Best & Worst Moments of Bonnaroo: Day 3

Gwar / Photo by Ian Witlen

WORST EVERYTHING: GWAR
It's the highest compliment we could pay the legendary shock-metal band. Among the atrocities committed by the mighty monsters of GWAR in the wee hours of the festival's fourth day: live human dissection by buzz-saw, glorification of crack smoking, incitement to violence via brutal moshing, desecration of a deceased pop idol (Michael Jackson depicted raping an alien infant), and quite possibly treason as Barack Obama was eventually decapitated in effigy. But the encore beat all. After Margaret Cho mock-fellated singer Oderus Urungus to the brand new GWAR tune "Margaret Cho is a Ho" -- resulting in a god-awful spray of fluids -- the band marched to Bonnaroo's famous fountain and dyed it blood-red. -- CHRIS MARTINS

BEST GLOBAL ELECTRO-RAP IMP: BOMBA ESTEREO
"This is psychedelic cumbia," announced Bomba Estereo frontwoman LilianaSaumet matter-of-factly during the Colombian four-piece's early-afternoon set, but their sound (engineered primarily by bassist/production mastermind Simon Meija) can't be pegged so simply. Mixing traditional Colombian folk with hip-hop, electro, and hypnotically twangy guitar riffs, Bomba got a grubby side stage bustlingas Saumet, wearing a pink workout top, gold short shorts over black tights, and sparkly silver shoes, played the slinky tomboy, striking goofy action poses, trilling speedy raps, and dropping into a hand-on-hip purr. Her precocious antics spurred the crowd to triple in size after only a half-dozen songs. -- CHARLES AARON

BEST BONAFIDE ROCK GOD: THE DEAD WEATHER
Not only is Jack White a journeyman rock prince, now dude can control the weather. "Remember which band brought you the rain," said the top-hat-wearing Tennessee resident as his quartet kicked off their 6 P.M. set. And rain it did, as if his backwoods bluesman persona had summoned the dark clouds with his two flailing drumsticks. The Dead Weather's set was a fitting romp of unhinged roadhouse licks, complete with big shiny Gretsch guitars, as she-devil Alison Mosshart tossed herself around in a leopard-print cardigan, tight jeans, and black makeup galore. Conan O'Brien sure approved. He introduced the band, saying, "I love them as people. I love them as artists. Seriously, I would paint their houses for them." -- WILLIAM GOODMAN

WORST BOSS: DAN DEACON ENSEMBLE
After the generousness of Jay-Z's set (now there is a man appreciative of his fans and backing musicians), it was painful to transition immediately to Dan Deacon, the kind of sinister overlord usually confined to Steven Seagal movies. "Bass players are a dime a dozen," snarled the Baltimore electro songwriter, halting the first purrs of a promising synth jam to mock the mortified four-stringer who was playing in the wrong key. But Deacon didn't seem to be kidding in his derision; he paced the overstuffed stage of neon skulls and other unsettling Santorium paraphernalia, leading his primal 14-piece band through offerings from last year's Bromst with a pursed diva scowl. The selections sounded fantastic, thanks to the eerie dragging keyboards, torrential drums, and, yes, a hungry man's platter of bass. No man is an island, Danny boy; you'd do well to be as gracious to your band as Jigga is to his. -- STACEY ANDERSON

BEST VIRTUOSIC USE OF SWEARING: REGGIE WATTS
"Let's talk about some shit," began the baritone-voiced Reggie Watts to the packed comedy tent. The crowd had come to see Aziz Ansari, but they left converts to Watts' wry free-associative humor thanks to the phenomenon known the "Fuck Shit Stack." Twiddling knobs on a looper and an effects processor, Watts laid down the beat for his cult Internet hit vocally, then proceeded to rap a stream of profanity -- "shitmotherfuckerasstitscuntcock" -- occasionally interrupted by instructions on how to build the titular construct. For the finale, he layered his pitch-shifted voice into a complete choir of women singing the coarse refrain. Naturally, he received a standing ovation. -- CM

BEST PATRIOTIC SWITCHEROO: WORLD CUP -- ENGLAND VS. USA
At exactly 2:11 PM on Saturday at Bonnaroo's Lunar stage, an undifferentiated mass of sweaty, sun-baked Americans splayed on blanketsand standing dazed in a Tennessee field suddenly became deliriously pogoing soccer fanatics, as Clint Dempsey scored an unlikely tying goal that glanced off blundering English goalie Robert Green, and the air wasfilled with beach balls, flags, shirts, umbrellas, water spraying, horns blowing, and scattered chants of "U.S.A.!" The announcers referredto the "catastrophe," and the faces of the English hooligans in attendance were a bright pink study in dismay and simmering rage. What could they do? Bailto Norah Jones? Punch the hippie in the oversize pumpkin head? Steal anocarina and bash the emo teens exiting Circa Surive? No option seemed even remotely sufficient to address the catastrophic circumstance. -- CA

BEST STORM FRONT SERENADE: AVETT BROTHERS
As the sun went behind the clouds and the sweltering temperature cooled, Scott Avett put down his banjo and sat at the electric piano to play the Avett Brothers' heart-stopping ballad "The Perfect Space" at the Which stage early Saturday evening. Gradually, a hush fell and the festival's oppressively humid, septic-tank stench of bedraggled humanity lifted for a blessed second. "I wanna have friends that I can trust / That love me for the man I've become and not the man I was," sang Scott in a yearning boyish wail. Later, the song's rock section kicked in, as brother Seth crashed a power chord and started wailing too, but it was that first moment, when the weather broke along with Scott's voice, that had an almost devotional quality amid the maddening mobs outside. -- CA