Heavy Tulsa I

The R&R Records Heavy Tulsa experience was as decadent as ever.

We stepped off the plane and into a limo headed straight for the den of excess I’d first seen at last year’s festival. Not every event was like this—but this was Stan’s crown jewel. In six years, he’d grown it from a passion project of 20,000 fans into a 100,000-ticket, multi-day behemoth. Every band, every slot, every sponsor was handpicked by him. If you were playing Heavy Tulsa, you were treated like royalty—provided you could survive it.

At check-in, we were given four hotel rooms. The others didn’t know it yet, but we wouldn’t be seeing much of them. As a festival veteran, I knew the rhythm: no one made it to bed. The pre-party started at 9 p.m. on the grounds and didn’t end until 4 a.m. Most bands floated from lobby bars to the casino, then back to the venue by 9 a.m. when backstage reopened.

From that point on, it was chaos—twenty-four-seven until Monday afternoon. The veteran headliners knew to pace themselves. Smaller bands? We didn’t. We weren’t even playing until 11:30 p.m. on Sunday.

We were fucked.

By 5 p.m. we’d dropped our bags in our rooms. A note from Stan told us to meet in the lobby at 8. I warned the others not to expect to be back here anytime soon—not until after our set. Realistically, we’d crash here at some point. Maybe. But knowing us? Not likely.

After a quick nap, we stepped into Stan’s world.

The hotel lobby was packed—bands stacked shoulder to shoulder, riders already in hand. Stan stood center stage in a polo shirt, jeans, and sunglasses indoors. Of course.

“Thank you all for being part of the 2012 Heavy Tulsa Festival,” he began, voice slick with pride. “You’re the entertainment this weekend—but I make sure you’re entertained. Wherever I am, you eat for free, drink for free, and you can get anything you want—for a price.”

He smiled like the devil had comped the weekend.

“There’s a bus outside to take you to the grounds. Your welcome packet has a phone number—use it to get back here or to get whatever you need. So be as irresponsible as you want,” he spread his arms, “and let’s fucking party.”

Arriving at the grounds, the sounds of the first band were already echoing through the Oklahoma sky.

“Wes, can you do something for me this weekend?” Scott asked in the chaos.

“I can try.”

“Please keep an eye on Courtney… You know the ins and outs of this place.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure she doesn’t end up on her own.”

He was right to be concerned. In this environment, things can get really sketchy fast. I’d seen some awful shit running anything around the grounds.

I came up behind her in the crowd, slipping my arm around hers.

“What the fuck?” she exclaimed.

“It’s just me.”

“I knew that, but what are you doing?”

“I’m letting you know I’m here,” I paused. “Don’t wander off on your own this weekend… and don’t stray out of my sight.”

“Oh, now you care?” she asked, mocking me.

My voice turned harsh, “Courtney, I’ve worked this festival before. I know these bands and these crowds. If you want to make it home alive you’ll do what I fucking said.”

She looked around, processing the sternness of my warning.

The situation seemed to sink in as she pulled into me.

***

As expected, we didn’t make it back to the hotel on night one. Also as expected, Scott and Kenny were long gone. Scott slipped off with some of the headliners a little after midnight. Kenny vanished at two without a word.

When the backstage area opened, Jim, Courtney, and I made our way to the catering area for breakfast.

“I’m going to die,” Jim said, drinking his fifth Monster since last night. “How has it only been twelve hours?”

“Yeah, this is a grind,” I said, chewing on a sausage link. “That’s why I only had one Monster last night… you’ve got to pace yourself.”

“How do you pace yourself?”

“The trick is to take cat naps backstage between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. before the main stage gets going full throttle.” I paused to eat some hashbrowns. “Proteins, fats, and sugared energy drinks are the other half of the equation.”

He laughed. “I can’t believe you’re making sense.”

Courtney had nodded off in her chair. She didn’t get the chance to medicate last night, so her body finally shut down on its own.

“What’s your plan for the day, Jim?”

“I don’t know. I’ll check out some bands and hang out. I’m not here to party… that’s for sure.”

“That’s a relief. If you and I are rested by Sunday night, we won’t completely suck.”

“Howdy strangers!” a familiar voice called.

Caleb slid into the seat between Jim and me.

“I was wondering if anyone would pace themselves,” he joked. “I guess only you heeded Wes’s warnings, Jim.”

We laughed. Courtney stirred awake.

“Yeah, I’ve always been a low-key guy, but seeing Wes afraid of something usually means it’s something scary.”

“Oh, Caleb. When did you get here?” Courtney asked in a haze.

“Like ten minutes ago. How are you, princess?”

“I’m fine… just trying to get some sleep.”

“Wes, I know you know this, but don’t let her out of your sight—even back here.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Courtney was alert enough to understand how opportunistic and sleazy the festival crowd was. If even Caleb was concerned, it was a problem.

“Are either of you joining the All-Star jam at 2 p.m.?”

“Are we allowed to?” I asked.