In the early hours of the day of the first Spring Jam since the pandemic halted the gathering of large crowds at University-sanctioned events, I awoke to a booming clap of thunder. The forecast said rain, all day, and bearable — but uncomfortable — temperatures. However, like many, I had plans in Dinkytown.
This Spring Jam would be different, as everything has been in a “post-pandemic” world where the word “normal” has lost its meaning, though by different I also refer to the literal planning of the event. UMN’s Student Union and Activities wanted this festival to be more than just an excuse to day-drink at the end of the semester, but were they successful?
Wandering down University Avenue that morning, the answer seemed to be “no.” There were glittering bodies of students moving as one across each muddy lawn on frat row, dancing clumsily (but passionately) to haphazard remixes of “Fire Burning” by Sean Kingston, clutching open containers of the trendiest seltzers in the same hand as their comically large cylindrical disposable vapes, or actual gallon milk jugs of multicolored mystery liquid (fun juice, perhaps).
One frat, whose crowd spilled out onto the street, had a tattered brown couch aloft in the tree out front, several partiers sitting and gently dancing upon it, so as not to tip their precarious seating. One particularly jazzed attendee held a cardboard sign pleading, “You honk, we drink” to those driving down University, and many obliged, prompting cheers from the shirtless, Gopherall-wearing bros.
Much of Dinky and the road to Parking Lot 37 (the glamorous locale of Spring Jam, just behind Mariucci Arena) was populated with similar crowds, co-eds sporting cheap plastic rain ponchos over their carefully selected party fits, some intentionally planning their looks around raingear and some wearing no coats at all, despite the windchill and damp air.
Students stumbled out into crosswalks without prompting from stoplights, taking swigs from full bottles of wine or hauling 12-packs of Busch Light. Many of them wouldn’t make it to 3 p.m., the festival’s start time. Soon, though, droves of attendees from all manner of student housing would pour out into the drizzling day and make their way to that parking lot.
The carnal, carnival atmosphere persisted inside the gates as a couple on stilts wandered around, the man twirling his thickly gelled handlebar mustache. Another performer, a unicyclist sporting a rainbow-striped windbreaker jumpsuit riding a stuffed unicorn (yeah, really) circled around the entrance.
Though the event forbade the admission of outside liquids, it didn’t take long for attendees to find a workaround. As I waited in line for a nearly $8 cup of ice cream, mere feet away from oblivious security and the cops watching the front gate, giggling Jam-goers tossed backpacks full of clanging glass bottles over the event’s fences to friends inside before entering. The weather persisted, sending a chill across the lot, puddles quaking with bass from the Battle of the Bands performances.
The event’s crowds clustered around the various food trucks and carnival rides, each amassing lines of people that stretched across the lot in organized chaos. Inflatable tube men in various vibrant colors did their dance in the intense winds of the day as attendees tried their hand at the yard games set out for their enjoyment. One nearby tent held caricature artists, and another a taste test for Coca-Cola’s Starlight, which supposedly tastes how space feels.
“I think it’s great in the sense that we’ve made it more accessible by making it free for entry. I think that’s really important because that was definitely the barrier for people before and we’re getting local artists and stuff,” Calianne Jones, a fourth-year who was around for the 2018 Spring Jam but did not attend, said. “So I like that about it. I think it’s cool. I’m having a good time.”
Not everyone was as enthused. One passerby complained, “Some random university in Illinois got Yung Gravy, who even are these people?”
As LA-based synthpop artist Sophie Cates began her set, a modest crowd gathered at the mainstage. The mist soon turned to rain as 5:30 p.m. rolled around, and attendees huddled under umbrellas, clutching their hoods over their heads against the sharp winds.
Despite the dreary day, many used Spring Jam as an excuse to mingle and make friends. Sitting in the little beer garden, a few nice folks wandered up to me and asked if they could join me. They felt the event was lacking, too.
“It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s gross and there’s nothing here I don’t have to pay for,” Annika Smerud said, huddling with her friend against the chilling wind, adding that the event was disappointing given the amount of money students pay to attend the University. “This is the best they could do?”
Though admission to the event was free for students, most of the attractions inside (aside from the music) cost money to participate in.
Erin Sternke, who came with Smerud, agreed. “I feel like it’s fun, but at the same time, it’s weird, isn’t it?”
Sternke was a first-year when Mason Ramsey and Lil Yachty performed at the 2018 Spring Jam. She attended but doesn’t remember much about it. Over a $6 shared beer, the two discussed whether or not the big slide was worth waiting in line for 45 minutes. They decided to head out.
The rain worsened, cutting through my “water-resistant” coat. My unfinished ice cream melted into my hand, dripping down and mixing with bulbous raindrops. It was hardly 7 p.m., and even the event itself seemed tired.
On the way back to my car, I heard a commotion behind a large, stark blue Domino’s truck, where two drunk girls were relieving themselves. Their friends caught up, one on the verge of throwing up as they stumbled home, another drunkenly chanting that they should all throw up. Was today really worth the wait?
