9:30PM, on my parents couch
As I count myself a cinephile second only to a music lover I was not at all bothered finding myself on my parents couch last night watching a flick as opposed to listening to live music. I wasn’t bothered but it still felt a little odd. Especially after that build up to the first big day. I’m hoping Friday makes up for it.
Friday, 6:00pm at Stage 6 of 7
Rhiannon Giddens has already caused me to question my lack of religion. If there are angels, she’s one of them. Her storytelling, her ideology & her unsurpassed vocals are intoxicating. The workshops at Folk Fest are what the weekend is about for me: community. They are a microcosm of what occurs with us rabble on the hill. The workshops bring like minded & wholly juxtaposed artists together to play. Sometimes they go around the circle telling their stories through song. Sometimes they come together all at once to create something new. No matter the format, the musicians & artists and all of us present become a new piece of art unto ourselves. Our shared experience is the mana my body sustains itself on until the next EFF. The songs, while they may be previously recorded & played, will never be heard again quite like this. The music becomes connected to all my senses. Take that with a grain of salt but I swear the certain colour of the grass here, when I see it anywhere else, can take me back to one of these workshops. Birds of Chicago, Brandi Carlisle and Darlingside have decided to push Rhiannon Giddens to another level with their virtuous harmonies and playing. I’m going to put my pen down now.
8:00PM, as I walk by stage 2
I stumble upon a workshop with one of my favorite returning artists, Martyn Joseph. He reels me in with his medley of Bruce Springsteen covers.
He then starts into a song about his mother that keeps me on my patch of grass. He sings about Rose. Tears of joy come to Martyn’s eyes. He stops singing at a point to reveal his songwriting process. His finger picking explained, he continues to circle around on the neck of his guitar from ‘home’ out into the unknown and back home again. Martyn jots his ideas out on figurative paper that I can see with my own eyes. He speaks of mothers in general terms. I begin to envision a beautiful superhero the likes that Marvel or DC couldn’t possibly dream up. I begin to see my own mother in the figure conjured by Martyn. My mom passed away suddenly & without warning five years ago last month. I am happy to be joined by her here on the hill. Thanks to Martyn Joseph for that.
As a finale, Martyn chokes most us up again with his political message of hope that prompts one of the hill dwellers to comment, “well, he was very opinionated wasn’t he?”. In the midst of a right-wing extreme making waves worldwide in 2017, I had to agree with the guy on the hill. He may not have agreed with my continuing, “Yes! He was opinionated and thank f*** for that!”
Saturday, 7:00AM, in the lotto corral
As I enter the lotto corral with my group for the first time this year, a very familiar feeling of anxiety and excitement hits my gut. This will represent my one & only gambling experience of the year. I was done with games of chance at the age of 11 after losing $35 in a game of crib to my babysitter. (A million dollars in kid money). My babysitter gave me the money back though. Then my mom got home and instructed me to pay my debt to him. That was a difficult lesson at that age. I feel the bitter sting of being ‘skunked’ again after the first lotto ticket is called and it’s not one I’m holding. Leon Bridges will close tonight’s main stage. With the exception of the EFF community feel, I’ve essentially come all this way to finally behold Leon Bridges in all his glory. I really want to be sitting up close for him.
The second lotto ticket is called. Again, it’s not ours. The butterflies are turning my stomach a little more now. Another ticket is called, turning my butterflies into hopelessness. There’s a very distinct reason I do not gamble except for at this event. I really detest this feeling. As soon as I decide that all is lost and nothing good could ever come of this day, my ticket is called. I get to join the 30 others with the same ticket as mine. Our group will be the fourth to lay our tarps. My best showing in all my years at the festival is group five. I may not even nap later. I feel rejuvenated.
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