Think Bonnaroo, but with corporate sponsorship and an Irish accent. As Bonaroo is to the latest generation of confused hippies, Oxegen lies in the hearts of the blitzed Irish populace.

Set in the hills of picturesque County Kildare, Oxegen is the typical large-scale, three-day summer concert series and even snagged the coveted ‘Yourope Award for Best European Festival’ last year. Competitors Glastonbury, Roskilda and T in the Park were crushed, but they got over it. Boasting acts by Kings of Leon, the Killers, YYYs, and Blur, Oxegen 2009 is expected to pull in around 80,000 drunk attendants each day.

A word of advice for you fellow ignorant Americans on how to properly prepare for Oxygen: consult a J. Crew catalog to see what style of Wellies showcases your ‘individuality’. Check to see what the weather is up to. Stock up on ‘Bavaria’, the European equivalent of Natty light, a.k.a. ‘Holland’s finest beer’. Finally, another glance at the weather forecast might do you some good – but no matter what it says, bring your poncho.

Actually, your best chances at staying dry are with a full-body neoprene suit. Better yet, forget the suit and prepare body & mind for gallivanting in some truly unforgettable mud pits.

As you may have guessed, dearest Mother Nature proved to have a defining influence on the Oxegen experience. As the Irish are used to the weather turning for the worse at moment’s notice, they did not miss the memo on said gallivanting, and were out in full force/fully drunken stupor. Impromptu mud-wrestling sessions spanned throughout the day. Girl/Girl, Guy/Girl, Guy/Guy – it was every pornographer’s wet dream.

Far from wet, the beginning of the day could only be described as grand (said in a flowing brogue) – a perfect setting for a national musical treasure, the Saw Doctors. From our perch overlooking the venue, we observed as every lad and lassie within the vicinity immediately dropped their beers and sprinted (yes, sprinted) to the stage, shouting and jumping in convulsive euphoria all the way. Ducking to avoid the trampling horde, we felt a bit out of the loop, and as the horde settled down and began to sing along in frenzied unison, we listened in amusement. Let’s just say the Saw Doctors’ folk rock isn’t the most appealing sound to Yankee ears.

Okay, you might expect this hometown reception from an island smaller than the size of Indiana. But with this much excitement, and Europe’s proclivity towards independent music – how would the heavyweight Yeah Yeah Yeahs fare? Well, surprisingly, quite poorly. As Karen O did her thing (and the rainstorm began its onslaught), past the front 10 rows she was met with general disinterest and audible booing. Striking poses to enchant a photographer’s heart, her face in defiance of the violent downpour, the performance should only be described as epic. Dearest Karen, please know that at least some fans in the muddy periphery were touched.

In retrospect, the reception of the YYYs performance is itself a mystery. At times, it seemed that the audience was shwasted enough to consider any noise with a regular rhythm (or not) an excuse to dance and enjoy oneself. To escape the monsoon, many flocked to the tents where they encountered bands relatively unknown to them. St. Vincent in particular played a fantastic set to a packed enclosure. Dancing at all the most predictable moments, and often in St. Vincent’s case the wrong moments (we dare you, try to get jiggy to the first half of Black Rainbow) the drunken crowd responded like Pavlov’s dog.

It was in these packed tents that the greatest sense of the Oxegen demographic was achieved. Though fellow student-aged hipsters came in full force, many of them stayed outside, perhaps to make their bright-colored sunglasses even more ironic in the rain. The tents then became home to Generation X leftovers, mostly in the form of couples that were more often than not found twisting tongues and groping each other. For some reason they could only rediscover their youth if every one saw them get it on; one kinky couple even walked around with a blow-up sex doll.

Perhaps jealous of their own peers’ foray into youth, the Oxegen stewards/organizers struck back with inane rules. No piggy back rides – well, sure that could be dangerous with so much alcohol that the bars have to be larger than the stages. No sitting down in the tents – well, sure that could cause trouble in the case of an emergency. No possessing the screw cap of the four-dollar bottle of water you just purchased – wait, what?! We don’t want to carry an open bottle for several hours, why can’t we have the cap?

If they were worried about litter, bottle caps were the least of their problems. About halfway through the day, the site looked like a national disaster zone. Wanting to add his own individual flair to the mess, an Elbow fan stepped out of the crowd and casually puked his lunch out. He then stumbled over to his unfazed girlfriend planted a kiss her on the cheek. Those with a weak stomach may have also have disliked the unspoken agreement between all male attendants to ensure that every vertical surface was successfully used as a urinal.

While it is easy to find reasons to complain, Oxegen itself was an unforgettable experience, and one that we would be more than willing to repeat. Simultaneously a carnival, bar, & music festival, it was a wonderful place to unwind and pay attention to that little devil on your shoulder – not to mention having the chance to see some spectacular performances (We’re talking to you Passion Pit). While we could have done without the girl pretending to throw up on us to get closer to the band, such hootenanny is part of Oxegen’s charm. Now if you will excuse us, we need to get back to scraping the mud off our shoes.

- Kevin Brown & Hunter Holloway

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