According to TMZ, Chief Keef was arrested in Atlanta yesterday on charges of disorderly conduct.

Earlier this year, the 17-year-old Chicago rapper (born Keith Cozart) was sentenced to 60 days in prison after violating his probation. The probation stemmed from a January 2011 incident in which he pointed a gun at a Chicago police officer.

Photo by Jeremy D. Larson

This past weekend at KROQ’s Weenie Roast, Linkin Park’s Chester Bennington stepped into Scott Weiland’s shoes as the new singer for Stone Temple Pilots. Judging from the lukewarm chaos that ensued online, it’s not a decision that’s been accepted with “Open Arms”.

That inspired us to list our top five best and worst replacement singers in music history. Now, mind you, we wanted to keep each choice to one name — otherwise we would have just listed every Dead Kennedys frontman that didn’t go by Jello Biafra — so hopefully that clears up some confusion.

And before you reply, “What? No women?” Here’s something that female singer-songwriters can celebrate everywhere: They’re irreplaceable. Really, we couldn’t think of one female singer that fit either side of the line, which, technically, is a major compliment. We think.

Anyways, debate, suggest, or sing.

The Best

Brian Johnson (of AC/DC)

Who’d He Replace? Bon Scott

Years Active: 1980-present

Why Do We Love Him? It takes more than mere skill to fill the shoes of a legend. But when Brian Johnson mustered the courage to join AC/DC after the tragic death of Bon Scott, he not only filled the void, but helped propel the band to previously unprecedented heights of success. What’s more, it took him virtually no time at all to lock into the band’s formula. Johnson’s voice, albeit gruffer than Scott’s, came in pretty close to the real thing, and the runaway success of Back in Black more or less cemented his place in the band.

Best Example: Back In Black might as well be the roadmap for how to successfully transition into life with a new singer

Greatest addition beyond vocal duties: More than 30 years later, there’s still nothing cooler than that Kangol hat.

You could do worse: Noddy Holder, singer for English glam rockers Slade, auditioned for Johnson’s gig. Let’s just be thankful that didn’t pan out.

-Ryan Bray

The Best

Sammy Hagar (of Van Halen)

Who’d He Replace? David Lee Roth (twice)

Years Active: 1985-96, 2003-05

Why Do We Love Him? In the mid-80s, Hagar was basically regarded as the intellectual come to turn Van Halen into a Serious Rock Band after leader singer Roth sputtered out of control. Because of Hagar, time has told that Van Halen has stood the test of time. We also now have the song “Pleasure Dome”.

Best Example: Fast song: “Right Now”; slow song: “Love Walks In” (a song about aliens, which comes up later!)

America: 2008 Republican campaign chose a song from Van Hagar’s album F.U.C.K. to play over Governor Sarah Palin’s introduction at a rally in Ohio. No statement was issued by Hagar. Three years, later Hagar claimed he was abducted by aliens.

Don’t judge a book by its cover if the cover has Sammy Hagar on it: Hagar’s autobiography held the #1 spot as a New York Times bestseller. Hagar also jammed with National Book Award winner Patti Smith when they were inducted in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame the same year.

-Sarah H. Grant

The Best

Al Barr (of Dropkick Murphys)

Who’d He Replace? Mike McColgan

Years Active: 1998-present (with Dropkick Murphys)

Why Do We Love Him: Things were clicking for the Dropkick Murphys when singer Mike McColgan left the band to become a Boston firefighter in 1998. Fortunately, the band found another gruff, blue color Boston punk vet in Al Barr to step into his footsteps. Formerly of The Bruisers, Barr’s hoarse, sandpaper bark stands in sharp contrast to McColgan’s pronounced New England drawl, but the earnest, working class aesthetic has remained firmly in tact in the years since his arrival. Now 15 years later, the band isn’t just keeping at it, they’ve amassed the kind of cultish adoration worldwide they never before could have imagined.

Best Example: The band has had plenty of proud musical moments since Barr came on board, but 2001′s Sing Loud, Sing Proud stands above the rest.

Best raucous declaration of stubborn Boston Pride: ”Kiss me, I’m shitfaced.”

You could do worse: Sure beats the hell out of the guy from Flogging Molly.

-Ryan Bray

The Best

Phil Anselmo (of Pantera)

Who’d He Replace? Terry Glaze

Years Active: 1986-2003

Why Do We Love Him? Well, you both love and hate Phil Anselmo, but let’s mainly focus on the love. Pre-Anselmo, Pantera was a pitiful glam rock band, less Cowboys from Hell and more Cowboys from Heyyyy. When Anselmo arrived, the band all but disavowed their spiked bracelets and charm earings and went on to write three mainstream metal albums that would wipe hair metal off the map. His performance on Anselmo would go on to occasionally make some racist comments and essentially drive a wedge through the band with his drug and alcohol abuse, but that scream of is tears paint off the walls.

Best Example: Anselmo’s whole performance on “This Love” is one of the best metal performances of all time.

Superlative Unique to that Artist: Echoing Dimebag’s harmonics at the end of “Cemetery Gates” showed just how high he could sing  – unbelieveably high especially when you compare it to what he was doing a few years later on “Drag The Waters”

For best: What if Dee Snyder wanted to forgo his glam rock fame, and put on a ripped jeans and a confederate flag t-shirt? Would the world still be around today?

The Best

Phil Collins (of Genesis)

Who’d He Replace? Peter Gabriel

Years Active: 1970-96 (became sole lead singer after Gabriel’s departure in 1975), 2006-11 (reunion)

Why Do We Love Him? Duke? Genesis? Invisible Touch? Those are good enough reasons, right? Look, Genesis has had more facelifts in their near-50 year history than every cast member of General Hospital combined. Still, Collins is widely considered by many Genesis fans as the primary vocalist, specifically for his output, his range, his style, and his performances. Originally the band’s drummer, the outfit gave Collins a shot at the mic following hundreds of auditions amidst the recording for 1976′s A Trick of the Tail. When it came time to perform live, members Bill Bruford and Chester Thompson assumed percussion for the band on-stage, while Collins joined in briefly during lengthy instrumental passages. #teamwork

Best Example: ”Land of Confusion” says it all, but leave it to Rolling Stone for the truth:

Phil the Shill? Phil the Shill, indeed.

You could do worse: In an alternate universe, some guy named Mick Strickland nabbed the role, and Collins never ever stood center stage. Yeah, to hell with that universe.

-Michael Roffman

The Worst

Gary Cherone (of Van Halen)

Who’d He Replace? Sammy Hagar, but also David Lee Roth

Years Active: 1996-99

Why Do We Hate Him? It’s not that we hate him — no benevolent VH fan should — but pity is one word to describe our feelings. When Hagar bailed and shit didn’t work out (yet again) with Roth in the mid-’90s, Van Halen went searching for another vocalist to keep the banner going. Their manager Ray Danniels recommended a voice from another band he managed: Extreme’s Gary Cherone. Things didn’t last too long, though, resulting in one of the worst albums of the ’90s (ahem, 1998′s Van Halen III), and another that was shelved indefinitely.

Granted, Cherone did dust off a number of Roth-era crowd favorites on their 1998 U.S. tour, but he just couldn’t measure up to the hype and the jig was up. Soon after, an easy formula was etched into stone, one that would never again be tested: No Roth, No Hagar, No Halen. This explains why VH’s next album, A Different Kind of Truth, didn’t surface until last year.

Best Example: Tell me somethin’ Riggs!

Move over, kid. On Van Halen III‘s forgettable closing track, ”How Many Say I”, even Eddie grew tired with Cherone, pitting him on backing vocals as he took center stage — an unheard of move at the time for the collective.

You could do better: One lanky, elephant gun-toting, former DJ-turned-celebrity-whackjob named David Lee Roth. Court adjourned.

-Michael Roffman

The Worst

Paul Rodgers (of Queen)

Years Active: 2004-09

Who’d He Replace? Freddie Mercury

Why Do We Hate Him? We don’t hate Paul Rodgers, really, or for that matter Bad Company. When it comes to finding a vocalist of a different, but familiar, style to pay tribute and inspire some singalongs, Queen could certainly do worse. However, for all his talents, Rodgers lacks a flair for the outrageous. His performance style is one that finds safety behind the microphone stand, rather than owning the stage with Mercury’s signature charm and pomposity.

Best Example: Their 2009 comeback album The Cosmos Rocks did anything but.

The Moment That Said It All: For “Bohemian Rhapsody”, Rodgers stepped aside for a video of Mercury performing the song live:

You could do better: Queen + Paul Rodgers and other famous fans such as Matthew Bellamy and Adam Lambert, alongside a Freddie Mercury hologram. Just kidding. Some things are best left alone.

-Frank Mojica

The Worst

Rome Ramirez (of Sublime with Rome)

Who’d He Replace? Bradley Nowell

Years Active: 2009-present

Why Do We Hate Him? Imagine Sublime with all the fun sucked out, and you’ve got Sublime with Rome. Nowell slipped between English and Spanish, utter filth and innocent rhymes with an infectious charm. Ramirez does his best, but the dangerous edge is gone, and with it the very spirit of the music.

Best Example: Witness, for example, “Chica Me Tipo” (or “Caress Me Down”, or “Right Back”, or any track, really) versus anything on SWR’s one release, Yours Truly.

A for effort: To be fair, it’s not Ramirez’s fault that Nowell was inimitable. It’s not like anyone else would’ve done better.

For worst: Just go back to 40 Oz to Freedom. There’s no substitute for the original here.

-Megan Ritt

The Worst

Blaze Bayley (of Iron Maiden)

Who’d He Replace? Bruce Dickinson

Years Active: 1994-99

Why Do We Hate Him? He replaced the Bruce Dickinson — simple as that. Although he toppled over hundreds of auditions in 1994, his contributions to the English outfit resulted in two of their lowest charting albums: 1995′s The X Factor and Virtual XI in 1998. Despite the singer’s ambition and outright devotion, fans just didn’t share those qualities with him. File under: “Oh well.”

Best Example: So. Fucking. 90s.

Just Blaze Bein’ Blaze: In 2003, Blaze recorded a re-arranged version of “Sign of the Cross” for his live album, As Live as It Gets. Good thing there’s no bad blood between he and Eddie.

You could do better: Gary Cherone? Kidding. No, only one Dickinson for this outfit.

-Michael Roffman

The Worst

Doug Yule (of Velvet Underground)

Who’d He Replace? Lou Reed.

Years Active: 1968-73 (became sole lead singer after Reed’s departure in 1970)

Why Do We Hate Him? Yule was a more-than-serviceable number two, his original role in the Velvets upon John Cale’s departure, singing lead on five excellent cuts between their third and fourth immortal LPs: The Velvet Underground and Loaded. But when he got the chance to show his stuff as uncontested frontman for their fifth and final official LP, Squeeze, we got the chance to forget there was ever a fifth Velvet Underground album.

Best Example: Squeeze

And the award for the least celebrated rock star to ever hold claim to “frontman for one of the most important bands ever” goes to… Exactly.

You could do better: Few knew what to make of the Velvet Underground in their time, so it’s almost inconceivable that they’d have made an outside hire to replace Reed. Assuming they were going in-house all along, they could have at least punctuated their run with an interesting bang instead of a fart noise by making Squeeze the Maureen Tucker record – though she bailed after Loaded as well. The innovative drummer sang lead on the occasional Velvets song, including “After Hours” and “I’m Sticking with You”, two of their catchiest ever.

-Steven Arroyo

Super crooner Terius Nash, AKA The-Dream is streaming his fifth album, IV Play, a full week ahead of its release date (May 28th via Def Jam Records). Take a listen via the YouTube playlist posted below.

In the works since 2010, the 14-track effort features a who’s who of R&B and Top 40 hip-hop, including Jay-Z, Beyoncé, Pusha T, Kelly Rowland, and even guitar hero Gary Clark Jr.. In an interview with VEVO, Dream said, “IV Play is me jumping into the future and trying to leave the past behind. This album probably maintains about 25 percent of the fabric of what I’ve done musically, but the rest of it, I’ve really opened it up.”

Pre-orders are ongoing.

In related news, The-Dream appeared on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno last night, where he performed “Where Have You Been” alongside Kelly Rowland. Watch the video here.

IV Play Tracklist:
01. High Art feat. Jay-Z
02. IV Play
03. Equestrian
04. Pussy feat. Big Sean and Pusha T
05. Turnt feat. Beyoncé and 2 Chainz
06. Where Have You Been feat. Kelly Rowland
07. Too Early feat. Gary Clark Jr.
08. Michael
09. Loving You / Crazy
10. New Orleans
11. Self-Conscious
12. Holy Love
13. Outro
14. Slow It Down feat. Fabolous
15. Divine (Deluxe Edition)
16. Y’All (Deluxe Edition)
17. Tron (Deluxe Edition)
18. Psycho (Deluxe Edition)

As I tucked a second swimming suit into my bag that was probably too large for the three days I’d be away, I actually said aloud to myself, and I suppose perhaps my cat, “I’m going to a music festival. On the beach. As a VIP. With a press pass.” A little yelp came next, accompanied by an involuntary jig I can only assume looked like a combination of the Bluths doing their respective chicken dances. Such behavior showed up in spurts since [CoS photographer] Josh [Mellin] texted me on a cold March morning and said, “Um, guess what I won” followed by, “Let’s just say I’ll be listening to Kings of Leon, Tom Petty, and Stevie Wonder all day to celebrate.” Chicago radio station 93XRT had awarded him passes to the Hangout Music Festival thanks to an Internet contest. We suddenly found ourselves determined to get to Gulf Shores, AL.

Bear in mind that, initially, we didn’t know that XRT was going to supply us with a beachfront condo with an ocean view or that the tickets he won were actually VIP. We didn’t know we’d get free drinks and food, access to a special swimming pool by the main stage, as well as umbrellas, lounge chairs, and hammocks in “VIP Grove”. One thing we did know was that it wasn’t too late to secure press passes, which would get us into the photo pits (my first time!) and the breezy media area overlooking the festival in the Phoenix Hotel parking garage.

Photo by Amanda Koellner

As the pieces of our plan hitched together, excitement ballooned. I used nearly my entire vault of Southwest points to purchase round-trip tickets from Chicago to Atlanta to Pensacola and back. We talked the lineup top-to-bottom, and once it was revealed, Josh annotated the schedule with places to be and things to see. We purchased shuttle passes that would easily get us between our condo and the festival. I bought a new camera a week before the trip and quickly did my best to learn it well enough to not seem like a total novice in the photo pits.

Josh even found a video of this guy, a fan whose leg had been run over by a dump truck on a sunny day when he was listening to none other than Tom Petty. He was left with one wish: to see the legend at Hangout because “Tom Petty rocks.” This phrase became our mantra, and we repeated it in our best Southern accents during the days leading up to the fest. Server refills your drink at a restaurant? “Thanks a lot, Tom Petty rocks!” A kind gentleman holds the door open for you? “Thanks a lot, Tom Petty rocks!” Rinse and repeat.

When the time finally came to depart, we did so with enthusiasm and excited wide eyes. Because Tom. Petty. Rocks.

Friday, May 16th

3:49 a.m. - Our alarm goes off. It’s so goddamn early. I feel like a newborn deer trying to open its eyes and walk for the first time. That kid-on-Christmas-Eve adrenaline quickly kicks in and I start gathering my luggage.

4:30 a.m. - We have a Groupon-type thing for a town car, so we’re riding to the airport in style, mostly because taking the CTA to Midway isn’t even an option at this ungodly hour. Our driver gets us there in 15 minutes. Good work, Lee.

6:27 a.m. - Our captain’s gentle Germanic voice drifts over the intercom, and Josh turns to me to say, “Christoph Waltz is flying this plane.” I laugh. It’s uncanny. “It is a beautiful day for flying,” he says, immediately leading the passengers to believe what he’s actually saying is, “It’s a beautiful day for killing [insert unlucky victim in a Tarantino film here].”

7:00 a.m. - I put on the smooth sounds of Rhye and sleep the rest of the flight.

10:02 a.m. - We’ve jumped to Eastern time, but we’re heading back to Central. Time zones confuse me so I don’t spend too much thought on this. The Atlanta Airport bustles a little too much for my liking. There are people occupying every available space, and I’m ready to roll out.

11:47 a.m. - We’re riding in a mini van across the Florida/Alabama state lines. I’m laughing at the absurdity of this Friday morning compared to most. I call my mom to touch base before ceasing most communications with the outside world. She is utterly excited for us. It makes me happy. I’m excited too. We find our condo, home sweet home for three sweet days, and settle in.

1:13 p.m. - We’ve arrived at the festival after one of many very pleasant shuttle rides. We stroll toward the second floor of the Phoenix Hotel’s adjacent parking garage where the press area is located in an open, breezy area overlooking the festival and oceanfront. We’ve just gotten my photo pass after a touch-and-go-moment at the media tent. Lissie is playing the Chevrolet Stage, covering “Pursuit of Happiness”. We’re yelling and running up this ramp and wind is blowing and the sun shining and it’s invigorating and beautiful. We’ve arrived.

Photo by Joshua Mellin

2:38 p.m. - From the Chevrolet Stage through the food and merch tents around the Ferris wheel and down to the main stage, we’ve wandered – toes deep in the fine, white sand – nearly everywhere. The lay of the land had been gotten. We sit on some lounge chairs in VIP grove and I go order a drink. Walking up to a tent, ordering a white wine, and walking away without being prompted to pay is maybe the best feeling on Earth. I can hear The Sheepdogs playing in the background; my ear is fine-tuned to their sound having reviewed their album late last year. Josh takes a catnap, and I drink wine and groove in the chair, taking it all in.

2:45 p.m. - A band I don’t recognize starts to soundcheck on the small stage within the VIP area. I can’t hear The Sheepdogs anymore, which is sort of a bummer, so I check the rest of the day’s schedule and get butterflies. I’m about to go in the photo pit for the first time. Jim James, Grizzly Bear, Passion Pit, Kings of Leon. I repeat it in my head like Arya does the names of those she wants dead on Game of Thrones.

3:30 p.m. - We wait for Jim James at the entrance of the photo pit at the main Hangout Stage. Josh gives me pointers and my nerves grow.

Photo by Joshua Mellin

3:45 p.m. - I’m so fucking close to Jim James. Ten to 15 feet from Jim Fucking James. I’m passing as an old pro and almost getting results on my par with my attitude, to my serious surprise. James comes closer to where I’m standing in all his shaggy-haired goodness, and my composure is gone. I can’t even take a photo. I dance and grin like an idiot, and at one point I turn to Josh and actually say, “I’m tearing up this is so exciting!” He and his band are opening with “State of the Art (A.E.I.O.U)”, which had to have been written for the sole purpose of kicking concerts off in the best possible way. The budding instrumentals grow, and the way the singer delicately annunciates those five titular vowels with concentration and precision is amazing, especially at this proximity.

4:16 p.m. - After our first three songs come to a close, we retreat to listen from the VIP area, which we literally spill into from the photo pit, in perhaps the most convenient setup possible. I may or may not have, at this point, ordered yet another free wine. You guys: FREE. WINE. Not one to discriminate, I will later order more than a couple beers and a vodka pineapple. James continues to roll through his solo material. Seeing him in his signature suit while bikini-clad girls groove and the Gulf of Mexico’s wave crash so close by makes for a fantastic juxtaposition. The weekend’s only just begun.

Photo by Joshua Mellin

5:00 p.m. - Back across the beach at Chevrolet, Grizzly Bear takes the stage, and my first thought is how adorable Ed Droste looks in beachwear. He’s donned a patterned navy, short-sleeved button up with light-blue striped shorts and a pair of Ray-Ban aviators atop. He could nearly pass for a Tommy Bahama mannequin, and it’s fabulous. One of the reasons I love Hangout is also one of the reasons I’ll jump on any chance to see Jimmy Buffet with people I adore (my parents, old friends, and the like): I can’t help but feel like life is a party when surrounded by people dressed in beach/Hawaiian wear. Everyone’s on a mission to have a good time. So why not get in on that?

5:17 p.m. - Droste informs us the band has never been to the great state of Alabama. “Check that off the list!” he yells. I think about tossing my sunglasses onstage for Daniel Rossen. The way he’s squinting is giving me a headache. We’re enjoying the set, but we stroll on. So it goes in festival land.

6:03 p.m. - Josh is enjoying shade and getting some water in the Grove. He’s not a fan of Passion Pit and he’s also not feeling too great. I check my watch. They go on in 12 minutes. I decide I’m getting into the pit.

6:08 p.m. - I do my best run through the sand to the main stage. Passion Pit is set to go on in seven minutes. It’s a long jaunt, but I’ve committed and I feel determined. I stop for a brief moment when I’m near the ocean to take a slow, 360 degree turn and appreciate the scene for a moment. Moment absorbed. Back to the task at hand.

Photo by Amanda Koellner

6:15 p.m. - I tumble up to the photo pit entrance panting. This is an exciting solo mission, and I realize I now have a grasp on the duties of covering a festival as a photographer. I’m impressed with those who do it often. I collect myself and dart in the minute Passion Pit saunters onstage. The opening of “I’ll Be Alright” rattles and takes over my whole body; I’m actually leaning on the speaker at one point. I start snapping away, but I can’t stop holding my camera down to smile at frontman Michael Angelakos because he looks loose yet sprightly, and it’s so fun to see him happy.

6:19 p.m. - My second song in the pit is “The Reeling”. Still a dance track, but it’s more concentrated. I get in the zone and take some of my best photos to date.

6:21 p.m. - “Carried Away”: At this point, I’m in between having a party for one and turning to dance with the people who’ve arrived early and are having the time of their lives in the front row. The band is having a blast and so are we. I leave the photo pit grinning and fist pumping with the crowd.

6:30 p.m. - I retreat from Passion Pit, which is harder emotionally than it should be. I find Josh. We gear up and head east for The Shins.

Photo by Amanda Koellner

6:45 p.m. - I’m waiting to enter the photo pit for James Mercer & Co., and I’m freaking out to say the least. I’ve loved this band for so many years yet this will be the first time I see them live. There are a myriad of reasons for this, but they don’t matter now. It’s happening.

7:00 p.m. - My settings are off. This keeps happening to me when I first enter the photo pit, and for about 20 agonizing seconds, I think that I’m not going to end up getting any good shots. I momentarily give up to actually enjoy the music, recollect myself, eventually seizing an opportune moment to fix the settings and carry on. Now, James Mercer is crystal clear on my LCD screen, and I realize, holy shit, I’m seeing The Shins.

7:05 p.m. - “Caring Is Creepy”, and I’m locked eyes with James Mercer. Is it embarrassing to admit I cried in the photo pit? Because I did.

7:25 p.m. - Despite the loss of Jessica Dobson, who left the lineup for solo project Deep Sea Diver, the band is on point. The fact that I can see The Shins and the ocean is overwhelming and I can’t stop wiping stray tears from my somewhat sweaty, somewhat sandy face. “Australia” picks me back up, though, and as we retreat into the crowd, I embody Elaine Benes dancing on a beach vacation.

Photo by Joshua Mellin

7:50 p.m. - We begin our trek toward the main stage because Josh has informed me the photo pit will be crazy for Kings of Leon. The Shins are ripping through “Kissing the Lipless” and I dance, trying not to think about the fact that I’m walking away from a forthcoming rendition of “Sleeping Lessons”, and begin to grow antsy for KOL. I’ve seen them several times, but always from the lawn of an amphitheater or upper-levels of an arena. This is going to be insane.

8:30 p.m. - I think about how the most exciting time of any festival is when it gets dark that first night. It’s nice.

8:33 p.m. - We’re waiting outside of the photo pit…and it’s crazy. There’s an overflowing army of photographers and they’re dividing everybody up into two groups. I’m told this often happens for big headliners. I sign a release form and am given a Kings of Leon bracelet which feels like a prize. It’s going to happen.

Photo by Joshua Mellin

9:00 p.m. - They kick things off with “Radioactive”, which is fun especially because it means they know not to save it for an encore or anything despite the fact that it was the lead single off their most recent album. From there, the fuzzy power of “Crawl” pounds into my chest like a sledgehammer, and I’m rocking out on the railing waiting to shoot. The band looks thrilled to be back, and they’ve never sounded better. None of the Followills seem the least bit inebriated, either. At least not yet.

9:27 p.m. - By the time we secure a spot in the crowd, Kings have launched into “Fans”, which I’ve listened to driving with the windows down approximately 1 billion times. I realize the rest of this blurry dream of a Friday is happening right now, and I dance.

10:37 p.m. - I’ve had a lot of free wine. When you’re on the beach and Kings of Leon are playing and you’re dancing in the sand with an unlimited supply of alcohol at your fingertips, the songs all blur into one big party – but hey, just as the Followills would have wanted, right? I have the time of my life though, rest assured.

Photo by Joshua Mellin

11:00 p.m. - Fireworks and the encore: “Closer”, “Use Somebody”, and “Black Thumbnail”. The entire beach is drunk. Heading toward the shuttles during the last song, we see a thousand big-group, four-person, couple, and even solo parties happening in little circles throughout the crowd. The collective mission is to get to that place where you’ve let go and real life doesn’t even exist. Mission accomplished. It’s a mess in the most beautiful way possible.

Saturday, May 18th

Photo by Amanda Koellner

1:40 p.m. - We arrive at the fest in time to see Public Enemy, but our expectations for having a chance to shoot the rap group are low. We go to the right side of the Boom Boom Tent, but the security guard tells us the pit entrance is on the left. We speed walk around the crowd and tent to squeeze through a small passageway. I’ve been at the festival for no more than 7 total minutes today, and Flava Flav is all up in my face. I get one of the best shots of the day and look over to see Josh having a ball. I haven’t had coffee this entire trip, but Public Enemy has proved to be the perfect morning boost.

2:20 p.m. - I’m lying in a hammock drinking a screwdriver in the VIP Grove when Josh tells me Dirty Projectors go on in 10 minutes. For some reason, I thought they were playing on Sunday. Despite feeling as comfortable as I’ll ever feel, I rally up because I sure love that band.

2:30 p.m. - Dirty Projectors open with “Swing Lo Magellan”, and we roll up to the photo pit about 20 seconds in. Watching David Longstreth’s tribe is interesting and meaningful for me, but it’s hotter and less exciting than the mayhem and shade of Public Enemy in the Boom Boom Tent. Shortly after evacuating the pit, we head for the media area and enjoy the music beneath comfort of the breezy shade.

Photo by Amanda Koellner

3:30 p.m. - To be honest, I don’t know much about Gov’t Mule or Warren Haynes. I’m told he’s a festival mainstay and guitarist for the Allman Brothers. I’m sold and also perplexed by my previous lack of this information. We enter the pit, and his powerful electric guitar grabs strangles me, though his set doesn’t fully sell me until I hear him cover Zeppelin’s “Since I’ve Been Loving You” toward the end. It rocks.

4:30 p.m. - We’re heading back across the beach toward The Roots. We decide to enter the pit at the Chevrolet Stage on the right this time, which means we need to walk through the crowd, toward the ocean and around. The crashing waves serve as a constant reminder of the surrealistic nature of the weekend, and I’m grateful for each and every one.

4:45 p.m. - The Roots remind me that Saturday night is upon us. They’ve arrived to party, and their mission seems to make sure we’re all on board, too. I’m always star-struck when I see Questlove, and tonight he’s looking fresh. The afro: tamed and braided. The ensemble: chic and classy. I read a Q&A with him in the most recent Esquire I picked up at Midway, and today he looks like he’s straight from the menswear magazine’s glossy pages. Totally adorable.

Photo by Amanda Koellner

5:55 p.m. - Josh has a hunch that Snoop Dogg is going to join Kendrick Lamar on stage after organizers seemingly sent out his publicity information along with that of those playing the fest. We’re crammed into the left side of the Boom Boom Tent, and even though he’s supposed to go on in five minutes, they haven’t let the photographers in the pit. There’s nowhere to stand, and people with red artist wristbands keep asking to pass by us. It’s hot and unpleasant. The crowd starts an “LSU” chant followed by “Let’s get weird! Let’s get weird!” Sway, the MTV VJ, takes the stage and yells, “This is my first time in Alabama!” I grow excited because hip-hop shows in the pit have been a blast thus far, and it seems like Lamar is set to immediately follow Sway.

6:27 p.m. - But he doesn’t. Instead, the VJ holds a rap-off contest between crowd members and we’re packed, sardine-style, with fellow photographers and those with unrealistic dreams of the front row. I’m having trouble breathing. A very large photographer who is apparently well-known on the festival circuit won’t stop pressing up against us, and it’s the only time I feel unsafe the entire weekend. In that moment, staying doesn’t feel the least bit worth it. We retreat, and I’m so happy when I breathe regular air again. We’re told Lamar showed up about 20 minutes later. I never would have lasted.

Photo by Joshua Mellin

6:55 p.m. - After much debate, we’re at the top of the Ferris wheel. It gifts one of the most breathtaking views I’ve ever seen. The festival surrounds us, people litter the white sand, the Gulf of Mexico beats against the beach, and the sun is setting over the bay. I can’t opt for one view or the other, and I rotate my head like a hyperactive owl in an attempt to take in as much of it as possible. I say “wow” a lot both during and after the ride. Josh seems thrilled I peer-pressured him into it. Everyone has won, yet again.

7:15 p.m. - We’re strolling into the VIP area when we hear “Hard To Handle” by The Black Crowes. I only know the name because I later Google it. I find the fact that it’s happening quite humorous as drunks try to sing the infamous gibberish chorus.

8:06 p.m. - We’re waiting in line at the photo pit where they’ve handed out release forms for Tom Petty’s set at 9 o’clock. Josh and I are numbers seven and eight of a plethora of photogs. He reiterates what a big deal this is, and I once again feel half completely lucky and half totally out of place.

8:46 p.m. - I ask Josh what time Petty’s set to go on. “8:45,” he says. I reply: “It’s 8:46.” I see on his face that he’s nervous for the first time all weekend.

Photo by Amanda Koellner

8:47 p.m. - The lights darken, signaling Petty’s arrival. As we wait, we overhear police talking about a man along the rail brandishing a weapon and threatening to kill Tom Petty. I only catch bits and pieces of this from Josh; there’s a lot happening, and I was nervous before there was a weapon in our midst. The police bring the suspect in front of us, and I freeze when they actually pull a knife off of him. Josh looks equally as shocked, especially because in this moment, Petty has just taken the stage, and normally the photographers would be flooding in the pit by now. The police quietly and calmly talk to the man, and they’ve confiscated his weapon. The publicity people who have been handling our release forms and organizing our pit entrances look anxious, but the cops give them the go-ahead to let us in, so we dart past the criminal. We’re in, and no one was hurt. Especially not Tom Petty, who is henceforth known as Cool Jesus.

9:01 p.m. - Petty plays The Byrd’s “So You Want to Be a Rock ‘n’ Roll Star”, “Love is a Long Road”, and “I Won’t Back Down” while we’re in the photo pit. Petty’s grinning and raising his hands in the air to one section of the crowd and then another. Add in those blonde locks, that scruff, and his general aura: Cool Jesus. The Church of Petty plays on, and he rolls into “You Wreck Me” and “Mary Jane’s Last Dance”. After “Good Enough”, it’s time to really please this crowd. “Free Falling” awards a few of those sweet festival moments where literally everyone is singing the same words and seemingly experiencing a collective liberation while doing so.

Photo by Joshua Mellin

10:04 p.m. - Halfway through “Tweeter and the Monkey Man”, Tom Petty and his Heartbreakers have lost us a bit. He eases into a series of deep cuts, which is a tall order for attendees who’ve been broiling under the Alabama sun for two days. Soon enough, he eases into a downtempo and lovely version of “Learning To Fly”, which reels the crowd back in.

10:45 p.m. - Fireworks: round deux. Petty closes with “Don’t Come Around Here No More” and “American Girl”. We really hope “Tom Petty rocks!” guy is somewhere under the same Alabama moon as us, dancing on one leg, crutch in the air. Exiting the fest, we shout a few “Thanks a lot! Tom Petty rocks!” to the heavens, just for the man in the video.

Sunday, May 19th

1:06 p.m. - We decide to cut out any running around on the last day and set our sights on just three acts: Ellie Goulding, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and Stevie Wonder. I’m already sad to leave tomorrow. I make a rule that we’re not allowed to talk about our 6 a.m. – flight on Monday until it happens. Josh agrees.

2:16 p.m. - There’s a light film covering the sun, so it still looks like a bright and beautiful day, but it’s just the slightest bit cooler. We walk in the media gate we’ve used all weekend, and the same security guard has been there all along. He’s high-fived us upon each entry and exit, and yesterday he complimented Josh’s Beastie Boys shirt. Today he tells us, “The party’s really getting started now that you’re here!” He’s a peach.

2:45 p.m. - Grove time. I say “Treat yoself!” with a nice big glass of wine and some delicious tacos – fried avocado and southern-style chicken. Josh enjoys chicken-on-a-stick. The food is excellent, though priced slightly higher than at other festivals (the average price for a chicken pita, burger, tacos, what have you was $9).

2:58 p.m. - We’re heading toward the main stage where we will stay for the rest of the day and, consequently, the fest. A gaggle of photographers gather for Goulding. Having only seen her at Chicago’s crowded Aragon Ballroom with a less-than-ideal spot in the crowd, I’m excited both from a fan and photographer’s perspective – a trend before every pit for me.

3:38 p.m. - After an exciting pit and gems like “My Blood”, Goulding has slowed things down. For a minute or two, I’m slightly bored, which I realize sounds ridiculous but the entertainment thus far has just been too good. I take the chance to grab a beer. When I return, Ellie’s auto tuning her voice, and I file it away as another gimmick comparable to her small drum kit. She’s good enough to go without. She proves just that with “Anything Could Happen”, and the crowd’s energy swells.

5:03 p.m. - I call Karen O. a queen. We compare her to Khaleesi. Four minutes later, a line has finally congregated, and we’re photographers three and four of 32. I’m relieved we’ll get in there before some of the giant lenses do. We’re about to shoot the god damn mother of dragons: rock ‘n’ roll edition!

Photo by Joshua Mellin

5:15 p.m. - Rushing so close to the stage for one of my favorite bands whom I’ve never seen live before means yet another unbelievable adrenaline rush. Karen O. is wearing a beach version of her latest ensemble – complete with shorts, a custom bedazzled Michael Jackson tee, and killer Yeah Yeah Yeahs belt. She’s singing “Sacrilege” right in my face. I’m dancing and clicking away, and as soon as I hear the opening drums of “Gold Lion”, I look for Josh. A head-turn to my left and he’s rocking out, too. This band is fucking doing it for me, even though it took us four albums to finally unite.

5:51 p.m. - The opening notes of “Maps” dramatically flow in. Karen O. begins to yell. “We’re on the beach! It’s Sunday! Stevie Fucking Wonder!” Everyone cheers. She follows up, more quietly, as if talking to herself: “I love all of those things.” She dedicates the song to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs crew, and to Stevie, too. The song draws several salty drops from my eyes, but eventually, with all the warning in the world for anyone who’s listened to the song over and over at home, the breakdown hits and we’re all rocking out to the same track that drew tears moments prior. That is the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. It’s quite possibly the best show of the weekend.

7:47 p.m. - We’re sitting by the pool in the VIP area, and the spot where photographers line up is just a few feet from there, so why not? We can hear Trey Anastasio’s guitar solos on the distant Chevrolet Stage, and I’m briefly bummed I’m missing both the Phish frontman and Bloc Party. But excitement escalates when the publicity overseers come to hand out release forms, which will act as a ticket to get into the pit. We’re numbers seven and eight in a line already snaking back around. We all write down our names and outlets, and we’re informed the list will be vetted by Wonder’s people who will then decide to whom the 20 or so coveted spots in the pit will go.

Photo by Amanda Koellner

8:20 p.m. - We still don’t know if the odds will tip in our favor. Sway pops out in front of us yet again. We’ve gone from, “Ooh, Sway!” to “Ugh, Sway again?” There’s just been a lot of the VJ (and a lot of his obnoxious partners), and I think my annoyance is rooted in my former Kendrick Lamar discomfort. I just want some Stevie!

8:26 p.m. - The man with the approved and rejected release forms is making his rounds. I’m standing with Josh and a friend of his who’s been waiting with us. Everyone is nervous, and Josh randomly says he thinks they’ll be rejected and I’ll get approved.

They each get rejected. I’m told I’ve been approved. Holy shit, I’m going in there alone. Anxiety attacks me. Josh asks me if I want to shoot with his camera, and I shake my head – I’m finally getting to know mine. I almost immediately regret the decision when, as Josh and his friend leave me to find a spot in the crowd, I realize I’m among people who have been doing this for 20 or 30 years.

I’m holding a Sony CyberShot DSC-HX200V: a glorified point-and-shoot that aesthetically passes as a professional camera. At one point, I even hold my release form over it to keep my cool when I realize there’s a man who earlier informed us he shot Nirvana in the early ‘90s to my left and two women discussing specific types of film to my right. I’m the smallest fish in what feels like a huge pond. Deep breaths. This is amazing. Deep breaths. This is amazing.

8:30 p.m. - I shed my anxiety the minute my right foot digs into the pit’s sand. I’m bounding toward the stage and instead of worrying about anyone around me, I just repeat Stevie Wonder, Stevie Wonder, Stevie Wonder to myself. I pick a spot near the railing with a security guard to my left and a less-intimidating photographer who looks like a friendly, dorky dad on my right. One of Wonder’s people tells us to gather round, and we’re told we can shoot as long as her thumb is in the air. I have no idea where she leaves to go stand for the show, and I never see that thumb again. No one stops shooting the entire time we’re in the pit, which Josh later estimates was about seven to 10 minutes, and I refuse to cease etiher.

I guess that thumb stayed up. As my confidence builds, I’m springing from side to side of the huge stage. I’m taking time to compose each shot, changing my settings as I need to, and kicking ass with this glorified point and shoot. It’s exhilarating. Wonder goes on a long, probably quite powerful, rant about love or equality or something inspiring. I’m even more starstruck than I was for Petty, so I’m almost hearing his words like a Peanuts character listening to an adult’s inaudible wah wah wah. It doesn’t matter. Josh will later perfectly tweet: “Stevie Wonder for President of the Universe.” Yep.

Photo by Amanda Koellner

8:46 p.m. - I’m in the thick of the VIP crowd and have reunited with my people. Relief washes over me, and I take a quick peek at my LCD screen. Wonder’s playing “The Way You Make Me Feel”, and he’s making me feel quite close to perfect.

9:00 p.m. - He’s covering Lennon’s “Imagine”. Everyone is holding hands or swaying or hugging. The moon twinkles high above him, and I think of how badly I wish he could see the scene he’s created. We all sing along to convey the sight through sound. Yet again, tears stream down my face. I will later call the song my Moment of the Year. It’s May 19th. I’ll take it.

9:07 p.m. - We decide to retreat a bit for a different spot. Wonder’s set to play ’til 11 p.m., and we want to move around. We swing by the pool on the way to perch on the corner and overlook the VIP area and main crowd. Josh taps me to point out a big guy in a black Tom Petty tour T-shirt with red type from 2003. “Maybe it’s the Tom Petty rocks guy!” We laugh. But from there, a series of unbelievable seconds unfold that lead me to believe that Tom Petty, Cool Jesus, has led this man to Hangout. Both my eyes and Josh’s dart from the man’s T-shirt down to his side. He has a cane, and it’s clear he’s suffered a massive leg injury. Josh is staring at me wide-eyed, and I tell him he has to ask him about the video. He does. It’s him. The two share a moment, and Josh genuinely congratulates him on making it to the festival. We’re in utter disbelief. “That made my festival,” Josh says.

Photo by Joshua Mellin

9:40 p.m. - We’re retreating yet again for the final meal. We want to get back in the crowd for Wonders finale, so we’re dance-walking out to “Sir Duke”. As long as you can hear Mr. Wonder, it doesn’t really matter where you are because everyone is smiling and giddy. I wonder what life would be like if his music was constantly playing in the streets.

Probably much happier. Josh and I split chicken fingers, and we try to order loaded Cajun fries. The man is out of bacon, has placed the chicken fingers on top of the fries, and is perplexed about our order. “Can we just have some cheese … somehow?” I ask. He hands me a small boat full of melted nacho cheese. It’s delicious. “Isn’t She Lovely” is echoing throughout the beach, and I say, “I wish my mom was here!” She sure loves Stevie.

10:16 p.m. - We’re back in the crowd. We’re all told we’re now in a band: Stevie’s Incredible Singers of Alabama. “We put every other singer and group in Alabama to shame!” Wonder yells.

10:27 p.m. - “Signed, Sealed, Delivered”. It’s the best dance party I’ve ever been a part of.

10:47 p.m. - After getting down to “Superstition”, we dance-walk toward the shuttles. Our ride to the airport is coming at 3 a.m. and I’m going to work in Chicago on Monday. The fireworks seem brighter than the past two nights, and we stop to watch the finale when the ones that look like gold, shimmering weeping willow trees rain from the sky. I get that pang of homesickness for the place I’m still at and have never actually truly called home that I always get when a trip comes to a close. I try to fight it and hold onto every second of the rest of the night.

I feel incredibly lucky when I reflect on the weekend’s experiences, moments, laughs, dances, drinks, tacos, and company. I’m thankful for the ocean, the palm trees, the Ferris wheel, and artists. I’m grateful for the shuttle drivers, festival organizers, and attendees that traveled across the country or maybe just across town. I’m thankful for remembering how beautiful life is. And I’m thankful for music. Especially music.

Gallery

Photographer(s): Amanda Koellner, Joshua Mellin

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The National celebrated this week’s release of their Top Star-earning album Trouble Will Find Me with an appearance on another New York institution: The Late Show with David Letterman. The band performed “Don’t Swallow the Cap” accompanied by a string section — watch the replay below.

Good, right? You know what else is good: Michael Roffman’s new Cover Story on the band. Read it here.

The-Dream and Kelly Rowland both have new albums due out in the coming weeks, which they’ll support with a joint tour. Last night, the duo appeared on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno, where they performed their collaboration “Where Have You Been” from The-Dream’s IV Play. Watch the replay below.

Take a listen to the studio version of the track:

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IV arrives May 28th via Radio Killa/Def Jam, followed by Rowland’s Talk a Good Game on June 18th via Republic.

The-Dream and Kelly Rowland Tour Dates:
05/24 – Kansas City, MO @ The Midland
05/26 – Silver Spring, MD @ The Fillmore
05/28 – Baltimore, MD @ Rams Head
05/29 – Boston, MA @ Wilbur Theatre
05/30 – New York, NY @ Best Buy Theater
05/31 – Philadelphia, PA @ Theatre of the Living Arts
06/05 – Atlanta, GA @ Center Stage
06/06 – Orlando, FL @ House of Blues
06/07 – Myrtle Beach, SC @ House of Blues
06/13 – Jackson, MI @ Thalia Mara Hall
06/14 – Baton Rouge, LA @ Varsity Theatre
06/15 – Houston, TX @ Arena Theatre
06/16 – Dallas, TX @ Palladium
06/20 – Detroit, MI @ Royal Oak
06/21 – Cleveland, OH @ House of Blues
06/22 – Cincinnati, OH @ Bogart’s
06/23 – Chicago, IL @ House of Blues
06/26 – Sacramento, CA @ Woodlake Hotel
06/28 – San Francisco, CA @ Regency Ballroom

Kylesa’s latest offering, Ultraviolet, is similarly rewarding and a natural progression for the band. The methodical tempo of Spiral Shadow returns, though there are even more compositional frills this time around, which might disgruntle some headbangers looking for a rawer form of metal. Cope’s production beefs up the dual drums of Carl McGinley and Eric Hernandez, giving Ultraviolet a dense sound that brings out the dynamic flares of the album: the loud parts louder and the soft parts are, well, less loud.

“Unspoken” is an early highlight, showcasing Pleasants’ new-and-improved lead vocals. Her melodic range has seemingly doubled, but she retains the smokiness that’s made her one of the coolest women in heavy metal. Pleasants and Cope trade off on the mic like old times, yet Ultraviolet feels like her album. Her bloody screams on “We’re Taking This” are a perfect counterpoint to the singing, not to mention the borderline dream pop on closer “Drifting”. Kylesa doesn’t waste a single passage anywhere, and consequently, there’s great flow to the record. “Steady Breakdown” summarizes all these traits, giving Pleasants a chunky riff to curl her voice around before ending with a hit-and-run guitar solo.

Ultraviolet falls in line with rest of the band’s catalog in that it’s tight, front to back, but it might be their most direct record as well. Kylesa have morphed into a heavy metal powerhouse — one which continues to produce satisfying records that defy immediate classification.

Essential Tracks: “Unspoken”, “Steady Breakdown”

The appeal of the band’s 2010 debut, New Chain, stemmed from songs with simple structures embellished with exhilarating tweaks and flourishes. But as the band began to move away from their chillwave label, their pursuit of clarity led them to strip away those “details” and rely on baser emotional sentiments.

And all that emotion is just as captivating. “No Stranger” sees frontman Josh Kolenik make a profound declaration for interpersonal connection, cooing, “Take me through your barricades/Push me through your city walls/Take me, I can be whoever you want/You’re no stranger to me.” Amid the saccharine beat of wubby synths and drum machines, it’s a huge, almost staggering development from when they started.

Album opener “Free At Dawn” features little else than that titular mantra repeated ad nauseam, yet there’s a kind of existential relief and joy to it that you can’t help but react to with similar contentment. The band ensure their journey toward maturation isn’t too forced by filling “Breathless” and its uptempo groove with contradictory apathy and uncertainty (“I’m standing in tomorrow’s way/Future’s fine/Least it seems OK”).

The production isn’t totally underwhelming, just streamlined to develop a sense of dream-like haziness. There are several bright spots: “Proper Spirit” is the trippy love-child of synth-pop and cheesy ’80s rock ballads, while “Shook Loves” implements pitchy horns to sound like synth-jazz. The focus, though, is on their emotions, the band presenting themselves as troubled, complicated souls trying to figure it all out.

Essential Tracks: “No Stranger” and  ”Breathless”

But the long con is that Osborn’s not punk, hip-hop, folk, or even straightforward rock. And although social commentary in music certainly isn’t limited to those genres, it’s rare that you see criticisms as pointed and humorous as his in swing and cocktail jazz — the mediums which he seems most comfortable playing in. Sure, a healthy dose of dub-sans-step creeps its way into the ballsy military chastisement, “Yours Alone”. But the upstroke guitar and darkened, simmering bass are novelties on a record packed with lounging piano and an ace horn trio.

Osborn rounds out the rest of The King & The Clown with love songs, or at least songs about love. Like his “political” songs, they’re at their best when they are criticizing someone, whether it’s the irresistible yet hypocritical girlfriend in “Little to the Left” (“She loves to wear leather/She hates when I eat meat”) or the drug-addled partner in “Subterfuge”. That’s not to say Osborn comes off as some holier-than-thou dickhead. It’s just that the more biting he is, the more specific he gets, and the songs are all the better for it. Otherwise, we get the overly general pining heard in “Siren” and “One Chance”. Far from being clunkers, they’re also not lyrically interesting enough to break out of their standard tango and blues trappings. Stay romantic, Nat, just as long as you stay angry too.

Essential Tracks: “Fire In The Wind”, “No Reason”, “Yours Alone”, “The King And The Clown”

“Don’t Let Me Go” opens the irresistible ten-song collection with Balthrop’s echoed dreaminess over a muted guitar accented by bass jabs. The chords could easily be from the Neil Young songbook but the mellow arrangement soon takes on added dimensions with waves of lead guitar, keys and strings.

Retro-pop number “Wanna Be In Love” takes off brightly from its opening staccato keyboard riff. Balthrop re-imagines a powder-puff utopia of teen longing encapsulated in three-minutes: “I wanna be in love with someone even if it’s star-crossed” she opens with, hinting at the age-old fallacy that any love will do. In contrast, the chilled strains of “Wait For Me”,  with its apocalyptic subject where “the earth collides with the moon and the sun is like fire on your skin” show a far more downbeat side to Balthrop. Elsewhere, her honeyed drawl on  lilting songs like “Nowhere To Be”, “Where Did We Go Wrong” and “Let’s Dance” remain close to her country roots.

Instrumentally, the album is varied enough to help the songs take on their own character; the brass sections on “Please Don’t Tell Me A Lie” really lift its cyclical main theme and compound the lyric sentiments, while the pedal steel stings on the closer, “Let’s Dance”, are perfectly realized. Balthrop equally has an ear for great melody lines that lend her songs immediacy. Throughout there is a charm to her writing that makes her heartache believable and measurable. So much so that it’s hard not to fall under her spell.

Essential Tracks:  “Wanna Be In Love”, “Don’t Let Me Go” and “Please Don’t Tell Me A Lie”.