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Smoking Mexican Weed and Hanging Out on Rusty Playgrounds at Day Two of Festival NRMAL

Dispatches from the front lines of the Monterrey music festival.

Festival NRMAL only lasts one day. There are showcases on the two nights leading up to the festival, but for the most part, it only lasts from about 12 PM to midnight on that Saturday. That’s when you see what all the bloggers are talking about, the mini-Coachella.

After another late night of Carta Blanca-drinking and blunts, I found myself pretty excited to go to the festival. I had spent the last day just cruising around the city/smoking blunts and was feeling restless. The fest had provided a shuttle service that ran every hour. And it was advised that getting there sooner than later would be less stressful and that’s usually the choice I’ll take.

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When I arrived, the first couple chunks of bands had just started to play. It was sparsely attended but it was early and there was no problem getting a beer. Seemed like more Cervaza venders than festival attendees. The festival grounds were set between a 360-degree view of the mountains and soccer stadiums and there was a cool breezing rolling in the entire time. Beers were about four bucks for two and for a festival, that ain’t fucking bad. The grounds were littered with old 1970s playground equipment. Unlike Coachella, who is famous for its fake ass Burning Man freak-out tents and bullshit like that—well, NRMAL has all that crap too, but NRMAL also offers a sketchy 17-foot concrete slide. How sick is that? They even had the square jungle gym thing that used to break little kids’ necks in the ‘80s until they were outlawed in America. Imagine popping a molly and swinging around on one of those things. I saw a young Mexican couple doing just that and they seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.

I spent the next couple hours just wandering around, drinking beer, and smoking dope. I’d walk from stage to stage in sort of a loop, trying to see a little bit of everybody. There was a Mexican rap group who caught my attention. I had heard a lot of Mexican dudes rap before but never in Spanish. And since for some strange reason, I always found Spanish the language itself sonically pleasing, I decided to take a little extra time at their stage. La Banda Bastön was what they called themselves. If Chingo Bling is Gucci Mane, La Banda Bastön would be more like some Questlove shit—seemed more interested in the actual music than the popular trap rapper from America and of course that’s what I would’ve preferred. I appreciated the way he attacked the microphone and basically tried to intimidate the audience. You put an 808 over that, a little bit of “Damn son where’d you find this” or a “rap horn,” and you got yourself a banger. A couple tracks did have some reggaeton samples which reminded me of how happy I am that it never really caught on in the States because goddamn that music makes me want to fucking die.

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The next band that caught my attention was Pure X. Pure X is from right here in good ol’ Austin, TX and these guys rip. Longhaired drugged out mutants, playing psych ballads. Good-looking mother fuckers though, caught somewhere between Neil Young and every song Lou Reed wishes he had written. It was overcast, there was a mountain in the background, and people were all just mellow-grooving on the power.

The vibe in Monterrey is wild. You definitely don’t necessarily feel safe walking around as a tourist. Cabs, sure, fine. There are some wonderful destinations, museums, parks, and all types of historically relevant bullshit, but I just wasn’t feeling that. Driving to the fest ground is the real Monterrey. You see streets highly patrolled by heavily armed city and federal police, you see dogs running around in the roads, you see urban decay. Then the shuttle pulls up to NRMAL and you’re in an oasis. It really did seem like once you passed through those gates, you were safe from all the bullshit that lies out past the walls. To me, it seemed like NRMAL catered to the more affluent youth of the Monterrey although I’m sure even for them, it’s nice to have that escape. The only thing dangerous inside NRMAL was a bad acid trip.

A late '80s hardcore band from Monterrey called Cabezas Podridas was on the bill as the true odd ball. Playing during the day at a fest is a tough gig. You know that’s the game, but it doesn’t make it taste any better. I thought their set was great. It had the undeniable Mexican hardcore punk influences. The singer donned a Brujeria t-shirt (most likely bootlegged) and had his 2-year-old daughter on stage with him the entire time. While I don’t think it’s the best parenting decision to have your 2-year-old daughter on an extremely loud stage with zero ear protection, I did enjoy watching it. She would tug on his legs in between songs and have her dad assist her while she took a swig of agua from an oversized bottle. The guitar player was wearing a sick Ed Hardyesque “Corona” shirt that truly spoke to the gumption of the fellas playing the music. They seemed genuinely stoked to play songs they wrote when they were 15 and unlike most worthless pieces of shit going around gigging with bands that should’ve stayed broken up, like that scab-ass Regan Youth that’s been touring, Cabezas Poridas clearly weren’t doing this for the money. They just drove over from the house, layed down some tasty riffs, and went the fuck home. Feel that.

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Power Trip had rolled in hot, having had a miscommunication at the border and scrambling to make the gig on time. When Power Trip started their set, there were about 15 people watching. By the end, there were probably a thousand. You didn’t have the usual hardcore kids throwing kicks and most of the contributors to the circle pit seemed a little confused on the rules, but they tried, you know? They went nuts. People seemed genuinely impressed at how hard the band was going off. I think it was the fact that even with 15 people watching, Riley Gale and the boys played like they were playing to a sold out gig at The Taqueria in Dallas, TX in front of only friends. That’s what got the crowds to come over from the DJ tent. You could see a DJ hover over his stupid MacBook for hours on end and feel nothing other than boredom OR you could come watch some maniacs from Texas lay waste to a Mexican soccer field. You pick.

Sadly, several sets got cut short due to rain delays. It seems like one thing the Mexicans and Americans have in common is that neither of our weathermen could predict sand if they fell off a camel. I had a wonderful time at NRMAL. It was unique and fun and seemed to be genuinely curated with care and passion. The food trucks were reasonably priced and the beers were ample and cold. And believe it or not, the weed was killer.

Logan Worrell is on Twitter, assuming he made it back from Mexico alive. @itsloganworrell

Also check out:

Logan's recap of day 1 at NRMAL.

Power Trip Means More to Dallas Than The Cowboys Ever Did