Morning came pretty early on Day Three as the pointless musings of Ted and Alice’s dopey friend pulled me from Slumberland. She was going on about the Disco Biscuits show, which Fumo and I had skipped because we weren’t in any condition to start a show at 2am. However, the rest of her group had been there, so she wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know, except possibly that she had convinced herself one of the band members noticed she had cut her hair recently.

Friday’s rain had made the ground quite muddy. Thankfully, I had brought my hiking boots at the recommendation of the website. Fumo and I went into the grounds early and caught Hightide Blues, a young quartet from Atlanta, GA that earned its appearance through a radio-station contest. They kept the small group of attendees dancing amidst the raindrops with their modern Southern rock.

The sun burned through the clouds pretty quickly during the Soul Rebels Brass Band set. Since the two largest stages had no tents, people set up near trees, refreshment stands, garbage cans, and even larger concert-goers to beat the heat. Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings, who I became captivated with after Coachella, performed with low energy, so Fumo and I gave up quick. Thankfully, Abigail Washburn & the Sparrow Quartet featuring Béla Fleck sounded tight and their upbeat bluegrass music invigorated us. So much so, we paid no attention to the fact the only members unnamed, cellist Ben Sollee and fiddler Casey Driessen, didn’t add up to a quartet with Fleck.

Many comments were made that Metallica seemed out of place at Bonnaroo, yet I never heard that same mindset attributed to Mastadon. Sure, they are more progressive metal compared to Metallica’s speed, but damn if they weren’t just as loud, as heavy, and as compelling. It’s better to hear and appreciate a band like this mixed with other genres instead of sandwiched in with similar bands.

Fumo had headed back to camp to recharge while I went to spend time with another legend whose path I am not likely to cross too many more times, the 82-year-old B.B. King. Early in the set, there was a break in the action as the mayor of Manchester honored King with the key to the city. I found the intensity of the late afternoon heat unbearable. I could only tolerate so much while listening to B.B.’s set, which was too easy going. The music didn’t stand out enough to keep me hooked, so I ventured back to the car.

On the way back, I saw Alice among the vendors. I was going to say, “Hello,” but she caught the attention of another fellow when she let him know she had nuggets for sale. They disappeared among the parked cars, and I could only hope she was an equal partner in this operation, because it doesn’t seem to gentlemanly to have your girl slinging, but then I make no claims of understanding the mind of the modern woman.