Velodrome Field in 1994
Here's a summary I wrote for an English class about my Lollapollaza trip in 1994. Please keep in mind that I was under strict guidelines on what "style" the piece had to be. So this summary is a bit over-the-top and dramatic.
At Velodrome Field in Los Angeles, a vast open space in California’s Dominguez Hills, at the height of the grunge rock movement in music in 1994 was held a concert featuring a plethora of alternative rock bands.
Cars and people packed the parking lot. Groups of fans wandered through the dirt and grass lot, smoked cigarettes and chatted about which bands they were exited to see and what events they wanted to attend. Most people dressed in ripped jeans with flannel shirts wrapped around their waists and most people proudly wore dirty T-shirts with the name of their favorite band on the front.
We arrived to Velodrome Field in the early morning of a very hot, sunny day and walked to the entrance. While we waited in line near the gated entrance, a security guard asked everyone to unload and throw out any weapons, opened alcohol containers, illegal drugs and water bottles. We had no choice and threw out all of our water.
We then entered Velodrome Field. Hundreds of fans walked around the field, looking at the different booths filled with artwork, stickers, tobacco pipes, and food. The aroma of burnt animal flesh was intense. Chicken, beef, and pork were all cooked in small smoky huts, served and consumed by the hungry masses. As we entered the main stage area, people played hacky-sack, smoked cigarettes and waited for the music to start. We settled in about a hundred yards from the main stage in the middle of the field. Everyone laid or sat on the field, some came prepared with towels to protect their exposed skin from the prickly grass.
We waited anxiously for the show to start. On the main stage a few people checked the equipment and mumbled into the microphones checking sound levels. The sun beat down on the crowd of thousands for hours. Many people, frustrated at the delays, threw beer cans on the stage and other fans smoked marijuana or drank alcohol they smuggled in their clothes to help pass the time.
As we continued to talk amongst ourselves, the first band arrived on stage and the crowd erupted. Fans hurriedly rose off the grass and rushed the stage, ran through groups of people still gathering their items and knocked over coolers, food and children as they hurried to the front. I just barely let go hold of my friends arm and I found myself in the middle of a body slamming violent mosh-pit. I was pushed and slammed in every way and thrown towards people, even young children. I tried desperately to escape but the louder the band played the more violent and aggressive the crowd became.
As the crowd screamed and roared along with the band, I was a helpless ragdoll being pummeled by the crowd. As I hit the ground face first into a pile of dust and dirt, I saw children being dragged away from the roaring masses, through the legs of the raucous crowd, screaming and yelling for the mayhem to cease long enough so they could escape. Mothers clutched their children tightly in their arms; heads protected and ran towards the back of the field for safety.
I finally found an open grass area and escaped from the crazy mob. I couldn’t see my friends anymore; I lost her in the crowd. I searched for my friends for hours. As each band rose to the stage I became more and more dehydrated. I found a place to rest on a covered bench next to a free water station and napped. I awoke to the sound of loud fans whizzing by me at lightning speed as the headline band of the night loaded the stage. After the show, I headed toward the entrance of the field and waited for my friends to show. Finally my group of friends emerged from out of the crowd, angry that I “left” them in the morning.
They had a completely different experience than I did. They enjoyed the entire concert, bellies full of water and food as I struggled to survive the heat, of the grunge rock movement.
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At Velodrome Field in Los Angeles, a vast open space in California’s Dominguez Hills, at the height of the grunge rock movement in music in 1994 was held a concert featuring a plethora of alternative rock bands.
Cars and people packed the parking lot. Groups of fans wandered through the dirt and grass lot, smoked cigarettes and chatted about which bands they were exited to see and what events they wanted to attend. Most people dressed in ripped jeans with flannel shirts wrapped around their waists and most people proudly wore dirty T-shirts with the name of their favorite band on the front.
We arrived to Velodrome Field in the early morning of a very hot, sunny day and walked to the entrance. While we waited in line near the gated entrance, a security guard asked everyone to unload and throw out any weapons, opened alcohol containers, illegal drugs and water bottles. We had no choice and threw out all of our water.
We then entered Velodrome Field. Hundreds of fans walked around the field, looking at the different booths filled with artwork, stickers, tobacco pipes, and food. The aroma of burnt animal flesh was intense. Chicken, beef, and pork were all cooked in small smoky huts, served and consumed by the hungry masses. As we entered the main stage area, people played hacky-sack, smoked cigarettes and waited for the music to start. We settled in about a hundred yards from the main stage in the middle of the field. Everyone laid or sat on the field, some came prepared with towels to protect their exposed skin from the prickly grass.
We waited anxiously for the show to start. On the main stage a few people checked the equipment and mumbled into the microphones checking sound levels. The sun beat down on the crowd of thousands for hours. Many people, frustrated at the delays, threw beer cans on the stage and other fans smoked marijuana or drank alcohol they smuggled in their clothes to help pass the time.
As we continued to talk amongst ourselves, the first band arrived on stage and the crowd erupted. Fans hurriedly rose off the grass and rushed the stage, ran through groups of people still gathering their items and knocked over coolers, food and children as they hurried to the front. I just barely let go hold of my friends arm and I found myself in the middle of a body slamming violent mosh-pit. I was pushed and slammed in every way and thrown towards people, even young children. I tried desperately to escape but the louder the band played the more violent and aggressive the crowd became.
As the crowd screamed and roared along with the band, I was a helpless ragdoll being pummeled by the crowd. As I hit the ground face first into a pile of dust and dirt, I saw children being dragged away from the roaring masses, through the legs of the raucous crowd, screaming and yelling for the mayhem to cease long enough so they could escape. Mothers clutched their children tightly in their arms; heads protected and ran towards the back of the field for safety.
I finally found an open grass area and escaped from the crazy mob. I couldn’t see my friends anymore; I lost her in the crowd. I searched for my friends for hours. As each band rose to the stage I became more and more dehydrated. I found a place to rest on a covered bench next to a free water station and napped. I awoke to the sound of loud fans whizzing by me at lightning speed as the headline band of the night loaded the stage. After the show, I headed toward the entrance of the field and waited for my friends to show. Finally my group of friends emerged from out of the crowd, angry that I “left” them in the morning.
They had a completely different experience than I did. They enjoyed the entire concert, bellies full of water and food as I struggled to survive the heat, of the grunge rock movement.
-
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