After a weekend of sun-screened, dirt-encrusted, sweat-sticky, knee-bruised, foot-swollen, musical madness at PinkPop, I have returned to wifi enabled civilization (and thus, the bloggernetosphere)
Highlights of PinkPop include:
-Robert Smith being as superbly creepy as I had dreamed/feared (and gawking at an equally terrifying doppelgänger who was wandering about scaring the children)
-Expanding my knowledge of Dutch musicians (who all seem to sing in English)
-Having my mind blown by the quality of Linkin Park's performance... Seriously, they had so much energy and presence, it was insane. Even non-fans got sucked in and developed an appreciation for their live show.
-The floor-shaking shoulder-to-shoulder classic/alt-rock dance party in the cafe tent after the Linkin Park set that lasted until security infiltrated and ushered us all out.
-The post-dance party dance party with the awesome DJ at the campground (at which the aforementioned compliment fail occurred)
-Fresh-squeezed orange juice
-The men of Mumford and their adorable adoration of the East Street Band (especially when they were invited on stage to jam during Hungry Heart and they kept bowing down to the band and grinning and dancing like goofballs)
-Being surrounded by incomprehensible Bruce Springsteen love (the Dutch LOVE them some Bruce. Even those with shaky English can sing Born To Run absolutely flawlessly. It's incredible.) with an unobstructed view of the stage. A Jersey girl can't ask for more.
Now I'm back in Amsterdam, eating pancakes and living life. It'll be nice to have a bed tonight :-)
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