PLAIN FOLK

by David Gue

Festival Fever

I’m suffering again.

Hot summer days are bringing another attack of Festival Fever. I can find temporary relief at Theatre Festivals, Fringe Festivals - even Jazz Festivals. But my nagging discomfort always persists until I spend several days at a genuine Folk Music Festival.

Live, story-telling music outdoors, with family in a friendly crowd, refreshments close at hand, often in a spectacular setting – for me, this spells happiness.

I remember an afternoon on the hill at the Edmonton Folk Music Festival. Sprawling on the steep slope, only my dug-in heels prevented a slide downwards. Downtown office towers formed a spectacular cityscape across the river valley.

Soap bubbles began drifting by. My college-aged daughter and friends a bit uphill were letting their inner child emerge. I rummaged in my pack, found my own, forgotten bottle of soap bubble solution and joined the playful whimsy.

Far below, Canadian singer Loreena McKennitt was a mere dot on-stage. Her Celtic harp and shimmering voice, propelled by spectacular, insistent rhythms from her tabla drummer, filled the afternoon. Thousands of people on a ski hill were entranced by a spirit of medieval mystery.

A few warm raindrops splattered down. Just a sun shower, so the music continued, but with an additional, almost inaudible accompaniment. Thousands of umbrellas unfurled in whispering unison, their owners trying not to break the musical spell McKennitt was weaving.

That moment was magic. It could not have happened in a concert hall.

Even more than the main stages, I’m addicted to festival side stages and workshops. Performers jamming with new colleagues and unexpectedly creating moments of sheer musical magic – this is close to heaven.

I shared one of many such moments in Calgary. Laura Love, with her bright-red electric bass, shared a stage with a British balladeer and members of an east African group.

Surveying this motley crew, Love announced, “Well, our theme is Something in Common. It’s just not exactly clear what that might be. Maybe we can all play an E-chord?”

Everyone on stage could, and did.

“Fine,” announced Love. “So the rule is, one chord songs for the next hour, and the chord is E.”

A multi-cultural assortment of field hollers, call-and-response, and children’s tunes filled the afternoon. African drumming and guitar riffs mingled with English button accordion and Love’s rocking, driving bass line. Musicians and audience clapped, and danced, and laughed together.

“Now that,” said the woman beside me afterwards, “was a jewel. Times like that make life sparkle.”

Forget adverse weather, quirky sound systems, instruments and voices that refuse to stay politely in tune. In the grip of Festival Fever, these are spicy challenges, not problems.

“Why did I ever stop doing this?” mused singer Susan Crowe on a side stage in Edmonton one sunny Sunday morning. “This is what I was born to do.”

And places like this, I thought watching, are where I was meant to be. At least occasionally.