In conclusion, I repeat my invitation to you to fuck all the way off. Just, like, all the way. Like, if you've fucked off for a while, and you think you've fucked off enough, and you're wondering if you should fuck off some more, the answer is, "Yes, continue to fuck off."
YOU BETTER CALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL SOMEBODYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!
Greetings, worms loyal LiveNation supporters! Just your old pal THE BIG CAPP DOGG stopping by to check in on his favorite group of dope-huffing scoop-addicted goblins! Hope you hopeless derelicts are having a happy New Year, but I assume you're just awash in the same misery and aimlessness that's defined all your previous years, otherwise you wouldn't be here! By now I assume you're just tearing each other up in an ORGIASTIC FRENZY over this "lit" lineup put out by my "bae" buddies over at C3 Presents! I'll tell you folks, I was a bit nervous when the bigwigs over at LN told ol' Cappy he had to let loose the reins on booking this oversized county fair, but I got all kinds of reassurances, baby! These shirts told me that you kids would just LOVE what they were putting out. Won't lie to you mutants, last year's ticket sales had me a bit concerned! We put it together like we always do, a couple longhairs here, a few bleep bloops there, maybe someone doing some of that rippity rapping, all held together with the glue of VIBES that you kids love so much! But for whatever reason, you just weren't buying what the Capp Dogg was selling! One night, I get a call from Rapino, real late, I can tell he's been into the sauce again. He says "you know how much money I'm losing on that filthy tract of pestilence you call Great Stage Park, Capps? I put in all these fancy fucking toilets, and those ANIMALS you attract to the place were just CRAPPING in the fountain anyway!" I tell you, he was heated! He wanted to nuke the whole project, baby! He said "you listen to me, Capps. LiveNation has a reputation to uphold. Every year, tens of thousands of teens flock to a sold out park in the middle of Chicago, risking heatstroke and errant gunfire, just to bang their heads while some idiot in a helmet presses buttons on a light up stage. We didn't buy Bonnaroo just to give Johnny Sunflower and Jenny Moonbeam a place to get all hopped up and noodle dance around. I want COMMERCE, Capps!"
So what could I do? He's calling all the shots, baby! He tells me I need to step aside and let these C3 goons take over, or else it's lights out. Well, that can't happen, folks. This enterprise ends and ol' Cappy gets no more residuals. I GOT EXPENDITURES, GANG! A couple houses, a few cars. Been hearing about these "golden showers" in the news so I just got off the phone with the plumber, you know what having one of those installed is gonna cost me? NOT CHEAP. And yeah, I'm still running Big Ears, but let me be the first to tell you that booking obscure drone bands from Japan ain't gonna fill your pockets! All it gets you is a feature in the paper and some grimy neckbeard cornering you at every show to talk about his collection of Fugazi b-sides. So I said "sure, Mikey - I'll let these guys take a crack at it. But I'm telling you, it's a tough nut! You want to keep these mongrels happy, you gotta bring in the big guns: some Mumfords, Jim James a dozen times, maybe even Widespread Panic!" He just laughed and said that they had "market research" which would handle everything.
Now I'm seeing this lineup, and I'll tell you what, ladies: maybe El Cappitan is out of touch! I was thinking this year would have been a good one to DIP BACK INTO THE TEPID BONNAROO WATERS for some greatest hits, you know? Young Neil! The Radio Heads! That pasty group from Iceland that sings made up gobbledigook! Basically, I was gonna go back to the vaults, stack the card with some of your favorites from past years! But these C3 folks, they just laughed. "Mr. Capps," they said, "we've been looking at the YouTube, and the Spotify, and the Tinder, and we know what these kids want." And they come at me with all these acts I've never heard of! Fluke, Marshmellow, Cage Against the Elephant, something called "Boar Gore," and some guy named Travis. Even worse, they booked that smarmy, smug mick and his band of knuckleheads to headline this thing. Well, I decide enough is enough, and I say "now hold on, you cretins! I'm The Big Motherfucking Capp Dogg! If anyone is putting out a shoddy, second-hand, knock-off, filled-with-last-year's-hottest-acts lineup, it's gonna be me!" Well gang, before I knew what happened, I was being tossed out the door on my kiester! Woke up three days later in a ditch, but when I checked my bank account, it had like three extra zeroes!
But you know what? Maybe they're right, kids! This is a rough business! Maybe there's no place for me in this racket anymore. So I'm taking the Farman and we're hitting the road. (Probably best to get him out of town for a while anyway, I think his neighbors noticed the smells coming from his basement.) They're telling me this lineup is selling like GANGBUSTERS, so I guess you kids really do love the Drops and the Whomps and having an aging potato-muncher yammer about the ills of the world while cramming your phones full of his repugnant warblings. That prick Tollett was already giving me a headache with his insistence on things like "spending money" and "unique bookings" and "food that won't make you ill and kill you" or "not having open hazards in the middle of the concert grounds," but you know what? He's Rapino's problem now. So hoof your bags of cans down to the repo center, gather up your nickels, skip any important life events taking place in June, and hump your weary bones down to Manchester, Tennessee! Heat! Humidity! SOMETHING CALLED YELLOW CLAW! They've got it all, folks. As for the Capp Dogg, I'll smell you later, suckers. Thanks for all the cash memories. Stay greasy.