Behind the stage, standing on trampled grass and surrounded by Port-a-Johns and assholes, I found something I’d never seen before: campus, all brick and glass and plaster, lit-up, and beginning to look like home. It was a feeling that all the Southern Comfort couldn’t douse; the fire lit up the sky and reflected off of the water. It reflected off of the windows and the cars and off of everyone’s glasses—I hope everyone was watching. Those fireworks were our heartbreakers, our singers, our celebrities. Out of reach, untouchable, disintegrating before we got a chance to even grasp them. I hope we spent half our money there.

Fall Fest for the past few years has been largely split between rock and rap music. SA officials believe this to be the best way to accommodate every stubborn student in the university. Don’t like rap? Don’t show up.

In the bright Friday sunlight, to a small audience of those who showed up on time, Clipse blew me away. It’s always easy to put your hands up for the first group you see, but Clipse deserve most of the praise for the show. They make you feel like they’re playing for you, showing you their favorite old tracks, rhyming to everyone’s favorite beats, and having a great time.

It should be no surprise that both openers carried the show. Kelis played “Milkshake,” which is built on one of the fuzziest, hardest bass lines this side of Megadeth. And this band, they were just incredible. Her songs had a completely new life, one really reserved for sounding that good and being that fun, not just to play the record. She played her new hits “Blindfold Me” and “Bossy” and sang with a microphone stand, in her black and white striped dress, her high heels, and gold heart earrings. She had cut all of her hair off in the back, leaving the front almost long enough to look through; she looked gorgeous.

Everyone’s favorite self-proclaimed reggae artist, Sean Paul worked the crowd like crazy, playing all the songs the audience expected, which was pretty great. He asked where the alcoholics were, and a lot of people raised their hands and screamed. He asked which ladies wanted to get with a Jamaican man, and a lot more people raised their hands and screamed. His dancers stole the show, while his guitar-playing left something to be desired.

Sean Paul played an extra long set and saved Cam’ron’s ass. Cam hardly played after showing up hours late. Killa Cam, with his great studio albums and innovative rhymes, gave a laughable fuck you to his audience as well as the other performers on the bill. Behind him was a staff of big guys, typical, I guess, for these events. It

reminded me of that scene in Take the Money and Run where all the guys on the chain gang have to use the bathroom at the same time. The real hilarity came during “Oh Boy” when his DJ sang the chants. Imagine a piss-drunk answering machine message—“Boy! Boy!…Boy” screaming into the microphone. He didn’t play “Hey Ma” or “Weekend Girl.” Stunning.

In those 45 minutes between Kelis and Sean Paul, people were screaming. Not just the usual “Where all my…at” which plagued the rest of the show, but screaming along to the songs the DJ played. They screamed “Sean Paul, Sean Paul” so loud they probably could have drowned out the PA system. We’re talking about a lot of different people coming to this event—regardless of which act they came for.

SA pays hundreds of thousands of dollars each time it puts on one of these fests, rock or rap. It’s amazing to me that our own Student Association thinks so little of its peers—that we can’t stomach anything outside our comfort zones. We have access to all of our favorite songs right at our fingertips. Is it stupid to think we could learn at Fall Fest? Go and hear types of music that our ears aren’t necessarily in tune with? Is it stupid to think that we’re all mature enough to hear guitars and beatboxing and emcees and screamers performing together?

If this summer’s music proved anything, it’s that some of our favorite songs come from completely out of left field; musicians known for one genre, coming out with something completely different. Nelly Furtado, a pop singer, made “Permiscuous” an urban-pop song with Timbaland, a hip-hop producer. “Crazy” was practically a soul song sung by Cee-Lo Green of the hip-hop group Goodie Mob with DJ Danger Mouse, a DJ/producer known for The Gray Album, a mash-up of the Beatles and Jay-Z.

With genre-specific music festivals, SA proves to be far behind the accepting, progressive minds of its peers at UB.

For most students and musicians today, it’s not a matter of rock and rap or black and white that make up music. The top of the pop charts demonstrate that now more than ever.

When will SA fucking listen?