About Desert Rocks

Lost History: The Desert Rocks
Music Festival in Moab, Utah
On Memorial Day Weekend 2011, I
was in
Moab, Utah. After a brief economic slowdown in
2008 – 2010, everything in
Grand County was booming again. Organized and
adhoc activities tend to peak on Memorial Day,
making it the busiest time of year. On that weekend,
20,000 vehicles per day passed through Moab on US
Highway 191.
Campgrounds were full and all the usual tourist
spots were packed. For me, it was time to get out of
Downtown Moab and see something new and
different.
That new thing was my attendance at the
2011 Desert Rocks Music Festival, celebrating
its seventh anniversary at
Area BFE. Located thirteen miles south of Moab,
on Highway 191, Area BFE is a 320-acre off-road
recreational area. For that long weekend, it
transformed into a
camping and partying venue,
featuring
live music on three outdoor stages. Although I was
decades older than the average-attendee, it sounded
like fun to me.
Since the Desert Rocks Festival ran around the clock
for three days, Saturday afternoon seemed like a
good time to visit. That way, I could scope out the
event and plan my return for the headliner acts that
night. At the trailer that served as a check-in
point for performers and press, I showed my “Moablive.com”
business card and obtained a press pass for that day
and night. I promised to write a blog article about
the event. In this article, I shall keep my promise
to the promoters of Desert Rocks 2011, then known as
DesertRocks.org.
The
venue consisted of a natural amphitheater, which
sloped down toward two main stages. Around the upper
rim of the amphitheater, there was room for
concertgoers to relax on blankets, while the more
ardent fans could stand a few yards from the main
stage. Food trucks and vendors completed the large
circle, with easy access to tie-dyed clothing,
organic food and coffee for a dollar. Beyond the
music venue were art installations and many campers,
who had pitched tents among the boulders and
throughout the pinion and juniper forests.
When my friend,
Jim
Farrell and I arrived, there was a young woman
playing solo acoustic guitar and singing. She was
playing from a third stage, which was uphill and
closer to the main entrance. With gentle
amplification and her sweet voice wafting through
the air, I was pleased to hear a message of peace
and
love all around me. The whole festival looked and
sounded like my kind of place.
At that time, Jim Farrell owned the
Moab Rim Campark. Without overreacting, Jim
commented that one of the picnic tables at the venue
had been “lifted” from his RV Park and brought to
the festival grounds. As we mused on who had
absconded with the bench and transported it thirteen
miles to Area BFE, we experienced another surprise.
Without warning, a young woman emerged from a
clothing vendor booth. Her hair was up, her makeup
was fresh and she was smiling at us. She wore a
chiffon skirt and a handmade necklace. Beyond that,
she was topless. Jim Farrell, who is one of the
pillars of Moab society, was speechless. As a
photojournalist, I asked if I could take her
picture. “Of course”, she replied. After smiling for
a couple of snapshots, the young woman disappeared
back
from
where she came.
Jim and I decided it was time for lunch. Almost
immediately, we found
Justin Dietrick, preparing organic soups,
sandwiches and wraps in his RV, which he had
converted into a mobile kitchen. His business went
by the name, “Yonder Mountain Sandwiches”, or YOMOS,
which seemed wholly appropriate for this location,
in the middle of nowhere. The organic wraps we
selected were perfect. We ate nearby, on the
previously stolen picnic bench, enjoying our lunch.
It was a hot afternoon, So Jim and I decided to
retreat to the air-conditioned confines of our
respective abodes. In my case, that meant taking a
nap in my travel trailer and spiritually preparing
to return to Desert Rocks after sundown.
After
a nap, a shower and donning some fresh clothes, I
quaffed a glass of wine and then headed down the
highway to Area BFE.
Upon arrival, I flashed my Desert Rocks wristband
and received directions to a secondary parking lot,
half a mile down a dirt road. The darkness and lack
of traffic directions created disorientation among
the throng of drivers. Ultimately, consciousness
returned and we all managed to park in rows, so as
not to block ingress and egress to the festival.
Even though most of us were stumbling around in the
dark, people were friendly and helped each other
find the music venue, which glowed in the distance,
over a hill.
Growing up in Southern
California in the 1960s, I did not attend the
San Francisco “Summer of Love”, Monterey Pop or
Woodstock, whatever that was.
Here
I was, in my sixties, attending my first music
festival. Around me in the parking area were people
who had driven or even hitchhiked to attend Desert
Rocks. Two young women, who had hitchhiked for days,
had utilized a cardboard sign that read, “Desert.Rocks”.
That sign inspired me to purchase the internet name,
“www.desert.rocks”.
Although I could not get a good picture of any
fire-spinners, they seemed to be standing on every
large boulder. Holding double-ended torches, five or
six feet long, they were content to stand and offer
spinning flames as a backdrop to the entire
festival. No one paid them to stand for hours on
end, spinning their fire. It was just what they had
come to do.
Inside
the venue, there were art installations in yurts,
teepees and many other shelters. There was no
additional admission charge to go inside and see
strobe lights bouncing off pans of colored oil or an
artificial celestial scene projected on the inside
of a yurt. For those who had consumed magic
mushrooms or other hallucinogenic compounds, it
probably appeared quite normal. I decided to go feel
the music.
After a group performed rockabilly classics on the
second stage, everyone’s attention turned to the
main stage. This is where my story gets strange.
With no printed lineup of bands available, I do not
remember who the headline band was. Soon, they took
the stage and performed a great rock & roll set that
lasted for over an hour. The lead guitarist looked
like Yeshua, but with enough curly hair for three
people. He sang and played his heart out, as did
his
three bandmates. As the crowd packed in close to the
stage, the band entranced its fans with that
performance. The whole concert was great. Looking
back, six years later, I have no idea who that band
was. Maybe someone can
send an email with the band’s name. I would love
to give them credit.
Although the festival would go on all night, it was
time for me to rest on clean sheets and a
comfortable bed, back at my RV. By the next morning,
a
dust storm covered all of Grand County,
including Area BFE. Having spent some time Behind
the Rocks, covering the
24-Hours of Moab Bicycle Race, I knew the
festivalgoers would have sand in their hair and grit
between their teeth. I left the final day of Desert
Rocks 2011 to the young people. Instead, I went down
to the
Colorado River to watch the
spring flood, as it cut into the toxic
Moab
Pile.
While
preparing to write this article, I researched
Desert Rocks 2012… and beyond. Because Desert
Rocks had outgrown Area BFE, the promoters moved the
2012 festival fifty miles north, to Green River,
Utah. There, at
Jenkstar Ranch, the promotional team planned a “consciousness
festival”. As with the past Desert Rocks
Festivals, there would be visual artists, art
installations, a poetry slam, health-food vendors
and performance art, all in a three-dimensional
time-space reality (3DTSR).
Although I did not attend, quotes from Desert Rocks
2012 include the following: Party’s over, dude—but
it’s for the best. Once one of Utah’s biggest
outdoor-camping party events, Desert Rocks Festival
is now a celebration of consciousness. “It means so
much to me that I’m not just throwing a party in
the
desert anymore,” festival founder
John Ripley Corkery said. “I’m [now] putting on
an event that can help people change how they live.
I was a little depressed that we’re not back in
Moab, but once we lined everything up, all of a
sudden it started to have very serious meaning. I
feel like there was some higher purpose for us to
move to
Green River,” Corkery said.
After the
2012 Desert Rocks event,
Austen Diamond, columnist for the Salt Lake City
Weekly said, “Desert Rocks might be one of the best
experiences that I probably won't ever do again.
Drum circles, hula-hoops and hippies everywhere.
Nearby Green River Beach was the only way to avoid
the beginning of an all-consuming dust storm at the
festival, which was nearly empty by noon. We had a
comfortable view from the car as we try to salvage
our camp from being destroyed. We then drank lots of
tequila in other cars.”
Diamond
went on to say, “A collective, 1,000-person group
hug knelt in the dirt before the main stage to ‘send
energy into the universe’ at the ‘Consciousness
Ceremony’ Friday night. Led by Desert Rocks festival
founder John Corkery and executive producer
Ron Johnson, the crowd began a low, resonant hum
- similar to ‘om’ -, which rose in volume and pitch
to a massive orgy of animal howls. That essentially
sums up the eighth-annual festival: setting a decent
intention, which then turned primal.”
City Weekly copy editor
Kolbie Stonehocker had a memorable time.
“Whenever someone found out it was my first-ever
music festival, they’d say, ‘Whoa, Desert Rocks is
a hell of a festival to be your first.’ Were
they ever right! I will never forget you, Desert
Rocks,” Stonehocker wrote. “I brought
home
enough sand in my clothes and hair to remember you
forever.”
What no one expected was a three-day dust storm so
strong that it shredded the campground. Most
musicians could not risk ruining their equipment, so
music was at a premium. Water supplies in the
campground ran dry, with no further replenishment.
The only refuge for many attendees was to sit in
their cars or leave altogether. In any event, it was
the
last and final Desert Rocks Festival. If you
search the internet for "http://desertrocks.org",
it leads to a "403 Forbidden" error message.