Surviving Roots Picnic: Exhaustion, Photos & Thoughts

If you went to the Roots Picnic, you might be tired. Here’s how an AllHipHop writer made it through on Day 2.

Notes from a seasoned head who made it out, but is still in recovery.

Day 2 of the Roots Picnic hit different. They don’t tell you that you will still be exhausted from day one. Fairmount Park was packed, the lineup was stacked, and I had to see T.I. and Erykah Badu, among others. Philadelphia was doing what Philly does, shows out! Between the heat, the crowds, the human traffic, this was destiny. Speaking of, a full moon shined over a closing set from Badu. Day 2 was equal parts endurance test and spiritual experience. I made it through. Here’s how.

Rule 1: I was not trying to be cute. I was careful.

General admission was not a fashion show. I left the fresh Timbs at home and pulled out those Air Forces I’d worn six times and was about to retire for summer. They were broken in, comfortable, and I wasn’t having a heart attack when somebody stepped on them or they caught some Fairmount Park dirt. Comfort over clout. Every time.

Rule 2: I found my spot. Didn’t make it hot.

I knew myself going in. At a certain age, nobody’s got business in a mosh pit — and even though Roots Picnic ran calmer than your average festival, the front row had its own survival of the turntest energy real quick. My millennials: I invested in VIP, grabbed a blanket toward the back, and vibed at my own speed. Both are valid. Both are honorable.

Rule 3: I kept my head up and my eyes open.

A wise man named Jimothy Jones (Jim Jones) once dropped that gem, and it held up at every step. I stayed aware of my surroundings — and you never know who’s moving through the crowd. Spotted Wallo from Million Dollars Worth of Game out there showing love to Philly like it was nothing. But that same beautiful chaos? That’s how you lose whoever you came with in two seconds flat. I stayed locked in.

Rule 4: When I didn’t know the words, I let the artist work.

This one wasn’t survival — it was courtesy. T.I. was up there doing his thing, “the king, b##ch” in full effect, and somebody nearby was mumbling through every bar like DJ Clue talking over the drop. Couldn’t tell you why the Rubberband Man’s partner was looking at him sideways. Some of us were trying to watch a show. I read the room so you didn’t have to.

Rule 5: I came in love. I left in love.

Through the long walks, the bad service, the porta potties that had no business smelling like that — none of it mattered when the full moon rose over Fairmount Park during Erykah Badu‘s set. That was the reminder. Both days, this was a celebration of Black art, Black joy, and Black community that was damn near overwhelming to witness. To every head who came from every city to be part of this — respect. We proved to ourselves again we are enough. All we need is each other.

Below are some images from the weekend, from the incomparable journalist Kathia Woods. All rights reserved.

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