Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 14.5 — Rumble Fest, Acid, and Meth. 

If you enjoyed this, please support me at: https://www.patreon.com/Matingas


Chapter 14.5. Rumble Fest, Acid, and Meth. 

 

The festival ended. It was a mess. We lost a lot of money. And I barely even slept.

 

I still owed $400 to Mothers of Gut and Habits who came all the way from Los Angeles. They also had a horrible time, except when they were on stage and then partying. They had a horrible time on their way down to Tijuana. They got a flat tire, got in trouble at the border, and it was a general mess. They also got up on stage later than promised but made the most out of it.  

 

Not only that. I promised them $400+ expenses. I only paid them $400, it was all I had. As in, seriously, all I fucking had. $64 were left in the bank. And I had no real income.

 

We thought that we were going to make money with Rumble Fest.

 

Fuck were we wrong.

 

And all the signs that it was going to be wrong were there. And I knew it. But we were having too much fun.


 

I crossed the border to the US with the bands and gave them the cash. I didn’t sleep for over 20 hours and border crossing took us around 2 hours. I was destroyed. And cashless.


 

I went home, got food, got plenty of water, dropped acid, and floated away for what seemed days.


 

After everything that happened… everyone was on acid during the festival except me. It was my turn. I could see my body floating away as I blasted live concerts on YouTube by Battles and other noisy/mathy bands. I rested on acid. Again, as if floating/levitating in the middle of the room. 


 

Months before Rumble Fest, we were organizing mini-festivals. It involved bands that were going to be featured in the event and other minor bands that asked us to be in it but we couldn’t. We did one or two every weekend. This often involved music, alcohol, and drugs.

 

Sex. Sex was also included and random.

 

Everyone was single. And we ruled the stage, the entrance, and the party. The party never fucking ended.


 

The party started since the idea of Rumble Fest came about. We worked. But work was partying. And coming up with ideas. And talking to bands.

 

I did a lot of the work.

 

The website. The ideas. The actual fabrication of what was going to go down. Logistics. They never trusted me fully, and a lot of that went wrong. Logistics. I had some contacts in the music industry and other vendors.

 

David had the crazy idea and the contacts for music and party people. 

 

Chad had the contacts for music and artists. 

 

And for three months we coordinated to make it all happen.

 

 


 

 

J-Mar came later. He had contacts and his own ideas. His band was opening the festival. We needed his support.


 

After many preview shows, the date of Rumble Fest was near. Which was a week before my birthday.


 

The ultimate party celebrating that this shit was actually happening. At the gym, with our partners.

 

Tecates abounded. And we drank for a long time. 

 

Cocaine was also available. And though I don’t like the drug, I partook. 


 

Suddenly, we were running low on beer and out of cocaine and it was past midnight.

 

Someone said he had a contact for both. Forty minutes later when only one beer was left, the contact showed up with a 24-pack and more cocaine.

 

Party saved… momentarily.


 

That was harsh cocaine. 

 

In fact, it didn’t feel like cocaine at all.

 


 

 

We were at the gym. There were mirrors everywhere. So I remember staring myself in the mirror and realizing I just did some meth.

 

My hair was crazy, I felt insanely energized and powerful, my eyes were bloodshot red, and I had a sudden thirst for everything.


 

That feeling continued the next day. 


 

And the next day.


 

And almost to the next day.


 

We drank Tecates throughout the whole weekend. Mostly at Tropics Bar. 

 

That’s why I loathe that place. 

 

And many other reasons… 


 

That year, 2015, was the last time I went there, near Christmas time.

 

Except, I broke my promise of not going there last week. When friends from Minnesota came over and we were invited there. It wasn’t as horrible as my memory painted it.


 

It was on Sunday at Tropics Bar when I started to feel the fucking worst withdrawal feelings ever. Thank god I don’t really fucking smoke cigarettes or ever dabbled with heroin. 

 

Fuck that.


 

It was a fucking nightmare.

 

I was wearing sunglasses at night like a fucking douchenozzle. But I did it because my fucking head felt horrible. I was a zombie. I was fully awake but tired as fuck. I knew the only thing that would make me feel better would be more meth.


 

Or “cricais” (crick-ice) cocaine mixed with “ice.” That’s what it was.

 

That shit was fucking nasty.


 

To top it all off, there were four women at the bar that I have previously slept with. One crazy chick, one girl that I fell in love with and the feelings weren’t mutually, and two one-night stands.

 

And there I was with. Feeling like shit. Drunk as fuck and coming off from meth. And ex-lovers in the same bar talking to other lovers. 


 

“Tijuana es un cojedero, se cree ciudad, pero es un pueblito.”

 

Tijuana is a fuckfest, it believes its a city, but it’s just a small town. I was warned about that when I first arrived in the city. It was. It still is.


 

One week to Rumble Fest. Nothing was really ready. Problems were mounting. Everything was falling apart. And the solution were more drugs and alcohol.


 

Clean the fuck out of the area where the fest was going to happen. Fell behind in permits. The vendors were confused. The sound was a shitty contractor. The bands were a mess. And organizers… 

 

Organizers were kept together by drugs, friendship, Tecates, and a fucking belief that we could pull the best fucking concert ever out of our asses.


 

For some people it was. For a lot of others, it was a fucking disaster.

 

It had its highlights, for me, it was 100 Onces. That was it. That was the only moment I enjoyed myself for a second.

 

The rest was running around FUCKING everywhere answering fucking EVERYONE about FUCKING anything. And almost everyone was on fucking drugs. Which made things worse.

 

I had to kick out bands off-stage. Held the ankle of the drummer of the Wax Children to let them know it was their last song. They expanded that last song for many minutes and I had to grab his ankle again. Everything fucking behind schedule.

 

And bands always want special treatment. They are all rockstars in their heads.

 

I had to kick out one of the bands. I told them that I couldn’t be giving everyone fucking blowjobs. And they came in demanding instead of helping. The schedule was way behind, and they wanted the stage. Told them it wasn’t their turn, they got up on stage anyway.

 

Kicked them the fuck out.

 

Not your fucking turn.

 

Fucking bands.


 

Many were helpful, many were in drugs (yet still helpful), and most seemed to enjoy themselves.

 

Only one band were complete ratdicks, they don’t exist anymore, so it’s not even worth mentioning them. Great musicians. Shit attitude.

 

The other, San Pedro El Cortez, they were the fucking best. They didn’t care what happens as long as they could have beers. They played at 4 fucking a.m. The last band to play. And they were happy to do so. With a shit drum set and without checking sound over and over. They just went up on fucking stage and did their thing. 


 

And that’s the last time I tried organizing a major event. And I don’t think I ever will. Unless I get paid a lot and the investment is not my money. And that’s never going to happen. So yeah. 

 

No.


 

I rarely even go to shows nowadays.

 

This last week I went to two. That felt good. I should go to more. But no more drugs. Those days are behind me.

 

That’s what your twenties are for, right?

 

Hunter S. Thompson would disagree. But I don’t have his talent or his wit.  


 

One show was in San Diego. Kirby Dream Band. Nerdy shit. It was great.

 

The other was in Tijuana with my Minnesotan friends. Perdición. It was hardcore. It was fucking loud. Very fucking loud. Dangerously fucking loud.

 

Minnesotan friends couldn’t handle the loud. So we bounced after a few songs.


 

That was after days and nights partying in San Diego, one night in Tijuana, Minnesotans were hungover as fuck, we still fucking managed to party somehow.

 

No strip clubs. 

 

They did that in Southeast Asia. And didn’t feel the need to do it anymore.


 

My stories are enough.

 

I don’t need new stories.


 

And I only have a few left before I’m done embarrassing myself.

Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 11 — Music and New Friends.

If you enjoyed this, please support me at: https://www.patreon.com/Matingas


Chapter 11. Music and New Friends.

It is crazy how much can change in a short period of time. Last week was incredibly slow and today I find myself scrambling to see what I should take care of next. So many stories I pitched that I need to write. So many emails for other gigs. A completely different feel than last week. 

 

And it’s not only that change. This city changes constantly. And that changed my tours. And it also changed me.


I rarely do bachelor parties. Or like how my last tour called them “stag parties.” Much less just take a single individual to the strip clubs. 


My last tour wasn’t even a real tour. It was more like real work. Irish reporters found me through the internet and they hired me for two days to help them with their work on the border. We covered a lot of Tijuana ground. I helped them with some interviews. And I helped them navigate this city. 

 

We got pretty amazing shots.

They got some really great interviews. It’s not the report I would like about Tijuana since they are focusing on migrant issues and the border. Not a travel piece about Tijuana. But once it was all done, we got to hang out more and had a couple of beers.


I never thought my tours would turn into that. I never thought I would be back into photography. I never thought I was going to be writing this much or that I would actually make money doing this.


I still can make more money. I have to work so much more.

 

But the goal of the beginning of this year was to finish this silly book. 


So now I have three photo gigs to take care-off, the tour is over, two long stories, and perhaps a couple of short stories. 

I’m hungry.

And I need to get to work.


 

So… I had my own apartment. A roommate that was barely home. And when he was, we partied a lot.

 

Routine settled in. 

 

Every morning wake-up, shower, go to the office, pick breakfast on the way.

 

Come back late in the afternoon, drink a beer, do more work, go to bed.


 

Rinse and repeat for a few months.


I almost fell in love with a girl who was friends with my roommate. She told me she thought I was gay because I lived with him.

 

I had no idea my roommate was gay.

 

Is gay.

 

He has never told me.

 

I never asked him. We never talked about it. I love that guy. We hang out often. I just don’t think he wants to talk about it.


 

That girl was in love with her ex. It ended as quickly as it began.


And then I met him.

 

Him.

 

My sensei-master at writing.

 

The one that might be editing this text.


It’s getting near the end of the tales since I’m catching up with current times of what happened to what is happening.


 

I met the Chad master at a show in Mous Tache. That’s what I did for the weekends. I went to shows in the city.


 

Chad looked like a young Santa Claus. German looking blond with blue eyes, a protruding belly, with a caguama in one hand, cigarette dangling in his mouth, and his goofy fucking smile.


He doesn’t remember the first night I met him. He remembers a different night a few weeks later.


 

That first night, he told me he was a writer. He told me how much money he made per article. He failed to tell me this was for cover stories or for his own columns, not every writer made that much.

 

Also, he had been writing for the Reader for years.


 

That’s when I started losing interesting in writing about soccer. I was tired of the job and routine. 


 

As far as Tijuana Adventures go, there wasn’t much tourism and I wasn’t getting many customers.


 

I was going to shows and meeting bands and musicians. I would tour them around and help them with anything I could.

That’s when I thought about doing tours for traveling bands. 

Stupid me didn’t realize that bands never have any fucking money.

So those obviously never went anywhere except partying with musicians.


 

That’s the night Chad remembers. When Mothers of Gut came to town with HABITS. 

 

I don’t think either of those bands exists anymore. But they were great.


 

HABITS was a crazy synthesizer band mostly done by Dustin. The singer would climb speakers while singing distorted shit whilst the drummer made noise next to a keyboard and more synth shit.

 

Something like that.


 

The genius behind Mothers of Gut was Aaron. His band was just fucking crazy. The drummer had the body of Super Saiyan Zach Hill mix with the veiny full of heroin arms of Iggy Pop. He fucking beat on them drums like a motherfucker. The guitarist had long hair and looked similar to the singer of HABITS. The bass player was missing his front teeth.


Two songs into the show of Mothers of Gut, the bass player fucking tripped off stage and broke the head of the bass.


Show over. There weren’t many people at the show anyway.


 

The large group ventured into Zona Norte. I don’t remember much of that night except finding out that the drummer did not have an ID of any form or shoes. 

 

He had crossed the border and forgot to grab his passport or any ID. Not forgot… He didn’t have any.


 

There’s also a picture of the toothless bass player with a prostitute in Hong Kong. 


 

I believe they all crashed in Chad’s apartment that night. 


 

A small friendship developed that night. That friendship would change my life.


Later on, I would show a stranger that I met a coffee shop the CD that Mothers of Gut gave me. He fucking loved it.

 

And another small friendship developed with Danger Dave.


Chad, Danger Dave, and Pachangas Matt. The year of the Rumble Fest.

That’s coming up next.

But not before explaining a bunch of other mess that was going on.


 

Burgers Part 1: Blogging in Reverse – Burgers & Beer Festival – 52 East is My Winner

September is burger month.

That’s because September is burger fest and I get to be the stage manager at a burger festival. I don’t really do much, my old roommate booked the bands. I just make sure they are there on time and that they get paid.

That’s about it.

So I have time to walk around and grab burgers and beers.

Here are a couple of the best shots of that festival:

This was the first burger I had… and it was my favorite.

It was from 52 East Neighborhood Eatery and it was solid perfection. I ate a lot of burgers this month and I was wowed by the quality of this one. AND IT WAS THE VERY FIRST ONE.

The second burger was by Hundred Proof and it was alright.

Third burger was from Pure Burger and it was better than Hundred Proof, but FUCK that first burger was so fucking great that it just made the rest of burgers not seem as good.

DO YOU SEE THE STAR IN THE PICTURE?!

Hah. That’s great huh? It’s not shopped. The burger was glistening under the sun and that happens at a very close f stop. STARS! Crazy cool.

And that was about it for me with the burgers…

The rest of the fest looked like this to me. Beers. Work. Photos. Beers. Work. Photos. Beer.

This was the stage I “managed.” That was the first band. The Fuzzy Ustins. They were fantastic folky music. Also, great guys. Hope they had fun.

Panca was there doing some live art.

More beer.

This other artist killed it. I met her as Michelle but forgot her artist name. Seriously fantastic art.

This bassist of New Me was fucking rocking it.

And more beer!

That was the best beer I had at the fest the Berliner by Wild Barrel. I went back for it but they were out, I tried their Double IPA and it was also very good.

The rest of the beers were also of great quality… But that Berliner is the only one I remember that it wowed me.


I’m doing everything in reverse.


The festival is Burgers & Beer. This is the second year in a row that I end up “managing” the bands because the dude that is supposed to do it can’t so I come in as a sub.

I ran around this year more than the previous year. So I didn’t get to write notes about beers or burgers.

I also got a lot of sun which gave me a headache and was getting me tired. I didn’t sleep much the previous night either.

It happens when I have something “important” the following day. I can’t sleep. I stay up all night worried that I’m not going to wake up on time.

And that’s what happened.


Burgers & Beer is a lot of fun. It’s all the burgers you can eat and all the beers you can drink for free (well, for an entrance fee). VIP tickets are recommended to try all burgers before lines get crazy. Then friends are recommended so you can collect several burgers. Then lines get crazy so just drink beer and enjoy the music.

That’s how I would do it.

But that’s not how it went down.


I ran around a lot.

And said hi to a lot of people.

And tried to be of general help.

It went alright.


Didn’t eat as many burgers as I hope. Just the ones mentioned. Then tried a vegan one and didn’t like it.

That vegan one ended up being the winner.

Vegan burger the winner of a burger fest. Only in California.


I would have voted tenfold for that first fucking burger. It was seriously burger perfection (at least for me). The bacon was super nice, it had chunky shrooms with cheese, topped with arugula (which I adore in burgers for some reason), and tiny pieces of red onion. And the meat pattie was juicy and TASTY!

Burger perfection if you ask me.

The Friendly is also the other burger perfection.

Oh.

And I had a lot more burgers before the festival.

And found another burger perfection. Probably my favorite burger in San Diego.

And again. I ate a lot of burgers.


That will be a post for some other day. Perhaps tomorrow. But I have a very busy day tomorrow.


What I did before burger fest… soon with Burgers Part 2.

And then you’ll know why I only had three burgers at burger fest…

It was a nightmare. What occurred was a total nightmare… Especially for a foodie like me.


 

 

Tijuana Rumble Fest is Here. Courtesy Guide to Venue

Tijuana Rumble Fest is already here. It’s tomorrow, Saturday December 5th.

I didn’t do much this year, virtually nothing at all. Last year I organized the whole damn thing (not by myself, but a lot of it).

It should be the best festival of the year for Tijuana. We expect many people to cross the border to check it out and because of that, I am offering my services FOR FREE!!!!

court
I didn’t have time to make a better poster, but there you go! I will be helping people go through Tijuana and into the venue to enjoy 10 hours of great music!
No need to email me or anything, I simply will show up and see who wants to join me and walk to Rumble Fest!

See you then people!

Tijuana Adventure takes you to TRF!

May 31st, Tijuana Rumble Fest:

Presenting math rock, experimental, garage and more bands from all over California!

Here’s the official website TRF

Tickets are $25 and are sold here!

It includes entrance to the festival, transportation from the border to the festival and back and 2 drinks.

Ride the Rumble Bus next to the bands that will be performing!

trf poster upf

Buy your tickets now!

AMF and November Brings No Adventures

That is no foreign adventures. Because your Tijuana Adventure host has been having a blast in the city by himself.

It might be the cold, it might be that the end of the year is approaching, but no one has contacted me for an adventure in November. Despite putting flyers all over North and South Park (San Diego), no one wanted to go to All My Friends Music Festival. But it is all for the best, since I ended up working as a writer instead of a tour guide.

amf fly

San Diego Reader published my review of the music festival, but they cut it short. I wrote way more than what they published. For my words not go to waste, here’s a full review of the adventure that no one wanted to join:

All My Friends Music Fest
The FYF of TJ

3 different stages, 32 bands, 8 food stands, 6 different clothing stores and much more, TJ’s music festival garners the popularity that FYF did in its early years. The point of AMF is to showcase the best of underground music and they booked the right bands, but not the right audio engineers. The 4th edition of the festival brought more people than the previous year as AMF gets established as one of the most important music festivals in Tijuana. For those who missed it, there’s always next year, which should be even better.

The first band on the entrance stage, Bonebreaker, started at 2:00 pm to a small crowd of around 20 people, no bones were broken though people were bound to be hurt by the poor choice of the engineers to put the stage on top of some stairs. The engineers worried about the stage looking nice and they did not think of the people or the music. Calafia Puta, a powerviolence band from TJ, played next. Their energetic and destructive sound took the engineers by surprise as the crowd started the violent mosh pit. You simply do not put a stage on top of the stairs and give hardcore bands three monitors for their show. The engineers made the poor choice of cutting the power to the microphone, which enraged the crowd and the lead singer who started destroying everything on his path.

By 5:00 pm, all three stages were going on at the same time. The inside theater stage had electronic experimental musicians, the patio had hip-hop and danceable music, while the entrance stage continued with hardcore rock on the awkward steps. With too much to see, I quickly went from stage to stage to absorb it all and tell you which ones were the very best.

White Ninja, a band from Monterrey playing on the patio attracted the largest crowd with their experimental psych-electro. Their sound is fresh, with sick bass lines with a fat tone, electronic beats accompanied by a drummer and a keyboard player that sings in beautiful falsetto a la James Brown. Melodic, yet dissonant, simple beats with complex breaks, White Ninja kept everyone on their feet dancing non-stop.

Apocalipsis was the closer band at midnight. It was the only band that had people standing up inside the theater. Their instrumental metal was ruined by the poor technicians who could not balance out the three piece band. Nonetheless, the tasty heavy riffs, the sick drumming and the tension building to perfect breaks kept everyone’s attention. By the end of their set, a chubby dressed up preppy kid took the mic to make an announcement. However, they kept playing and to everyone’s surprise, the kid was the screaming singer for their newer songs.

Anthony Negrete, a Jewish ghostwriter and rapper from Moreno Valley that goes by the name of Speak!, flows about hooking up with girls all over the world via Skype. Imagined if Eric Cartman grew up to be an awesome rapper with a “whatevah, I do what I want,” attitude. He was hilarious, dirty and raw. The crowd was loving him and he reciprocated the love back.

Closing your eyes and listening to Rancho Shampoo gives you the feeling that you are in the desert tripping on peyote with a shaman. The solo artist dresses like an Apache Indian, plays a wooden flute and sings like he is evoking the gods to make it rain. Accompanied with La Indian Gold Orchestra, the show was pure magic.

ACxDC, short for Antichrist Demoncore, finished the work that Calafia Puta started by destroying the stage situated on the steps. To make it even more fun and dangerous, people started crowd-surfing. They melted faces with speedy riffs and power shouting. Again, the engineers were not prepared for the chaos that the band unleashed.

More reviews in order…

Trillones is an electronic artist who’s gimmick is to give you plastic glasses that expand light. The hipster dude with glasses stood behind his macbook, a Korg keyboard and a nice telecaster. He gathered only a small crowd and was only missing a Starbucks coffee cup to make his look complete. His music was so spaced out that it relaxed your muscles making you feel like you took some oxycodone.

Teenage Kicks aren’t teens. They are old school punks that still think this is 1990. Equipped with a jazz bass beat up a la Jaco, a beautiful Jaguar Fender and decent enough drumming, the singer shouts old school style instead of the energetic shouts/growls you hear now a days.

Letters from Readers sounds like they would be an Indie band with a chick singer and acoustic guitars. However, they are two guys with glasses making electronic noise with their macbooks and other goodies. It took around five minutes for the first beat to drop after five minutes of intro noise. Rancho Shampoo made a guest appearance in the empty stage and some idiot in the crowd yelled “take the stupid Indian off-stage,” not knowing he was insulting a great shaman.

Calafia Puta only played two songs when the engineers decided it would be a good idea to cut off the microphone. Enraged, they kept playing as the singer and the crowd sang A capella to the fast shifting chords and heavy drumming. Then the engineers decided it was a smart thing to cut off the power for the guitar and bass amps which just fed everyone’s anger. Destruction entailed afterwards, broken microphones, power strips and more.

Deep Magic was glitch noise avant-garde non-sense. The audio engineers were in fault again as the artists did not feel comfortable with what they were given and could not entice the small crowd. So the two electronic artists that shared stage simple made noise until their time was up.

Biocrisis took the stage on the steps and after the chaos of Calafia Puta, the crowd stood their ground on the bottom of the steps. Once again the audio was all messed up as the bass overpowered both guitars with a boomy tone that was not fitting to their metalcore. Halfway through, the band started to sound more leveled, but the crowd was tame just listening from afar.

DJ Smurphy is neither a DJ or a smurf. She’s a girl with short hair dressed up in clothes that shout “I love doing LSD.” I expected horrible, it was actually pretty damn good. Psych-electric beats with vocals in English mixed with digidelay and other effects. Her sound has much maturing to do.

Celofan is a local post-rock band with melodic vocals that say nothing. The type of music that is better enjoyed when you are in a long drive, not on a stage of an experimental music festival.

Selma Oxor is one of those artists who think that by simply wearing sexy clothes and touching herself on stage she’s doing the most mind blowing things in history. But is just poor and sloppy. She stepped on her loop pedal by accident several times and her loops were just of her moaning. When she grabbed her pink Squier guitar you could tell she never practices or cares about the sound. Once the shock value of the sexy girl wearing a one piece see-thru leotard wears off, there’s nothing to appreciate. Reminds me of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmy9CTn6xMs

Los Blenders, a surf punk band from Mexico City had the crowd dancing with their sick bass lines, sloppy guitar playing and lazy vocals.

Sixties Guns, a good band from San Diego that failed to impress. The members are multi-instrumentalist but they failed to captivate the crowd with the electronic beats and the lack of actual drumming.

Electric Healing Sound play songs in poorly spoken English and out of key. The drummer plays no bass drum, the bass player has repetitive bass lines and the rest is just “meh.” Not really electric, not really healing, barely even consider it sound.

Maria Minerva, to my disappointment, did not seem to be into the show. The crowd seemingly were just paying attention to the tall pale artist’s body and failed to sense her music. In return, she played a basic set with low energy.

Icy Demons, another band I was excited about, failed to impress. The stage on the steps finally got a barricade but that created an awkward sense of separation between musicians and their audience. They took the opportunity to practice their new songs in a sloppy fashion.

Sun Araw, an experimental electronic artist with a partner. Facing each other stage, Sun Araw had a keyboard and his guitar, his partner just electronic goodies. True bromance on stage, their sound was perfect. A duo that seems to be connected to each other’s brains like Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter (Daft Punk), Spencer Seim and Zach Hill (Hella) and Nicolas Godin and Jean-Benoit Dunckel (Air).

Food: Veggie Smalls (vegan and vegetarian burgers), La Brownie Girl (all sorts of delicious brownies, vegan friendly), Pizza Fria (Calzones and pizza, vegan friendly), Blondie Brown (vegan hot dogs and meatball sandwiches), Santa Barriga (more vegan goodies). Convenient store, tacos and clamatos were also available.

Shops: Polen (screen printed shirts for Arts and Trees), Pesadillas and Dealer’s Brands (screen printing and thrift store clothes), Chicle & Bonita (lady fashion), Achemele & Octopus Clothes (screen printing), Circus (urban drama screen prints), Mexican Fashion (popular brand in TJ), Tourista Libre (TJ tours).

Alcohol was hosted by Indio beer, only other choice was Tecate Light. Beers went for $4 for two bottles (served in a plastic cup). Mixed drinks with either whisky, jagger, rum, vodka or mezcal were also available for the same price.

Bands that were missed or failed to gain my attention…

Matthew Sullivan, never even saw him on stage.

Josue Josue is experimental hip hop in Spanish that failed to get the attention of the crowd or myself.

Ramona actually sounded good, though the singer seemed to be to shy to be on stage. Local band that I rather see some other time.

Ford Proco, heard that they were awesome, did not have a chance to see them.

Lao played the last show on the patio, I took a look and saw only a couple people dancing to his Tribal music. Lesson learned, Tribal is gone and no one wants to hear it.

Ases Falsos was the pop rock that was much needed for those who went to a music festival and actually expected normal music. They had a large audience for their simple latin rock that reminiscences that of La Gusana Ciega, but from Chile.

Siete Catorce started slow, got better and he could have played for 5 hours straight. The type of electronic artist that keeps playing until you like him, but not adept for a music fest.

Ibi Ego, caught the beginning of their set and their last song. It had a bit of a dance feel like The Rapture, but with no churro to be enjoyed to listen to them, I went for Sun Araw instead. They had a big crowd, but the barricade also seemed to interrupt the flow of the music.

Geddes Gengras, caught the last song of this seemingly electronic artist genius. Never have I seen so many cables on a table connecting stuff that I had no idea what it was for. Minimalist digital glitch noise only enjoyed by those who have heard John Cage before.