my ass sore, I asked if we could change spots and move towards the much bigger fence behind the IV vendor.
You read that right.
There was an actual vendor where people could buy specialty IVs. Yes, those IVs. Seriously. For $40+ a pop. You could get one called “Refreshing” and other such nourishingly nauseating nonsense. Needlessly to say, I’ve also never seen anything like it.
As it turned out, the vendor was a little too on the nose for the day.
After finding our spot on the fence, shortly thereafter one of the staff charged with cleaning the grounds followed behind us, probably thinking it was a great idea too. He pulled out a dart, lit it up, placed his stack of trash bags on the ground, and proceeded to rest nearby for half an hour. He was nice enough, chatting with me about his opinion of the upcoming weather (always trust the locals, he was spot on), and seemingly not having a care in the world. In the moment, it was deeply perplexing. Knowing what I know now, I don’t blame him one bit.
After we rested up and left, I spotted him walk right past the trash in front of the IV vendor and make his way…somewhere.
There’s so much more to cover here, and I feel at this point it’s a road leading to nowhere. I don’t know how much more can be said to illustrate the point, and it really does represent a fraction of what some others had to go through. For a more visual and horror-filled journey through Blue Ridge, check out this video from a pretty funny creator I respect in this space.
By no means do I wish to invalidate what people unluckier than we were had to go through; the video details and exposes far more than we were able to see from our perspectives and those stories must see the light of day.
For us, the reality of the rest of Friday was it turned out to be a pretty great day. We got to eat some surprisingly incredible food for a festival and see quite a few other bands including a bit of Flyleaf, VV (who I contend is secretly a lounge singer on his off nights), Danzig, Lorna Shore, Slipknot, and the last 40 minutes of Polyphia’s set.
Oh, yeah, and Sleep Token.
The highlight of the trip, Sleep Token was breathtaking. Sitting up on the hill, we had a great view of the stage and how dense the crowd was that had showed up for the first leg of their North American tour. Hearing Vessel scream for the beginning of “Vore” made everything alright again, and II’s drum solo during “The Summoning” would have put a smile on Neil Peart’s face. Even during the shit show, being present is the skeleton key to catching the beautiful moments when they arrive at your doorstep. Although we had a right to be upset and annoyed, letting it ruin the authentic moments would have been a far worse fate.
Every day has its rainbow waiting to be seen, and one even formed during Friday itself before we headed back in to see their set.
The biggest lessons I learned from this trip were not of those infuriating things happening, but from the moments we’ll cherish together forever.
Yes, Jonathan Slye and the rest of the organizers of Blue Ridge Rock Festival should never be allowed to run a music event of any kind ever again. All of the balls that were dropped miraculously led to no deaths; it could have easily gone the other way in a blink of an eye.
Yes, the aftermath has been insulting in the way the Blue Ridge public relations team is belittling our collective intelligence by lying about what actually happened. Mistakes and accidents happen, and those things can be forgiven when accountability is taken. None of that has happened. This whole ordeal is an exercise in negligence, corruption, and flat out greed which endangered lives in a real way. I hope Slye (and anyone associated with him) will be held accountable for the disaster that took place this year.
As of this writing, there has still been no official correspondence regarding a refund process or if it’s even possible.
All of this is true, and simultaneously I don’t care.
I cannot control what I cannot control.
What can be controlled is my perspective. I know my partner and I got to spend 16 hilarious hours in a car together, bond through difficult circumstances, make it through festival hell, and come out the other side closer together and with one hell of a shared story. If it weren’t for her, I probably wouldn’t be writing this happier ending, as the first day really got to me and it took a while to regain perspective.
We even got to see a pop up concert Saturday night before leaving the festival with some of our neighbors in the campground, comprised of bands that were supposed to play that day. Even if Shinedown and Papa Roach couldn’t be heard by anyone farther than 10 feet out, it was still a nice gesture.
We can all find the joy in misery; it can make the difference between a lifetime of bitterness being pulled back to a past we cannot change and a future of smile-filled stories around the campfire. I know which one I will pick.
I wouldn’t change a thing.