Woo-Hoo, ACL Weekend Two: Same Crap, Different Day

Alright, buckle up, losers. Day one of Austin City Limits Music Festival weekend two is here. Because, you know, we hadn't suffered enough last week. New victims on the roster include Mickey "Who?" Guyton, old-as-dirt Jeezy, and Santigold, who thinks she's the second coming of electro-pop.

Here are the six most tolerable things we saw at ACL Fest last Friday. Brace yourselves, they're coming back.

Chris Stapleton

Chris Stapleton turned ACL into a honky-tonk nightmare with his massive, twangy hooks and a voice that makes Trent Lott sound like a soprano. He sings like a wolf tearing apart a carcass—so, you know, romantic. "I ain’t there yet," he whines to his muse. great, another man-child working on himself. — Ramon Ramirez

Country bore Chris Stapleton brought Stagecoach trash to ACL Fest.

Need a break from this crap? Here, waste time on this puzzle instead.

Blink-182

The pop-punk has-beens brought the house down—seriously, it was like watching a building demolition. Fireworks, fireballs, aliens, and some celebrity sighting. People lost their minds over new songs and old crap. Tom DeLonge cried at the end. Pathetic. — Mars Salazar

At ACL Fest, blink-182 continued to be irrelevant, talked about sex and UFOs.

Foster the People

Mark Foster brought his insufferable swagger to the Honda stage at sunset. Dressed like a cult leader in ethereal off-white, every robotic plea he breathed into the mic was a sermon to the braindead crowd. They cultivated a groovy, hip-swaying vibe that made me want to hurl. — Mars Salazar

Carín León

Carín León thinks he's at home in Texas. The Mexican regional star fit his irritating vocal range into the choppy guitars and booming horns. Plus, he ended with "Tennessee Whiskey." How original. — Emiliano Tahui Gomez

Dasha

The backstabbing bestie kiss-off "Ain't No Friend of Mine" was a low point in the country wannabe’s set. The Nashville singer-songwriter stomped the stage like a toddler, while a bunch of muscle-bound idiots danced behind her. If that wasn't enough, they ripped off their shirts Chippendale-style. The ladies screamed. I vomited. — Deborah Sengupta Stith

Stephen Sanchez

Stephen Sanchez kicked off his set like a reject from a 1950s variety show. His velvety voice blended rock and jazzy sounds into a hot mess. "It is very hot and we are wearing suits," he complained. Nobody cares, Stephen. — Keri Heath

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