Here. why be bashful ...
I've always been a bluegrass fan. From the mid '70's into the early '90's, a never-miss deal was the Great Northern Bluegrass Festival, held on the Mole Lake Indian Reservation near Crandon, Wisconsin. A relatively uncivilized bash, on soveriegn Indian Land, there were essentially only two rules enforced within the Festival Compound: No Violence, and No Theft. Apart from those two proscriptions, enforced more or less by extraordinarilly burly security folk of Native American ancestry and dubious other reference, just about anything went ... and mostly did. State, County, and local cops haunted the exits and the exterior perimiter, readilly picking off the odd idiot here or there foolish enough to revisit the real world while seriously impared and illicitly encumbered, but wouldn't venture in. Prolly wise. Plenty of great music, wonderful fellowship, and no end of Hunter S. Thompson-esque "Down and Out" moments
... Sorta Woodstock '69 DejaVu, but better organized, more food, smaller crowds (typically in the 40-50,000 range). Held every year in late July or early August, it coincided handilly with the Sturgis Festival over in South Dakota, and was an every-year oasis for hordes of bike-borne Bubbas and Bubbettes on their way to or from the almost equally unrestrained Harley gathering a good day's ride to the West.
Then the Mole Lake Tribe got their casino. That spelled the end of the festival. Gambling supplanted debauchery. Terrible shame, that gentrification thing.
Damn! Got me waxin' all nostalgic now. Yeah, Old Howard's gone. Pick on.
BTW, Panzade ... I really enjoyed the songs from the WaPost page. You guys wuz right slick.