Last Friday, in front of a crowd of 90,000 people, Kanye West declared himself to be the number one rock star on the planet. Some people cheered; some people booed. I’m sure others simply laughed and left. An hour after Kanye’s performance ended, a rock band from Nashville, Tenn. took to Bonnaroo’s smallest stage. They performed for 100-odd fans and didn’t make a peep about their how big—or not big—of stars they were. They were hugged; they were rapturously applauded. They were carried round trip across the crowd on their fans’ shoulders.
If you haven’t heard of Diarrhea Planet, I can’t recommend you listen to them enough. They’re a six-piece rock crew with four guitarists who mesh catchy hooks with a punk rock attitude like no band that’s came before them has. Their albums are pretty good. Their live shows are out of this world.
Diarrhea Planet tours nearly half the days out of every year. The boys move from coast to coast like a lawn mover over a yard full of tall grass, managing to hit every little blade along the way. Their show schedule alone makes me sleepy, but DP doesn’t merely show up to their gigs. Rather, they put in every ounce they have and then some; to use the oft-quoted line from This is Spinal Tap, these guys truly do turn up to 11.
The Planet’s midnight set at Bonnaroo proved to be no exception to the rule. We got to their stage about 40 minutes early and arrived to see a meager crowd of ten or so kids. We all exchanged shit-eating grins, a silent code signifying that we knew exactly what was about to go down. The crowd of kids grew as DP set up over the next half hour, and we met one of the guitarist’s middle school art teacher. Apparently the band had promised him that, if he wanted to, he could party shirtless on stage while they played. To my disappointment, this didn’t happen.
But that was my only disappointment. From the moment the guitars churned out “Lite Dream,” the opening track off the band’s 2013 sophomore release, the crowd went absolutely apeshit. Girls and boys alike bounced off of one another in a glorious, sweaty frenzy. There was a kid in a banana costume doing pull-ups on the stage’s rafters. Crowd surfing wasn’t just another way to enjoy the show—it became the only way.
For 45 exultant minutes, the band pummeled through track after track, stripping outros and intros of songs in an attempt to deliver nothing but meaty riffs. And for 45 minutes the crowd obliged, running rampantly into—and onto—one another. I specifically remember hearing “Ghost With a Boner” and “Kids,” but that’s where it stops. At one point or another, every Diarrhea Planet set becomes one jubilant, shouty blur.
By the time the guitar riffs had seceded, we had lost about half the items in our backpack and the band had belted out one particularly glorious upside-down-dangle-fuck of a solo. Everything became quiet, but nothing became still. High fives and hugs abounded between fans, between band members, and between band members and their fans. Diarrhea Planet didn’t even hint at the idea of being the biggest rock band in the world last Friday night. But I’ll be damned, if just for 45 minutes, we didn’t believe they were.