Bless This Mess: A Guide to the Atlanta Mess Around

Since 2008, East Atlanta has opened its gates to an international mob of creeps, bozos, groupies, and uptight record geeks for a three-day-long party that rivals a wild New Year’s Eve without all the backwards counting. The men all stink, the native women lose their minds, no one washes their hair or bathes and everyone is drunk for at least 36 hours straight. So while everyone else was pretending to be at Coachella (I’m looking at you, Tupac), I went undercover to find out what the hell the Atlanta Mess-Around is really all about.

Joseph (Gentleman Jesse, The Weight) & Seth (Peach Kelli Pop, Useless Eaters)

Newcomers to Atlanta may be surprised by the mysterious lingering aroma of perfume, cigarettes, puke, and booze, but to locals these ingredients are as vital as a shaman’s incense. When the out-of-state tags start pulling into town late Friday afternoon, you start to get the creeping feeling that something is gonna happen. After the first dozen high-fives, you settle in. The first night of the Mess-Around is all about pacing yourself; it’s a wild night, but if you plan on partying all day on Saturday, you better bring your A game. Don’t bother making any extended plans to eat with friends or go to a shooting range later in the week; despite your good intentions, none of this will happen. You and your friends are drunks, and terrible at planning. Some of your friends may even be French.

After consuming gallons of cheap beer and taking shots with anyone who will have you, it’s a miracle that you are still alive, but at the core of all the marathon bullshit sessions and “I love you, man” musical dick-stroking, we start to get an appreciation for what makes the city of Atlanta so fun for one glorious weekend out of the year: the weirdos. It would take a thousand hologram rappers to even come close to the presence of one legit freakazoid like Timmy Vulgar or Paul Museum. We have plenty of our own legendary local oddballs here, but this fest caters to OOT fruitcakes, and the combination is outstanding. In Atlanta, it makes perfect sense for TV Ghost to follow a band of gothic housewives at three in the afternoon. At this point, no one is even really hungover yet. Everything is just brimming with potential.

Greg Cartwright (Obvilians, The Reigning Sound) at Earl’s Dunch

If you’re an autograph hound or just a creepy stalker, you’re gonna need some background info or you might get lost in the shuffle. With all the camaraderie of bands and old tour buddies reuniting, it’s hard to keep track of who’s playing and who’s just along for the ride. The fact that the Mess-Around audience skews to the over-thirties makes it difficult to distinguish the more seasoned acts like Zero Boys from the guy who owns the record store across the street. Do your homework.

No one takes cabs in Atlanta, so another thing more sophisticated guests notice is the fact that cabbies here have no clue where they are. This means you’re doing the DUI-dash if you wanna get in on any of the late-night house party action. If you’re lucky enough to arrive in one piece, you’ll be rewarded with more bands, a few wasted nymphomaniacs and maybe a resin hit by the bonfire, but don’t linger too long because you’re probably one frustrated chest-pounding away from a good old-fashioned brawl. Use this time wisely. This is the lightning round for hook-ups. These are especially valuable if you need a warm place to stay, and there are no more rooms at the inn. From the looks of it, there are many eager participants happy to sponsor an attractive visitor for the night. Choose wisely though, you don’t wanna have to do the walk of shame from Ponce De Leon to East Atlanta in the morning—you have an early day tomorrow.

Timmy Vulgar and the Organisms

Chances are, you have forgotten to eat anything so far. Lucky for you, the Douchemaster Records guys are food nerds that grind and case their own sausages just for the Mess-Around. They set up a little tent at 529, just outside of the area you’ll be puking in later tonight. After filling your belly with sausages, oysters, and kimchi, it’s time for another Bloody Mary and more bands. 529 is kinda like Atlanta’s version of the bar in the TV show Cheers, except the Kirstey Alleys look like American Apparel models, and our Ted Danson is a really cool dude that buys everyone shots. Don’t do too many.

Congratulations! If you’ve made it this far, you are in it for the long haul. This is the home stretch. At this point the drug dealers have packed up and gone home, the fire marshal has made his rounds, and the rabble is greedily soaking up every sweaty minute of it. Bands like Los Vigilantes and OBN IIIs seize the moment and treat the crowd to vulgar displays of primitive sexual energy. By the time Atlanta’s prodigal sons, The Carbonas, take command of the stage, the fuse is lit. Everyone loses their shit. Beer is flying everywhere. Dads are moshing. Nothing makes sense. Cue the weird after-parties.

Orville (OBN III’s) falling head first into crowd

Lured by the promise of MDMA, you may find yourself on the lawn of some stranger’s house Sunday morning with no idea how you got there. The only reasonable cure is Dunch at the Earl. Dunch is like a really retarded late brunch that, although delicious, can be very annoying due to the terrible jug bands that typically accompany it. How fortunate for you that at the Mess-Around, it’s none other than Greg Cartwright of the Oblivians and Reigning Sound giving your hangover the aural equivalent of a spa day on muscle relaxers. Soak it in.

So, if you ever want to see a 37-year-old stage-diving into the reluctant arms of an amazonian floozy again, book your flights in advance and have your tickets in hand, because this only happens once a year, there is no guest list and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Michelle (Stolen Hearts) & Stephanie (Coathangers)

Paint Fumes in green room at 529

Greg King from Carbonas

Dave Rahn’s (Carbonas) shoes

Will Greene (GG King)

Chaos

Photos by Tim Song