
It appears one cage just wasn’t enough for the powers that be at this year’s Sun God Festival. After confining the best day of the year to RIMAC Field last Friday, they decided to erect yet another barricade — this time around the Dance Tent, where DJ Z-Trip was laying down a set for the ages. Anyone catch that “Ring of Fire” mashup? Hot damn.
According to A.S. Associate Vice President of Concerts and Events Alex Bramwell, there were still 1,000 students who wanted to belly up to Z-Trip after the tent had reached its 3,000-person capacity. So he made the decision — along with his UC Police Department and University Events Office cohorts — to block out the remaining 1,000 so that the crowd wouldn’t become dangerous. Then, when the blockade itself became dangerous (surprise, surprise), they shooed Z-Trip offstage an hour early. (Fat chance Z-Trip, or any artist in his circle, will bother showing up at our poopy party anytime in the near future.)
Basically, authorities made the only move that would ensure people got hurt. If you place all $550,000 worth of Sun God events in one small space and then tell everyone they have to stand idle on a cold, moonlit field — watching from the sidelines as the dance party of the year rages on without them — you’re going to have some broken ankles on your hands.
The Dance Tent is not the same as the Main Stage, where back-and-forth shoving can lead to lung-crushing quarters and the infamous domino effect. It’s the very same Dance Tent used at Coachella, where everyone walks away fine (or as fine as they can be after re-enacting “Flashdance” on MDMA). Hormonal chicks aren’t generally straining to reach the stage so they can kiss the feet of the main act; in fact, ravers tend to leave themselves some dancing room. And if students felt suffocated during Z-Trip, they could have woven their way out — that’s what the row of giant arc-openings along the sides of the tent are for.
The most ironic part is that, by confining the festival in the first place, coordinators created the overcapacity problem themselves. Until 2008 — when, in response to the chaos of Sun God 2007, all booths and day stages were swept from around campus into the stifling RIMAC dustpan — wristbands didn’t even come close to selling out. Officials have cited the higher number of health emergencies in 2007 as the reason for the new caged format. However, we’d like to personally deliver the breaking news that, despite all campaigns toward sobriety, the same stuff still goes on — just behind the closed doors of dorms, apartments and offices across campus.
From the administrative standpoint, another main drawback to the all-campus format was the mess it left behind. Maybe if the A.S. Council hadn’t blown $5,000 to $6,000 on a Sun God blowup doll (redesigned by A.S. graphic artists to resemble a disfigured sci-fi insect, the perfect muse for their circle-jerk), and instead paid a janitorial staff to clean up after Friday’s campuswide debauchery, we could have let off some real steam.
It’s clear the force of youthful fun-bellion on campus is moot when the fearless assholes from student newspaper the Koala don’t even have the balls to set up their annual waterslide on Sun God Lawn — the only thing the rest of us can agree to like them for — due to a few official-looking e-mails threatening legal action. (Major flops there, gentlemen.) Or maybe they were just shamed by that mountainous, chest-pumping blowup slide the A.S. Council spent $1,000 to set up on Thursday in the Koala’s traditional spot. Student-run radio station KSDT, likewise, was coerced into holding its Student Center mini-fest the day prior. Once Friday came around, when students referred to “Sun God,” it was clear they meant the setup on RIMAC — not the entire awesome day in general. Unless we wanted to get creative, there was simply nowhere else to go.
So you got us where you wanted us, dear student leaders. We showed up to your birthday party. And then you had the nerve to tell us that, in the interest of our own safety, the only option at prime rage hour was to listen to some shitty Christian-rock band you booked on a self-suckling nostalgia trip.
Don’t get us wrong: We had a fucking blast on Friday. But that’s because the Student Center was our (desolate) jungle gym, and most of our friends without wristbands somehow managed to sneak in unpunished (to both the main cage and the mini one).
Even through the mind-altering haze, though, two things were glaringly clear: 1) The UCSD administration finally won the thumb war against the most resistant of its citizens, and 2) Our student government is isolated and ego-tripping — hard.
To all you Sun God virgins, the festival may have looked like a slightly lamer — but at least seemingly free — version of Coachella. (That is, if the Coachella lineup had been reimagined by your little sister on a snickerdoodle high.) But think about it. Can you fathom the kind of fun we could have with half a million dollars?
Sun God tradition used to be that, for one day, through the unsuspecting canals of our very own eucalyptus grove, we the UCSD nerds could make it rain. Instead, last Friday, all we got was an elbow-wrestle with a Staff Pro perv for our deserved spot beneath the lasers, topped off by a sloppy pickup line from an ex-“Degrassi” cripple across the field. We want our money back.