Jeff Tweedy, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, Oct. 6, 2018
I approached this festival appearance the only way I know how: I woke up (too) early, gathered my supplies, and headed out to the park. Fortunately, a couple of factors worked in my favor: (1) I live pretty close to the park, and (2) Jeff was scheduled for the Rooster Stage, one of the smaller stages at the festival. Granted, the Rooster Stage can be a pain to access later in the day, after the crowds have filled in, but in the morning, it was as open as I've seen it. And it's still a huge improvement over the free-for-all of the Banjo Stage, which Jeff and Tweedy have played before. Coincidentally, just as I arrived, I saw my friend Jenn and her crew setting down blankets, chairs, and all the usual accessories. I took my place next to them.Thus, I activated festival mode, which means I don't go anywhere until my preferred performer plays. Jeff was the headliner, which meant I was there all day. It wasn't exactly a hardship, as San Francisco's summer kicked in with blue skies and a slight breeze. The trees surrounding the meadow offered exactly the right amount of shade too. I don't think I felt a moment of discomfort all day. It also helped that Paul arrived around noon with a burrito and a beverage.
The Rooster Stage often follows a format. Over the last few years, Conor Oberst has hosted his own revue at the Rooster Stage on the Friday of the festival. This year, Buddy Miller was the curator for much of the day, but not immediately. First up was the Go to Hell Man Band, composed of family and friends of the late festival founder Warren Hellman. They hit a bunch of Americana classics and looked like they were having fun. More importantly, they reminded us of the festival's roots and, honestly, how lucky we are that the tradition continues, even after Warren's passing. Let 'em play!
I have to admit I don't know much about Buddy Miller, and I fully expected a surplus of old-timey stuff. I was happy to be proven wrong, as Buddy's selections for his cavalcade of stars offered different takes on what constitutes roots music these days.
To start, the Cave Singers played their take on modern indie rock. I was unfamiliar with Tracy Nelson but soon learned of her ties to the '60s-era San Francisco music scene, and I appreciated the fact that Buddy chose to highlight her talents. In some ways, Molly Tuttle is the traditional fit for this festival with her bluegrass skills. At the same time, she presented a very young face to this storied history of Americana. The War and the Treaty were an African American husband-wife duo who took the energy way up with their spirited delivery and up-tempo tunes. All of them were highly entertaining, and they each joined Buddy Miller for his own set to cap off the cavalcade.
By the time Jeff took the stage, my original cohorts had left to go see Ani DiFranco's set, but as is the way of festivals, other fans and curious parties had streamed in to take their place. Still, it remained comfortable at the front, and we never felt pressed.
If memories of the Fillmore show lingered, I don't think Jeff showed it, though Paul posits that Jeff's song selection ("You Are Not Alone," "Ashes of American Flags") indicated otherwise. However, Jeff was all smiles as he came on, the only true solo performer of the day, and squinted into the setting sun to take in the audience. I hope he liked what he saw.
Jeff played his usual festival set for a little more than an hour. Some of his standards are certainly made for such occasions when you're playing in a grove of trees out on the best coast: "Remember the Mountain Bed," "California Stars," "Acuff Rose," among others. Once more, he asked us to sing with him on "Let's Go Rain," and the crowd seemed amenable, at least from where I stood. Jeff of course couldn't help himself from making fun of us and himself here and there. I think the audience got it. And for us die-hards on the rail, "A Shot in the Arm" was a great closer to get us singing, to keep the energy up, and to remind us of how far the Americana label can stretch.
Thus, I exhausted my allotment of Jeff Tweedy concerts for 2018. I certainly got to see more of his shows this year than I have recently, though perhaps I'll never reach the same numbers I hit during the prime years when we drove through states at all hours for shows. I probably saw more drama than usual, thanks to that gig at my favorite place in the city I call home, but overall, we ended on a high note, with a bunch of good times thrown in. Can't wait to start it up again.
See also:
» feels lucky to have you here
» summer noon
» i will try to understand
» make something that no one else has
» the old buildings downtown empty so long ago
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