Let’s hear it for Wilco! I’m going to let the band get back to it in a minute, but first, I need to make an important safety announcement: Please be careful with what you put in your bodies at this festival. We’re getting reports there are some bad IPAs going around.

I’m not trying to scare anyone, but the beer might be bitter, watery, and with virtually no notes of caramel or citrus. Trust me, people, if you try that stuff you’re gonna freak out.

I get it. We’re all here to cut loose, enjoy our favorite late ’90s / early 2000s band, and yeah—get crazy with a top-rated IPA from the craft brewery truck. But our crew is telling me some of the stuff circulating out there is bad news, man.

I’m not here to narc. But if someone passes you a cup and claims it’s a Goose Island or a Lagunitas, use your best judgment. Sure, it might be a tasty, hoppy, clean pour with an excellent flavor profile. But it could be unremarkable, cloudy, even under-carbonated. I accidentally drank some last year, and I’ve never fully recovered.

We all know the stories of people’s messed-up trips at Woodstock ’99. If folks here start tasting excessively sweet ales or musky notes, the same thing could happen today. And that’s not what Wilco is about. Wilco is about the music. Wilco is about telling anyone within earshot that you actually prefer Uncle Tupelo. Wilco is about wondering whether it’s worth wearing your vintage summerteeth T-shirt if the logo is going to be covered up by the BabyBjorn.

Even without unbalanced IPAs with lackluster aftertastes, we all know things get wild enough at a Wilco concert. Just on the walk up here, I had to brave my way past two thickly sunscreened fans tersely disagreeing whether Mermaid Avenue should be considered “pure” Wilco canon, even though it was technically a collaboration. Christ, we do NOT need to add burnt malts to that energy.

Please spread the word here about potential un-quaffable beers with poor mouthfeel. This festival is a powder keg, and a spark like this could set off an explosion of substance-fueled chaos. Hurry and warn the parents who brought their toddlers to the noon magic show. Warn the fifty-something-year-old couples sitting in the shade in camping chairs eating Caprese salad. Warn the audience at the live taping of Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me.

If you come across one of these IPAs, I urge you to find a festival employee to help you upload your thoughts and critiques to BeerAdvocate. But please, be respectful to our staff. They are local volunteers from the community college who came on to help last minute. I reached out to the Hell’s Angels about doing security, but their leader just called me a “cuck.”

And if, god forbid, you do think you’ve drunk something that tastes oxidized or yeasty, head to our first aid tent or to the gourmet BBQ pop-up, where they have much better IPAs.

Okay, thanks for your attention. I’ll leave it at that and let Wilco get back to rocking out. I know we all want to be home by 6:00 p.m.