The week between Christmas and New Year is a dead zone in every city. Everyone is home, nobody has plans, and the days blur into one long Sunday afternoon of leftovers and other people's families. Dropping a bass festival into the middle of it is either a provocation or a public service, depending entirely on how your week has gone.
A baseball stadium is a genuinely strange place to put this kind of music, and that is precisely the reason to go. Sub-bass behaves differently in a bowl built for crowd noise than it does in a field or a warehouse, because the low end comes back at you off the upper deck about a quarter-second late, so the whole park seems to breathe. The three o'clock start is the part regulars plan around: you get several hours of daylight sets, which is when the smaller names play and when there is still room to actually move, before the thing turns into a night show.
Downtown San Diego, the thirtieth of December, gates mid-afternoon. Check which tiers are left before you commit, because the early presale has already gone.
The week between Christmas and New Year is a dead zone in every city. Everyone is home, nobody has plans, and the days blur into one long Sunday afternoon of leftovers and other people's families. Dropping a bass festival into the middle of it is either a provocation or a public service, depending entirely on how your week has gone.
A baseball stadium is a genuinely strange place to put this kind of music, and that is precisely the reason to go. Sub-bass behaves differently in a bowl built for crowd noise than it does in a field or a warehouse, because the low end comes back at you off the upper deck about a quarter-second late, so the whole park seems to breathe. The three o'clock start is the part regulars plan around: you get several hours of daylight sets, which is when the smaller names play and when there is still room to actually move, before the thing turns into a night show.
Downtown San Diego, the thirtieth of December, gates mid-afternoon. Check which tiers are left before you commit, because the early presale has already gone.
The week between Christmas and New Year is a dead zone in every city. Everyone is home, nobody has plans, and the days blur into one long Sunday afternoon of leftovers and other people's families. Dropping a bass festival into the middle of it is either a provocation or a public service, depending entirely on how your week has gone.
A baseball stadium is a genuinely strange place to put this kind of music, and that is precisely the reason to go. Sub-bass behaves differently in a bowl built for crowd noise than it does in a field or a warehouse, because the low end comes back at you off the upper deck about a quarter-second late, so the whole park seems to breathe. The three o'clock start is the part regulars plan around: you get several hours of daylight sets, which is when the smaller names play and when there is still room to actually move, before the thing turns into a night show.
Downtown San Diego, the thirtieth of December, gates mid-afternoon. Check which tiers are left before you commit, because the early presale has already gone.