Barricading is not for the weak. It’s for the hardcore fans who are willing to do anything to experience their favorite artist live to the fullest and closest as possible. The day is long and the waiting is tough, but the feeling of being able to cry and hold hands with strangers-turned-friends as you all sing that one song that moves you is something worth waiting for.
Below is an hour-by-hour breakdown of the six hours I spent waiting for Lana Del Rey to take the stage for her headlining performance at Primavera on Friday night.
3:30 p.m.: It’s an hour before doors and already I can see a row of people in white dresses, red heart-shaped sunglasses, and ribbons in hair lined up and eager to wait six hours for one artist: Lana Del Rey. The Queen of the Gas Station, The Princess of Americana Pop, Lanita. Whatever you call her, she owns the hearts of youth from all over the world. I discovered Lana when she went by her real name, Lizzie Grant, at the tender age of 10 through YouTube, and I’ve been following her career ever since. This time around I was willing to follow her from beginning to end via the barricade experience. This is not new to most concert-goers. People have waited all day to see artists at least as far back as Beatlemania. However, barricading was new to me, and I knew I was going to be in for the ride of a lifetime.
4:30 p.m: When the doors open, I feel a wave of excitement and anxiety. Like most barricaders, I question whether I’ll get the spot I desire and I strategize how to get to the Estrella Damm Stage as quickly as possible. Once you're past the gate you say to yourself “Feet don’t fail me now” and book it to the stage. I see flashes of the white dresses I saw before running past me and I know it’s a race to the barricade. Security warns people to stop running, and the running ceases only to pick back up until the next security guard comes into your sight. When I make it to the top lookout I can see it: an empty field of green and a beautiful silver empty barricade. I sigh in relief thinking to myself “For my first barricade I’m doing pretty damn good.” However, when I jog down the stairs I see yet again another line, and I know that I’m not quite there yet.
4:45 – 5:29 p.m.: I walk past the row of security and I cement my place in a second line, this time outside of the grounds for the two main stages: Estrella Damm and Santander. Now all I have to do is wait for the main stages to open and pray I get my spot. As time passes, the excitement turns to an aching anticipation to just get to the destination we’re all fighting for. Finally, as the clock turns to 5:30, the line begins to move forward and in the distance you hear a fan whistle the Hunger Games tune—fitting for what’s about to take place.
5:30 p.m.: Once past the line, the crowds of fans sprint along a taped-designated path that Primavera has laid out for us. I think to myself, “Just keep running and keep your eye out for that finish line.” We run along the bright green turf and, finally, I make it. Two rows away from the barricade. I sigh in relief, and as I turn around, I see my fellow Lana fans behind me running and celebrating that we all got the spot we wanted.
5:35 p.m. – 9:30 p.m.: From here on out, the game is simple: sit and wait. At the beginning, we all sit down to secure our spots and rest our legs for the night we have ahead of us. I see senior barricaders pull out snacks and water bottles, a smart move for what we’re all putting our bodies through. At this point, I’d assumed it would get boring, but it turned out to be quite the opposite. Throughout the evening I made friends with fellow solo barricaders who all shared the common goal of experiencing our favorite artist play our favorite songs live.
9:31 – 9:53 p.m.: After six hours of running, waiting, anticipating, and building friendships, the time has finally arrived. The sky has darkened and the only lights that hit our faces are from the stage. We know that any minute now we will see who we’ve all been waiting for: Lana Del Rey. The crowd is revving up. We sing Lana’s hits loudly in unison and we chant “Viva La Reina” until, finally, our queen walks onto the stage, albeit almost 30 minutes late. I let out a breath and a smile creeps up onto my face. I’ve made it.
