early in the morning

When Wilcoworld announced Jeff Tweedy's show at the Fillmore, it took about a minute for anyone who's familiar with the San Francisco concert calendar to note the date and conclude that an appearance at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival would follow. Lo and behold, confirmation eventually followed.

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

i'm so grateful

Every October, we in the Bay Area are forced to make hard choices, some of which can tear you apart. I hated deciding between the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival and the last Giants home games of the year (postseason or no) -- so I split the difference. Fortunately, I was able to get to two days of the festival and catch a bunch of awesome acts.

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, Oct. 2-4, 2015: How relaxed was I to start off the festival? I took the day off from work to enjoy unfettered access to all the music I desired, yet didn't leave my place until 4 pm. Even then, I totally misread the schedule -- I thought the Punch Brothers started at 4:30, but in fact, they were onstage at 4:10. By the time I arrived at the Banjo Stage, they'd probably been playing for a good five minutes or so.

The early impression was not pretty. As I waded through the crowd at Banjo -- which I've told myself over the years I never want to do -- I had to wonder why bother at all. I mean, I've seen the Punch Brothers a bunch of times now, including in very close quarters, and though I like their music, I'm not gaga for them. Nonetheless, I soldiered on and settled in for about 20 minutes of their set, including the perpetually fun "Rye Whiskey," but I had to abandon ship after the Debussy number. Nothing against Debussy, but I realized the Punch Brothers' set doesn't vary enough for me to put up with the masses. However, they are certified crowd pleasers and a natural fit for Hardly Strictly Bluegrass.

The early exit from the Punch Brothers left me plenty of time to get to the much less congested Arrow Stage for Big Star Third. To my delight, it was low-key and mellow, I found a great spot, and -- most important -- I spotted Frank Riley, the man who's booked probably a million shows you've loved. Weekend complete! Well, not quite, but it was a nice item to check off early in the festivities.



Have I gone on record on this blog claiming album-in-their-entirety shows are passe? I stand by it, but I also reserve the right to make exceptions. I think every music nerd can remember the first time they heard Big Star. I'm pretty sure it happened to me at Largo, but of course Alex Chilton was already a legendary name courtesy of the Replacements. Over the years, I've grown more appreciative of Big Star, and their songs can haunt my brain for days on end.

In case you aren't familiar, Big Star Third is a roving assemblage of musicians playing Sisters Lovers, appropriately enough Big Star's third record. I'm too lazy to look up the core members, but it appears Chris Stamey and Jody Stephens are at the center of the group, and the day's gathering included such illustrious names as Mike Mills, Ken Stringfellow, and Pat Sansone, along with local favorites Chuck Prophet and Kelley Stoltz, not to mention Van Dyke Parks leading the Kronos Quartet and other guests whose names escape me.

As usual, I didn't take notes, so I can't tell you who sang what, but I can report they all sounded great. Seriously -- those were divine voices onstage, in a festival full of divine voices. I loved seeing the local faces, which provoked one man near me to inquire about Kelley Stoltz. Another concertgoer helpfully informed him of Kelley's awesome work over the years. Here's hoping the first fellow acted on the knowledge.

Jody Stephens' turns at the mic were especially charming, as he shared his gratitude and his memories with the crowd. As a fan, you had to love seeing a little bit of the original voices in the room. The extra touches -- the aforementioned Van Dyke Parks and Kronos Quartet, as well as a range of horns -- were wonderful too and hardly the grand treatment you'd expect at a free so-called bluegrass festival. But that's another reason to love Hardly Strictly.

I can't lie -- the "hits" were my favorites, and it was even great to hear a version of "Holocaust" that came in at less than 30 minutes. Here's a tip: Don't turn down the chance to hear "Femme Fatale," "September Gurls," or "Thank You Friends" performed by a dozen-odd top-shelf musicians.

Saturday was a little more purposeful, but hardly harried, as the first act I wanted to see happened to be on the smallest, most mellow stage. You'd be hard-pressed to label Nels Cline and Julian Lage as bluegrass in any way -- and that's fine! They still commanded a good audience over at the cozy, laidback Porch Stage. I can't begin to describe their music, except that they touch on a wide range of styles. While much of their set consisted of complex but effortless interplay, what I loved best were the moments where one would simply let the other go and intently observe, no strings touched. It's a beautiful example of trust and admiration.

From there, with a lot of help, we got to a great spot for Gillian Welch and David Rawlings -- which never happens for me. I was ready to be annoyed by my spot somewhere in the middle of the massive field, but Sandy came through with the connection and the moxie to get us to a prime location.

Have I talked enough about how much I love Gill and Dave? Can I make it any clearer? It's been too long since I've seen them, and even a few notes into their set, I was in heaven again. I think they did one new song, but they can sing the phone book in harmony, and I'd listen. They appeared to add another new cover to their repertoire: a version of "Mr. Tambourine Man" they worked up for their recent appearance at the Newport Folk Festival. The highlight for me remained "I'll Fly Away," which moved tons of people to get up from their lawn chairs and sing along. The singalongs get me every time.



From there, I vaguely tried to check out Paul Weller, but I couldn't be bothered past a song and decided to head over to the Robyn Hitchcock set at the Bandwagon Stage -- a new, tiny stage fashioned out of an Airstream-like trailer. As you can imagine, it was a very informal, casual set. Emma Swift joined him for a few songs, and they even soundchecked Roxy Music's "Oh Yeah," though alas, it didn't make the final set. (Sigh.) The best part of Robyn's set was his running claim that every song was set in 1970s San Francisco, even as he admitted it was really about his relationship with his mother. Look, there's no way to capture the aura of a Robyn Hitchcock gig or monologue, which is why you have to see him with our own eyes. Do yourself the favor!



And thus ended my Hardly Strictly adventure for the year. Fortunately, Rocktober is still in effect, so a couple more reports will filter in over the weeks. Once again, all the appreciation in the world goes to the late Warren Hellman and family. I'm continually amazed we get to partake of this treat year after year.

See also:
» tripping the dark fantastic
» don't get around much anymore
» i've heard a rumor from ground control
» Gillian, David, Sean, Sara, Jon, Greg
» that's the way the cornbread crumbles
» overtook me by surprise

summer noon

Is this thing on? Eh, what's a little dust between friends? Now, onto the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, circa 2014.

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, October 3 to 5, 2014: Oy vey, three-plus months without a show -- not even a free one! Would you believe I've been going to baseball games? Though raised on football (and futbol, come to think of it) to the point where I checked out books about '70s-era Raiders (Kenny "The Snake" Stabler! Lester Hayes! Biletnikoff!) from my school library in an effort to bond with my father, I've finally fallen in love with the most old-fashioned of old-fashioned games. Granted, attending two World Series parades and working down the street from the ballpark the cutest catcher in the game calls home doesn't hurt. Still, what's not to love about this view?

Oh, right, Hardly Strictly! The timing of the festival couldn't be better, as the music assuaged all my anxiety over the playoffs and/or gave me a reason to stretch out of the fetal position I've been stuck in since the play-in game. Per usual, I'll proceed in chronological order.

For the first time in a while, I took the Friday off for the festival, with the vague goal of seeing one artist, but little else in way of set plans. Instead, I hopped a friend's blankets and coattails throughout most of the day. First stop: Rooster Stage, which has been an impregnable fortress every time I've casually passed by. Now I know the key is to get there early, if you want to give yourself a fighting chance. Friday at the Rooster Stage has become known as the Conor Oberst show, but I only wanted to see Waxahatchee, beloved by one of my Canadian tipsters. I had no idea what to expect, but they seemed to have great lyrics, and the duo's spare, acoustic performance eased us gently into the long, hot weekend of music.

Next up, over to Star Stage for Thao & the Get Down Stay Down, not only a rocking Vietnamese lady, but a local resident to boot. I'd seen her once previously and thought she was great. I haven't been able to get to any of her shows since, but it's cool to see her bloom and join in on one of the city's marquee events. She and the band sounded awesome, and by my count, she played four different instruments through the set.

Our paths led over to the Arrow Stage, which unfortunately was the hottest, sunniest spot in the entire field on this 90-degree day. I hadn't planned to, but I stuck it out for Hooray for the Riff Raff, who were fun, upbeat, and engaging -- not to mention spot-on politically for the crowd. To top it off, there was still room to do-si-do on Friday.

However, I had played hooky from work specifically for Cibo Matto, who followed Hooray for the Riff Raff on Arrow. I've had a chance to see the band in its reincarnation a few times now, but the twist on this tour was the addition of Nels Cline. I'll go into the tunes a little more in my write-up of the band's gig at the Chapel, but let me say this about the festival performance: Damn, that was fun! Thirsty, sweaty, hot, and sunburned (to varying degrees), we danced our butts off to Cibo Matto. With the musicians themselves jumping around, not to mention Miho and Yuka breaking out their choreography, how could we stand still? Overall, their set was a condensed version of their solo show, but they closed with perennial favorite "Birthday Cake," moving the woman next to me (a complete stranger) to exclaim, "I love that song!"

I don't go to enough festivals to know how the demographics shape up from event to event, but the Cibo Matto crowd warmed my bleeding heart. Clearly, Cibo Matto falls under the "hardly strictly" banner, and all the more power to them for it. Looking around, you could see Japanese visitors, the typical hippie contingent, Nels Cline gear heads, Gen Xers, and today's millennials, all looking for an excuse to dance around and yell out lyrics about BBQ. They were so good, I had no choice but to leave after their set and save what little energy I had left. It was going to be a long weekend! Even better, the Giants took game one of the NLDS around the same time Cibo Matto took the stage.

Saturday also started early and warm, but the wandering was over, as far as I was concerned. Instead, we set up at the Star Stage, and I (for one) stayed there throughout. The day began with Whograss, specially gathered for the festival. A fellow early bird gave me the heads-up on the ensemble: Local notables coming together to cover Who tunes in the bluegrass style. The roll call included Chris von Sneidern, Prairie Prince, and Peter Sear, among others, but my favorite guest was Chuck Prophet, who dropped in for "Pinball Wizard." Truth be told, the bluegrass was less than discernible, but you gotta hand it to them for closing with "My Generation."

If you've been to Hardly Strictly, you know the sets at Star and Towers of Gold are staggered, so you can easily listen to the entire roster from one location. We heard Red Baraat, who were probably incredibly entertaining, if not my cuppa. Back at Star, Bad Luck Jonathan -- aka Jon Langford and friends circa 2014 -- rocked out in ridiculous costumes that looked less than comfortable in the heat. The fashion plate among them was introduced as "the pope of Golden Gate Park," whereas Jon and company had to make do with looking like groomsmen at best. At least Sally Timms wore an appropriately summery dress.

I wouldn't have minded catching Deltron's set on Towers of Gold, but the maneuvering and jostling had already begun, so the PA would have to do. I may have been the only person to be surprised by the closer "Clint Eastwood," but I'm glad they got it in.

Justin Townes Earle was the first performer of the day I truly wanted to see. I'll discuss more in my review of his Great American show, but I'll point out one major difference between the two performances. At Hardly Strictly, he poured out his love and appreciation for his wife of one year. She aptly beamed from the backstage. He too performed a shorter version of his full set, but retained several highlights, including a new closing cover of Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams." I'm pretty sure I've already professed my love of the song on this blog, so there's one plus for the tune. He also mentioned it reminded him of his mother, as did the Replacements song he sang in earlier shows.

Mavis Staples rounded out Saturday's roster. Alas, no guests dropped in (we hear they were communing with nature up north), but Mavis hardly needed a helping hand. Love poured out to her, and she sent it right back to us. We sang along like fools and did all her bidding, as requested. Like Cibo Matto, Mavis drew a diverse crowd, from Baby Boomers (such as the man behind me who found a sudden store of energy to pop up from the stool he had brought along to stand on his feet, loudly requesting "I'll Take You There" at every opportunity) to college students and everyone in between. Obviously, I've seen Mavis in concert before, but this time, without the younger friends, she may have been even more powerful and moving than I expected. Thus, our Saturday at the park drew to a close -- we had a long Sunday ahead of us.

Seven years ago now, we enjoyed the best spot imaginable at the Banjo Stage, thanks to a friend's diligence and single-mindedness. That didn't happen again, though we managed to drag ourselves to the park early enough to learn exactly when you need to show up to grab the prime real estate. We did fine, staked right behind the disabled section; we figured most of the people in front of us would at least be sitting down. Also, the fog finally returned in the morning, and the temperatures dropped to a reasonable level.

I've stayed away from Banjo for a while now, so I wasn't prepared to be steeped in so much tradition -- but that's all on me, not Banjo. Granted, the day's first notes were traditional enough: Emmylou's sound check, which was a small concert in itself. She sounded lovely, and her guitarist reeled off "Hey Joe" before they left the stage.

Of the six acts scheduled for Banjo, two were less than doctrinaire. The first was Malawi Mouse Boys, who broke out at WOMAD last year and are now touring the globe. They had little relation to the rest of the music we'd hear for the rest of the day, other than perhaps the DIY, down-home roots, but I enjoyed their energy and harmonies first -- er, second thing in the morning.

I don't have a ton to say about Hot Rize, the Earls of Leicester, or Ralph Stanley, though I'm sure you can find words of appreciation elsewhere. They were all a twangy run-up to Tweedy, the highlight of my entire festival.

If you've been following this blog, you know I haven't seen a ton of shows this year, including my favorites -- Tweedy among them. I haven't been able to travel to the shows, but lucky for me, their only West Coast date this year (so far) was scheduled for my backyard.

One thought occurred to me as I watched the genre stalwarts fill up the day: Tweedy would be a marked departure. As far as I could tell, the band didn't even use a banjo! The stage's host remarked as much too, drawing a parallel to the old Ed Sullivan show and how we were in for something different. Well, he certainly knew his audience. Though perhaps not so different from Wilco, Tweedy took a hard left turn from the tradition we'd been hearing all day with "Diamond Light" and "Please Don't Let Me Be So Misunderstood." Alas, the hardcore fest-goers who had Emmylou on their minds didn't look particularly moved until later in the set, when Jeff went solo acoustic and broke out old Wilco and Uncle Tupelo tracks. I didn't realize this was part of the Tweedy show, but I always dig Jeff on his own -- which is how he first came to Hardly Strictly years ago.

If I had my way, the setlist would've included "Acuff Rose," mainly because a festival of this sort probably wouldn't be possible without it, but the two closers were well called: the Doug Sahm cover and the crowd-pleasing "California Stars," which finally got the masses up and dancing, including our distinguished emcee and an equally venerable friend.

On the musical front, I loved seeing the band craft the tunes in front of our eyes. Spencer Tweedy has enjoyed his share of the spotlight for this record -- for good reason. His work on the album belies his 18 years on earth, and his live skills measured up to the already elevated expectations. Jim Elkington and Liam Cunningham were surprises to me -- I had no idea Jim would take so many of the guitar solos, and Liam added lovely touches with his all-around contributions (backing vocals!). I hope they return to the West Coast, but until then, I'm beyond glad they landed at Hardly Strictly for this exclusive date.

Having made it this far, we stuck around for the one and only Emmylou Harris. I don't remember her set being as straightforward; then again, many of the veterans have passed, and several of her usual collaborators had moved on to their next tour dates. Still, count your blessings when Emmylou is the glue that holds your festival together.

See also:
» feels lucky to have you here
» upwards to the vanguards

sometimes i dream that i have found a place

Welcome to Rocktober, in which I'll be nominally participating. As usual, I'll kick off with Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, now in its 13th edition at Golden Gate Park.

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, October 4 to 6, 2013: Most of my friends -- some of whom live about as close to the park as I do -- don't bother with Hardly Strictly Bluegrass anymore. I get it: The crowds can be stifling, and the lineup may or may not draw you in. And in a day and age where people pay a premium just to be able to use nicer bathrooms at festivals, a free offering may not be as enticing as it sounds. But whether due to my cheapness, the love of live music that still occasionally sparks in me, or my general reluctance to leave the neighborhood, I make my way back year after year.

The aforementioned friends had a good point this year. Due to a combination of glorious weather (a sunny and bright 80 degrees in the Richmond District) and lack of competing activities (no Giants games or, thanks to the GOP shutdown, Fleet Week activities), I knew it was going to be packed in the park. Add to that a huge amount of scheduling conflicts and the number of great acts I had no chance of seeing, and I could almost bring myself to ignore the fest -- almost. As it turned out, the festival drew record crowds, but on the whole, I managed to steer clear of the worst of the traffic jams.

Truth be told, I wasn't extraordinarily moved by this year's lineup, but as always, I can find a handful of acts that are worth checking out. I had to skip Friday again, but on Saturday, the Porch Stage hosted the majority of the musicians I wanted to see.

I started off with Paul Kelly, the veteran Australian singer/songwriter who's often cited by some of my favorite artists. I liked "Before Too Long" all those years ago, but haven't followed his career at all. So thank you, HSBG tastemakers, for bringing him to the festival. I'm not sure what I can add to the adulation and respect he's received over the years except to say it's all true -- his warm vocals, pretty melodies, and songwriting craft are abundantly appealing. He finished his set with an a cappella interpretation of Psalm 23. If he hadn't prefaced the song, this non-Christian likely wouldn't have known where it came from. Honestly, I probably would've thought it was another traditional title in a weekend rife with traditional titles. Little would I have realized how long that tradition dated back!



With time to kill between sets, I wandered all the way down to the Star and Towers of Gold stages, just to get an idea of the vibe around the grounds. Over at the Star Stage, I caught the end of what was officially billed as Jon Langford & Skull Orchard Acoustic/Freakons -- in essence, the Mekons plus Freakwater plus a bunch of other musicians I can't name. They closed their set with the oldie "Working in a Coal Mine," which was a ton of fun and enjoyed a clever twist, thanks to Jon Langford's Welsh heritage. I peeked over at Towers of Gold to hear the beginning of Betty LaVette's show, but had to hightail it back to the Porch Stage.

One of the best aspects of the Porch Stage is that it's the most relaxed of all the stages. Honestly, the biggest draws aren't scheduled here, which might be an insult if you're a performer, but it's a boon when you're a fan. I was able to find a decent spot for a set by Mike Scott and Steve Wickham of the Waterboys. I won't attempt to overstate my interest in the Waterboys. In fact, I have a tendency of loving the offshoot bands that come from those seminal groups (World Party, in this case), but given the Waterboys' contributions and lack of touring in the United States, catching their set became a priority.



Again, I won't try to betray much expertise, except to say they didn't do "The Whole of the Moon" -- perhaps they saved it for the paying show -- but overall, it was a great set. For someone like myself who's not enmeshed in the traditions of folk, bluegrass, gospel, and what have you (honestly, after reading interviews with musicians for almost 30 years of my life, I'm not sure I need to read about influences and sources any longer), it was a blast to hear how much of the Waterboys' Celtic roots coincided with U.S. traditional music.

For the last song of their set, Mike Scott offered a short primer on what makes a jig before breaking out into their final selection: "Will the Circle Be Unbroken," at a faster clip than I'm used to. He dedicated it to Warren Hellman, and I have a feeling it wasn't the only performance of the song over the span of the weekend.

One more note about Mike Scott: He was easily the most rock 'n' roll performer I saw in the couple of days. His style hasn't changed much since the Waterboys' breakthrough, and with his thin gold scarf and short manner, you could still see the swagger about him. In fact, though he was wearing a blazer in the heat, I'm not sure I saw him sweat at all. Steve Wickham's fiddle, too, added a seriously epic note on several tunes.

Here's one thing about these traditional music festivals: You hear a lot of pretty voices. For example, the in-betweeners at the Porch Stage made for good listening, even if I didn't become an instant fan. Joy Kills Sorrow, taking the slot between the Waterboys and Martha Wainwright, covered a Postal Service song too, for new fans looking to connect to their tunes.

I debated sticking around for Martha Wainwright's set and ultimately decided to stay -- and I'm glad I did. I haven't caught Martha in concert since the time she opened for Wilco in London, but she was a staple at early Rufus Wainwright shows, of which I was a huge fan. Alas, those gigs predate this blog, so you'll have to take my word for it. I've always loved Martha's voice, however, and I was curious to hear what she'd done over the years.

First of all, I had no idea she was a mom now, complete with exactly one song written about her child. Otherwise, her personality seemed to be intact. For example, she referenced her entire musical family (parents, brother, cousin) all over the place, and her lyrics retained that darker edge she's known for. She didn't grant the request for "Bloody Motherfucking Asshole," but she graced us with a song that was inspired by imagining she and her friends had died in a car trip across Canada in winter.

Regarding her father, she revealed that she hadn't heeded his advice about San Francisco in October; regarding her brother, she told us about the new record he's working on with Mark Ronson and how she hates how good it sounds; and regarding her mother, she closed with a song she wrote shortly before she died. "Proserpina," Martha explained, is about the legend of Persephone, but Martha suspects it's really about the late, great Kate McGarrigle herself. Amen.

For Sunday, I reverted to my usual ways and simply settled down at the Star Stage nice and early. There was no way I was going to miss Justin Townes Earle, a festival staple and a recent favorite for me. But before he took the stage, Dry Branch Fire Squad kicked off the proceedings with the "strictly bluegrass" portion of my weekend. I'd seen them previously at the Warren Hellman tribute, and they remain as charming as ever. This time out, we got a pretty good story about Charlton Heston and his commentary on their "native garb." (I really hope I didn't mess up that phrasing.)

Local band Nicki Bluhm & the Gramblers followed, with a horn section and special guest Boz Scaggs on a handful of tracks. They were all major crowd favorites, and the audience was on its feet for much of the set. I think they did at least one Boz Scaggs song, but as I've said many times in this blog, '70s rock is one of my weak spots.



Finally, it was time for Justin Townes Earle! Overall, he looked and sounded good, showing off a lighter, looser mood than I recall from previous shows. He opened with -- and promptly forgot the words to -- "Baby's Got a Bad Idea." His set wasn't nearly long enough for my liking, but he tried out a bunch of new songs that he says he'll start recording soon because they took him so damn long to write. In my recollection, the new songs share a lot of the smoky, moody makeup of the last record, which is great news to me.

In between songs, he joked about his usual demons: drinking and his parents. For example, he shared that he was hung over the first time he played Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, when his set was scheduled for 11 am. At another point, he got a laugh when he told us he and a friend had a bet on whether either could write a record without mommy or daddy issues. You'll have to decide for yourself his intentions when he remarked that he messed them up as much as they did to him and how everyone thought cocaine was a vegetable in the '80s. At the Star Stage on this day, it was pretty funny.

I'll highlight three more songs from his set. On a new track (something about "waiting" or "worried"? definitely had a "w" in it), he claimed he rearranged a verse and a half, not that we'd know it. "Am I That Lonely Tonight" was as hypnotic as you can imagine, particularly in contrast to the minor lapses during the rest of the show. I also finally figured out one of the reasons why that song burrows into my brain every time -- the lines starting with "Sometimes I wish that I could" place me right into Elvis Costello's "Alison," only of course in a totally different tune and treatment.



Finally, Justin and the band closed with "Can't Hardly Wait," as he's known to do. I can't guess at how many people in the audience recognized it, but hey, I can't name the Boz Scaggs hit -- so let's call it even?

I made one final stop before going home, finding a spot at the side of the Rooster Stage for the Kate McGarrigle tribute. The idea of staging this get-together at Hardly Strictly is kind of a no-brainer, considering the overlap between audiences; it certainly helps when Hardly Strictly figurehead Emmylou Harris is part of the festivities. Martha and Sloan Wainwright drove the tribute, in which they were joined by Loudon Wainwright, Richard Thompson, Steve Earle, Buddy Miller, and Maria Muldaur. I didn't see all of the individual performances, as I caught only the last 20 minutes or so of the gathering, but at the very end, they came together for "Heart Like a Wheel," written by Anna McGarrigle, who -- as Martha noted -- was such a huge part of Kate's life.

Thus ends another year at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. For all my hemming and hawing, you know I'll be back again.

See also:
» we both pretend we don't know why
» my starter won't start
» i wanna reach that glory land

my starter won't start

Oh Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, I just can't quit you! At least not while I live in the Richmond District and you manage to book at least a few bands I want to see. Warren Hellman's legacy -- and our collective gratitude for his undertaking -- remains alive and thriving after his death. How lucky are we to enjoy his largesse year after year?

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, October 5 to 7, 2012: Much like in 2010, the Bay Area had something for everyone this weekend. A sampling of activities include Fleet Week, America's Cup races, the Giants games, a 49ers game, and mega concerts in Oakland. Whew! This may have helped keep the numbers down at Hardly Strictly; I noticed less of a crunch than in previous years. Alternately, maybe no one wants to see the same performers as me.

As for those artists, few jumped out at me as in years before, but there's something for nearly everyone, and I was able to whittle down my list to a number of essential performers. Top of the list was Justin Townes Earle; I love his latest record, and I couldn't possibly pass up this opportunity.

After a late, lazy morning (sorry Sara Watkins), I ambled down to the Towers of Gold Stage in the early afternoon. You gotta love the western border of Hardly Strictly around that hour. With no trouble at all, I was able to make my way close to the front for a great view. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera that day, so you'll have to take my word on my primo placement.

As Justin took the stage, it occurred to me that he bears a resemblance to Rufus Wainwright. They're both tall and lanky, with a bohemian air. They've prevailed over checkered histories, and of course, there's the whole music progeny thing. Maybe it's a country mouse/city mouse thing? Maybe I should save these thoughts for my anonymous Tumblr?

From easily fooled

Justin was accompanied by the same band that joined him at the Great American Music Hall earlier this year, and their chops came through as before. Back then, I didn't realize how big an asset Paul Niehaus was on guitar, though I could hear it in his contributions. Vince Ilagan and John Radford resumed their duties on stand-up bass and drums, respectively.

Obviously, festival sets are shorter than stand-alone gigs, but I think Justin got almost an hour of stage time, though he was slated for 50 minutes. Otherwise, he stuck with a similar format of frequent banter, a short solo set, and the full band treatment. If my memory is correct, we got similar but paraphrased versions of the stories behind "Maria" and "Nothing's Gonna Change the Way You Feel About Me Now." Hell, if I had gone through the same breakup and/or written as a great a song, I'd work that angle until they cut off my mic. They don't call that show "Storytellers" for nothing.

It's hard to imagine Justin at a loss for words when it comes to his songs, and we may have seen the best example of this during a potentially awkward moment. Though he easily shared stories about ex-girlfriends, he also introduced some uncertainty to the narratives, reminding us the subject was often a composite character. He couldn't do the same with "Am I That Lonely Tonight," which opens with the line, "I hear my father on the radio" -- especially with the man in question watching from the side of the stage. Apart from a subtle reference to the circumstances at the beginning of the song, Justin said no more on the topic. Then again, everything you need to know is in the lyrics.

With his extra (?) time, Justin was able to squeeze in the Replacements' "Can't Hardly Wait." That's a festival song if I've ever heard one.

My only real encounter with impenetrable mobs this weekend followed Justin's set, when I nursed the idea of checking out the Lumineers at the Rooster Stage. Denied! The path to the Rooster Stage from JFK Drive was truly a frothing sea of humanity. I should've known -- the always fortress-like stage plus the bustling food stands plus the runoff from the even larger Banjo Stage plus a band with an actual radio hit meant I didn't have a prayer in the world of seeing a centimeter of the stage. After failing to make any forward progress for a few minutes, I moved on.

Which brought me to the Porch Stage on the eastern side of the festival, well in advance of Robyn Hitchock's set. I've never actually seen the Porch Stage before, though it's the closest to my apartment. Little did I know how accessible and mellow it was! Even more so than Towers of Gold!

I accidentally continued my Earle family stalking with Allison Moorer's performance, where she was joined by husband Steve Earle for a couple of tracks. Justin could be seen wandering around too. Go figure!

But I was really there for Robyn Hitchcock, who didn't disappoint in a pink and purple shirt, as well as his trademark mop of white hair. Robyn's non sequiturs could easily power a fake or real Twitter account from here until our cosmic overlords reclaim this poor planet, so I won't try to cover them here -- except to note that he opened with a fantastic and affectionate comment about San Francisco "celebrating the 52nd year of the 1960s." To his credit, Robyn didn't seem to mind the Blue Angels flying overhead, dismissing them with a remark about (paraphrased) the impermanence of everything, so we should just enjoy what we have.

I think Robyn did a couple of tracks by himself before he brought up his special guest. I'm not even sure Robyn formally introduced him, but he was hardly a stranger to the crowd -- or to me, despite the well-meaning hippie's inquiries as to whether I recognized him. (He had also asked me between sets if I was familiar with Nick Drake, bless his heart.) The mystery man: John Paul Jones, frequent Largo guest, though I didn't bother explaining that to the new acquaintance. Oh right, he's kind of known for that other band too. My guess is that John Paul Jones took part in Sara Watkins' set -- which, as mentioned above, I had missed.

This may be the first time I've seen Robyn and John Paul Jones (does anyone refer to him with less than three names?) play together in any form, but I'm too lazy to look over my old posts to make sure. Needless to say, I fully realized the magnitude of this collaboration, as I have with every other John Paul Jones appearance I've witnessed.

John Paul Jones remained with Robyn for the rest of his set, taking on a bunch of Robyn's classics. I never in my life would've guessed I'd hear "Balloon Man" with a mandolin solo, but they carried it off beautifully. They also went in on "Tangled Up in Blue," Robyn's wife's favorite Dylan song.

The best moment of their set may have been "Saturday Groovers." To start, Robyn prefaced the tune with a tale of living next door to John Paul Jones, where they shared a single lightbulb; while one had illumination, the other was bathed in rain. This led to an explanation of the real-life groovers and their place in British cultural history -- hey, it sounded legit enough to me. The song itself was upbeat and fun, but the most endearing touch may have been John Paul Jones' impromptu harmonies at the end. They totally need to take this act on the road.

On Sunday, Son Volt kicked off the show. This might be the first time I've officially seen Son Volt live, though I've caught a couple of Jay Farrar appearances. Once again, it was a breeze to get to the front of the stage, where a steady sampling of Farrar faithful held court, including one fellow who air-drummed along to every track.



The first half of Son Volt's set was, in a word, problematic. Technical difficulties silenced the lead guitar for a couple of songs, and overall, the pacing was slow. The set picked up, both in terms of pace and spirit, with a block of Trace tunes right around the middle. Not only were the fans singing and jumping around, the energy carried over into the remainder of their segment. I think Son Volt closed out with at least one song from Jay Farrar's Jack Kerouac project with Ben Gibbard. Sorry, finer details escape me.

I can say one more thing about Son Volt: If you're a fan of Jay's voice, you'll be pleased to hear that familiar lilt going strong. It's still a fantastic instrument all on its own.

The Rooster Stage was slightly more open for Nick Lowe, but I went to my usual perch on the side of the hill. Perhaps some day my feet will touch the ground of that natural amphitheater -- one can dream. Not that the hillside is virgin land either; the gathered fans looked not unlike a post-apocalyptic enclave of survivors, though maybe the Whole Foods bags and wine bottles gave it away.

Nick was his usual cool, regal self, playing a mix of old and new, but always at his own pace. His playlist included "Battlefield," once covered by Diana Ross, though he downplayed its prominence in her career. "House for Sale" was welcomed warmly also, and he landed on a couple of classics: "Cruel to Be Kind" and (by request) "I Knew the Bride (When She Used to Rock and Roll)." The man may be the epitome of timelessness.

With that, my Hardly Strictly Bluegrass experience drew to a close for 2012. There's no use in playing coy anymore -- see you next year.

See also:
» i wanna reach that glory land
» watch the waves and move the fader
» we both pretend we don't know why
» don't get around much anymore
» between two worlds

one day like this a year

Rocktober has arrived, and in San Francisco, that means Hardly Strictly Bluegrass is in session. This marks the 11th year of the festival, and by those standards, I'm a relative newcomer, but I can't imagine my year without this grand gathering. Also, it gives me a reason to never move out of the Richmond District.

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, September 30 to October 23, 2011: Certainly, there's more than one way to navigate a free, sprawling music festival that's intended to mix genres, audiences, and generations, but I do it the only way I know how: by trying to impose some order on the vast list of activities and expanse of land. This year, it meant not really sleeping Friday night and hopping on a 7 am flight so that I could get home, pull myself together, and wander down to Golden Gate Park by noon.

From there, the day became a little easier, and I managed to flit between stages for a number of bands. For me, Robyn Hitchcock kicked off the festival at the Rooster Stage. Once again, I didn't make it to the field proper; the hillside was just fine, and this time, the sound was great -- or maybe it was the simple acoustic setup.



Robyn started out by himself with "Cynthia Mask", but he was first joined by Abigail Washburn, then by Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. The quartet carried off a fine selection of Robyn's back catalog, from his work with the Egyptians ("Queen Elvis," "Balloon Man") to the Venus 3 ("Ole Tarantula"). Robyn even worked up the San Francisco angle with a nod to Magnum Force in "(A Man's Gotta Know His Limitations) Briggs" and with the concluding Grateful Dead cover ("Candyman"). Little did I know it wouldn't be the last of Robyn over the weekend.

Following Robyn's set, I headed out to catch another British icon: Hugh Laurie. Look, I don't typically favor actor/musicians, but I'm not automatically opposed to them either, and no, I'm not trying to cover my ass in case certain thespians decide to hit the road. Heck, I actually like She & Him.

But about Hugh Laurie -- first of all, the crowd was huge for the Towers of Gold stage, usually one of the less populated areas of the park. I heard more than one person yelling out for Dr. House (I've never watched the show myself), and at least one woman admitted she had no idea he was British until that very moment. This is all superfluous, though. Hugh Laurie's performance was surprisingly good. A fellow next to me likened Hugh's first number to Cab Calloway, and his voice was quite expressive. His backing band was solid, and overall, they did a great job.

I ran out for a little bit but returned in time to hear snippets of the Kris Kristofferson/Merle Haggard set before finding an inadequate spot for Broken Social Scene. I haven't cooled on the band since their last date in San Francisco, but as this was my casual day and I had a ticket for their show at the Fillmore the same evening, I didn't want to squeeze my way up front. Instead, I found a spot in the midfield. My mistake -- the chatter and the traffic were distracting, though I guess you have to expect that of a free event.



Broken Social Scene put together a standard festival set, heavy with selections from the most recent record. However, they still managed to surprise me with the inclusion of several seminal You Forgot It in People tracks, including "Shampoo Suicide." I thought for sure I'd never get to hear this one live again and, more important for my blog, to publicly air my pretentious rock critic theory: Come on, people, it's totally a cross between Fleetwood Mac's "Gypsy" and Malcolm McLaren's "Madame Butterfly" -- and that's high praise!

After Broken Social Scene, I took a swing through the rest of the park. Along the way, I heard one song in Gillian Welch's set, but fortunately, it was my favorite track from the new record, "Hard Times." I eventually ended up back at the Rooster Stage overlook for a portion of the Punch Brothers, who also covered a song from the latest Gillian Welch album. In the past, I've heard them do "Wayside/Back in Time," but they've added "Down Along the Dixie Line" to their repertoire, sped up about five-fold. The Punch Brothers may have been the only bluegrass artists I saw during this entire bluegrass-leaning festival, and in case I had any doubts about the genre's popularity, the dancing crowds inside the rooster pen dispelled all such thoughts.

That was Saturday, but Sunday was another story, with one goal: Elbow! With Julie's early foothold, we were able to make steady progress through Dr. John and Devotchka until we were at the front for the headliners, and thanks to the convenient PA setup, we heard Emmylou Harris join Buddy Miller for his set, as well as Bob Mould's show on the abutting stage. I love it when a plan comes together.

According to my records, Elbow hasn't toured here in three years. They do well enough in England, but they're not exactly superstars, and obviously, their profile is lower in the United States. And let's not even raise the question of how they were booked for an ostensibly bluegrass festival. I'm willing to leave that stone unturned, but I was suspicious of the crowd that gathered at the rail for Elbow's set. However, through the simple act of reaching out and communicating, it turns out they were committed fans, even if -- ahem! -- many of them had never caught the band live before. (Bonus: They were really nice people too.) Hey, I feel like I haven't really seen a band until their fifth appearance anyway, so we were practically on the same level.

Elbow had an hour to cast their spell, but the magic took hold within seconds. I've said it before: Guy Garvey is charm incarnate, and his very presence immediately puts you at ease. He works the crowd like a champ, pointing and waving at far corners of the field, making connections with far-flung audience members. I wouldn't presume that the San Francisco audience is the first to receive such attention, but it still feels sincere. As usual, we were eating out of their hand, as well as lending our voices, whistles, and handclaps of support. According to Guy, the feelings were mutual, as he heaped praise on our city and the festival itself toward the end of their slot.

Elbow crafts dense, complex, and sprawling songs, and I wondered how much actual music we'd get to hear between Guy's lilting banter. Clearly, there was no way to represent their entire discography in this limited set, and as it turned out they favored the last couple of records. I don't think we heard a single early track, which is a small loss, but "Lippy Kids" managed to push a bunch of emotional buttons in me. Also, I have to admit The Seldom Seen Kid deserves as much attention as you can spare. For my favorite artists such as Elbow, more is always better, but Hardly Strictly Bluegrass will tide me over until the next headlining tour.



See also:
» throw those curtains wide
» talking trash under your breath
» don't get around much anymore

watch the waves and move the fader

Last week, I managed to hurt myself in a manner that would probably be hilarious if (1) it were caught on video and (2) it happened to someone else. This ridiculous injury, along with my bruised ego, almost kept me away from Hardly Strictly Bluegrass this year, but the combination of good prescription anti-inflammatories and the muted music heard through my window convinced me I should at least hoof it down the street. I'm glad I did--so thanks Warren Hellman, the Hardly Strictly crew, and Big Pharma for making it all possible!

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, October 1-3, 2010: There's no question that Hardly Strictly Bluegrass is an awesome festival on many levels, from the caliber of talent to the pure volume of acts to, well, its proximity to my apartment. And need I repeat that it's all free?

But I gotta say that it also puts the "fuck" in "clusterfuck." After you've worked your way to a reasonable spot that's merely partly obscured by the tall dude in a hat a few paces ahead, only to have the thousandth person cut in front of you, shoehorning themselves into a space you'd previously thought was uninhabitable for all but underage Chinese gymnasts, it's easy to forget the generous spirit and intent that brought us all together.

Or so I thought on Saturday, but by Sunday night, I had changed my tune completely. It helped that the park felt less crowded this year, no doubt a result of the numerous activities crowding the social calendar around the Bay Area this weekend, including the celebratory Giants games on the other side of town and the separate Flaming Lips and Arcade Fire shows in Oakland and Berkeley, respectively. Long story short: I appreciated the breathing room, and I think it made a difference in the overall experience.

This year, I wasn't committed to seeing any particular performer, and I had no desire to augur in, but anyone who knows me should be aware that I can't leave the house without at least a loose plan for the day. In a way, it was the best of both worlds: a leisurely morning, a casual stroll, and music at the end of the journey.

On Saturday, it started with Fountains of Wayne at the Towers of Gold stage, the farthest and sanest outpost of the festival, where it was easy enough to get down to the front about 15 minutes before the band started. I'm pretty sure it was the first time I've seen Fountains of Wayne, unless I've forgotten some radio-sponsored festival appearance back in the '90s (a distinct possibility). The fanboys situated front and center were clearly pleased with the song selection, but even a blank slate like myself could appreciate their way with power chords and a chorus. I don't think they did the big hit "Stacy's Mom," but I can verify that "Radiation Vibe" made it into the set, which was the song I had hoped to hear.



The festival organizers did a great job of staggering the sets on the Towers of Gold and Star stages this year, so you could stroll to the other side and watch the next band, or you could stay in your place and listen to the performance over the PA. On Saturday, I elected to flex the legs and check out the Star Stage for Conor Oberst's performance, but truthfully, I needn't have bothered. I barely saw the stage from my vantage, and I'm not much of a Conor fan anyway. For a handful of songs, Conor was joined by a couple of guests: Jason Boesel, best known as the drummer from Rilo Kiley (though I've seen him drop in at Largo on at least one occasion), and the Felice Brothers, who chipped in with gorgeous harmonies and rich accordion accompaniment.

I probably could've stayed in the western quadrant for Richard Thompson's set, but I opted to catch Gillian Welch and David Rawlings instead. I had few illusions about positioning--there was no way I'd get anywhere close to the Banjo Stage, so I found a spot on the hill. The view was fine, but the the overall impression was less satisfactory.



The argument for being an early freak is that the area closer to the stage is typically devoid of idle chatter and random distractions. Of course, you can't really compare a club gig to a free festival attended by 600,000 people, but it was my misfortune to be surrounded by the chattering class, some of whom claimed to be fans. In all likelihood, they were, but under such conditions, it's not always easy to focus on a performance from half a football field away.

Add to that Gillian and Dave's song selection, which opened with "Long Black Veil," inspired by the cold mist blowing across the park as they took the stage, and mostly stayed at that tempo throughout their set. This is hardly unusual for a Gillian Welch show, but again, it was hard to compete with the random blather and the shenanigans out in the nosebleeds.

The final demerit might've been the technical problems that popped up during the set. Gillian referred to troubles with her guitar, and Dave ran to the side of the stage several times to talk to the sound masters. I sensed the mix dipping and climbing the entire time they were onstage--it probably wasn't ideal for them either.

And finally, I have to share a quote from a woman standing not five feet away from me because I love documenting other people's cluelessness when it comes Gillian Welch and David Rawlings: "I've been wanting to see her for a long time. But I don't know who that is playing next to her." Sigh. To be fair, a couple of guys in front of me were talking shop about Dave's guitar, but I'm pretty sure they represent the minority opinion.

That's not to say it was all dirges and dread; "Look at Miss Ohio" elicited what sounded like a huge, loving sigh across the field, and Gillian rolled out a long, affectionate intro for Dave, citing his talents as a painter, a poet, and a fisherman, among other traits, before he took his turn on the mic with "Hear Them All." Dave Grisman and Conor Oberst guested on a few tunes, and for all the music I heard over the weekend, I still can't get "Revelator" out of my brain--that's powerful stuff.

I was torn in two directions by Sunday's schedule, but simple logistics killed any notion of attempting to hit the Rooster Stage, so it was back to Towers of Gold/Star for a fantastic sequence of artists. My festival day opened with Randy Newman, one of the names that jumped out at me when I first saw this year's lineup; it seemed that other people shared my anticipation, judging by our respectful silence while he played his tunes, aside from a couple of songs where we contributed harmonies as Randy requested.

Like many great singer/songwriters, he's mostly known to me through other people's covers, but I recognized several titles, including "Marie" and "Sail Away." He didn't neglect the hits "Short People" and "I Love LA" either, but the most enjoyable portion of his show was probably the banter. In addition to sharing the inspiration for some songs, including one in which he sent up his own dinosaur status, he reeled off a curmudgeonly and score-centric retelling of the Toy Story series that I'll probably never hear anywhere else. (Also: It was hilarious.)



I stayed put while Elvis Costello and the Sugarcanes played on the other side of the field, but the sound came through loud and clear over the speakers. Elvis has become a staple of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass after his buoyant festival debut a few years back, and he continues to mix it up at each appearance. He juggled new tracks, old favorites ("Angels Wanna Wear My Red Shoes"), perennial classics ("Brilliant Mistake"), rarer cuts ("New Amsterdam" mashed up with "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away"), and unexpected covers (the Stones' "Happy") in a folksier vein, complete with mandolin and dobro, instead of the all-out electric barrage from his rock shows. He sounded fantastic, and considering it was pretty much equivalent to my viewing of Conor Oberst the day before, I know I made the right decision.

Patti Smith was next on the bill back at Towers of Gold. I have no problem admitting I've always admired her more for what she symbolizes than for her music. She too is another artist whose work I mostly know through covers, but she up-ended every single expectation I had. In a word, she was empowering--a description I almost never use for any musical artist. Maybe it's the third-wave feminism talking, but I've never looked at my favorite female musicians as exceptions to any rule. They've earned their respect not because of their gender; it's always come down to talent.



But watching Patti Smith, I finally understood everything she's achieved and the trails she's blazed for so many artists, male and female. She opened big with "Dancing Barefoot," and around me, I saw grown women weeping and shaking--and I wasn't far behind! Her set was about as varied as you could expect for someone who's known for not just her music but her poetry and her contributions to the American art scene for the last 30-odd years. In the course of her performance, she referenced William Blake, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and Jim Carroll; assailed the former U.S. presidential administration; read the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi; and urged us to live our lives to the fullest extent possible. Along the way, she worked in her most famous tracks, such as "Because the Night" and "Gloria," as well as another Stones cover in the form of "Play with Fire."

Most striking, she managed to do it all while looking simultaneously happy, fierce, biting, welcoming, and iconic. Heck, she waved joyously at every side of the open stage before stepping up to the mic, and we waved back without hesitation. If she had any issues balancing her personae or her muses, she showed no sign of it. She appeared completely at ease in her own skin, and she seemed determined to share that spirit with us.

It goes without saying that she and her band sounded fantastic too. Led by Lenny Kaye, the musicians anchored Patti's words with the force they deserved. I had expected to admire and appreciate Patti; I had no idea she'd move me to such an extent.

But wait, there's more! Although I held little hope of getting to the Rooster Stage, it was on my way out of the park and back home, so I stopped by to see if I could catch a glimpse of the closer in that quarter, the miraculous Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. My suspicions were correct--it would've been a death wish to try to cantilever yourself into the field proper.



However, there was an alternative, if you didn't mind the threat of poison oak inflaming your ankles or ants crawling over your body. In this case, I didn't, so I took my place with the scores of like-minded attendees who blanketed the woods right outside of the official festival grounds. No, I'm not talking about those lovely venues carved out of the fields and hillsides, such as the Pines Theater or the Greek Theatres in Berkeley or Los Angeles--this was the wilds of Golden Gate Park, conveniently separated from the designated festival limits by a flimsy fence.

Even better, the natural 20-degree grade provided one of the best views I enjoyed all weekend, and the crowds were much more manageable. The only downside was the sound, which hadn't been mixed with us hill people in mind, but that's a small price to pay. As for Sharon, she was out of this world, and dancing was rampant across the forest.

I don't think it's too early to say it: See you next year, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass!

See also:
» now I try to be amused
» feels lucky to have you here
» play one more for my radio sweetheart
» searching for light in the darkness of insanity
» amateur

amateur

The prospect of attending a huge, free musical festival featuring some of my favorite artists and several more appealing performers mere blocks from my apartment is both exhilarating and maddening. Even as my eyes grew wide at the sight of all those great names populating the bill, I knew that the explosion in talent would correspond to an uptick in audience. The question, then, becomes whether it's all worth the bother; for now at least, the answer is yes.

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, October 3-4, 2009
For my first couple of stints at the festival, I went with a plan, and it served me well, though I have a friend's fearless move to thank for my best positioning ever at the Banjo Stage. I'm never getting that close for the closing festivities ever again! With that concession fully banked, I flew under the radar last year, slipping in and out of the festival and catching the handful of acts that mattered to me. I had intended to do the same this year, but my twitchy nature won out, forcing a compromise. In a nutshell, Saturday, we wandered. Sunday, we camped.

Initially, I thought maybe the early acts of the day would be my favorites by default, just because the crowds had not yet convened. We wandered to the Star Stage in time to catch Jon Langford, Sally Timms, and the Sadies, filling in for Roger Knox, whose entry visa was denied, on Saturday, but Okkervil River delivered the true debut. Okkervil River largely reprised the set they played when opening for Wilco back in June, and much as they did then, they won over a good chunk of the audience with their impassioned, lively display. From the middle of the field, it was great to see the hands in the air and to hear Will Sheff work it the crowd as hard as he did earlier this summer.

In a similar vein, Elvis Perkins in Dearland threw the doors wide open on Sunday morning with a fun, brisk set. I've missed Elvis (who bore a striking resemblance to Abbey Road-era George Harrison) and crew more often than I've seen them, and that includes their last appearance in San Francisco. The mix-up isn't really worth explaining, except to say it ranks high among my ditz moments.



The band has written and recorded its fair share of moody, introspective numbers, but they opted for a mostly upbeat set for the festival, with their drummer strapping on the bass drum and moving to the front of the stage for several titles. For me, the highlight of their revue was a three-song stint featuring tunes from their forthcoming EP, out October 20.

The first selection was a spiritual called "Weeping Mary," but it was the transition to the second--whose title wasn't offered--that caught me by surprise. It was a full-on Eddie Cochran-style rave-up, and they followed up with a bluesy, soulful piece. That's going to be a great EP, I hazard. They closed with "Doomsday," thus killing my hope of hearing "Ash Wednesday," but their choice was definitely more appropriate for the hour and the setting. Note to self: Don't miss them again.

I've navigated some extreme measures to see my favorite performers, whether at a club, a festival, or elsewhere; by that barometer, I didn't do anything out of character to see my headliners at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. In fact, you could say I dialed it back, for a change. But after Saturday's middling effort, I figured I'd need to invest a little more energy if I wanted to catch either Neko Case or Aimee Mann the way I wanted to see them. Long story short: Everything worked out.

As much as I appreciate the festival's expansion into different genres, I still wonder how certain groups will go over with the masses, and prior to Aimee's set, I was apprehensive over the outcome. Aimee is nowhere close to bluegrass in any regard, and though she's hit the festival circuit more in the last few years, I can't wrap my head around the idea of her playing to anything other than mannered, courteous indoor audiences--even though I've seen Aimee take on similar circumstances before.

I repeat: Everything worked out (despite the woman behind me who asked me to sit down because I wasn't in the standing section--of a field?! for a free show!?). A doting group gathered at the front of the stage for Aimee's set, and as always, the songs from Magnolia drew the biggest response. Aimee even got to throw out the fun fact of her losing an Oscar to Phil Collins' "monkey love song." In the witty repartee department, she also shared that her forehead felt like a big solar panel as they played directly into the the sun.

My guess is that much of the audience hadn't seen Aimee before, but zealots regulars saw a couple of fun changes. I'm not sure if I've heard "Nightmare Girl" before, but I know that was a rare outing. Also, Aimee and her band revealed new talents when they each took up woodwinds for the beginning of "This Is How It Goes." The only oddity may have been the hoarding of Smilers tracks ("Freeway" and "31 Today") until the very end, but overall, the audience took in a good overview of Aimee's catalog of songs.



I had no doubt that Neko Case, however, would have any problems with the crowd. For starters, she was hardly a stranger, having played a supporting role at the festival a couple of years ago. And though Neko's sound is less definable these days, it's closer to the festival's namesake genre than most of the acts I saw on Sunday.

Neko's band, including Jon Rauhouse, remained intact, and Kelly Hogan stood by her side. (Also of note: The musicians gathered on the side of the stage to watch them, including Billy Bragg, Will Sheff, and Scott McCaughey.) Neko and Kelly, as always, are so entertaining that I find it hard to believe anyone can resist their charms. The women repeatedly lauded the organizers for allowing dogs into the festival, and other topics of conversation included Neko's ill-fitting jeans and her self-proclaimed lack of an ass. Neko's pipes were as staggering as ever, but at other moments, she chose to speak in--for lack of a better word--a high-pitched squawk. I hesitate to guess at what inspired that tone, but believe it or not, I'd heard a lot of weirder things at the festival.

Neko and company bounded all over her catalog, from the country-ish early works to the rich, ornate style she prefers these days. In between, she and Kelly offered generous shout-outs to the Sadies and worked up two of the song they'd co-written. In a strange twist, Marianne Faithfull had sang "Hold On Hold On" at the stage immediately to the back of the setup just prior to Neko's set, but that didn't stop Neko from running with it herself. They closed with a cover of the Shangri-Las' "The Train from Kansas City," such a perfect selection that you wonder how we'd never heard it before.

Those are the sets I feel most comfortable blogging, but I caught or attempted to catch several more artists over the course of the weekend, with varying degrees of success, comfort, and interest--not to mention the acts I didn't bother approaching, for whatever reason (the crowds, the cold, the lack of willpower). However, I managed to squeeze in among the throngs to watch most of Gillian Welch's set at the overattended squall known as the Banjo Stage.

The conditions would probably qualify as hellish were it not for Gillian and David, but they rewarded the hordes with guest appearances by Emmylou Harris and Old Crow Medicine Show. Emmylou and "Go to Sleep Little Baby" were not a surprise, but I gasped when all the above parties assembled for "The Weight." I'm not going to hear anything approaching those harmonies for a long time to come.

News reports peg attendance at this year's festival at 750,000--almost the population of San Francisco itself--and I think I smooshed into every single one of them at one point or another during the weekend. Threatening equal parts intrigue and insanity, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass tempts me as few other festivals do. I'll have to wait and see what 2010 brings, but I'll keep October open.

See also:
» now I try to be amused
» feels lucky to have you here
» play one more for my radio sweetheart
» searching for light in the darkness of insanity

play one more for my radio sweetheart

I could get used to walking to Golden Gate Park for concerts--though yes, I skipped the gig by that one major U.K. act back in August (I was waiting for an important delivery, dammit!). As if the ease of proximity weren't enough, I was in low-key mode all weekend and wandered over to the Star Stage in the early afternoon instead of my usual pre-dawn stakeout. Even then, I still had plenty of time to get comfortable for Elvis Costello's set.

Elvis Costello's High Whine and Spirits, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, October 5, 2008: Love it or hate it, you gotta admit that Elvis Costello hasn't stuck to the typical rock-and-roll rule book. I admit I haven't followed along every step of the way; not so long ago, for example, I realized his jazz forays are not for my thing, and I couldn't convince myself to check out his collaboration with the San Francisco Symphony either.

Call me predictable, but my favorite Elvis incarnation is with the Impostors (I was a bit too young for the Attractions, alas). As luck would have it, the Impostors were represented at this gig by Pete Thomas and Davey Farragher, while Austin DeLone filled in for Steve Nieve on the keyboards. The top of their set referred to their history with a triple shot of "(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes," "Uncomplicated," and "Radio Sweetheart." Had I been sitting in a chair, I would've toppled out of it upon hearing "Uncomplicated." I don't think I've ever heard it live; even better, it comes from probably my favorite Elvis album.



But when the set is billed as "Elvis Costello's High Whine and Spirits," you can't expect merely the greatest hits, and the musicians obliged, much as they did at Elvis's 2006 festival appearance. After the opening trifecta, Bill Kirchen and Jim Lauderdale soon joined in for a handful of covers and stayed on for the rest of the set. Also not surprising: Emmylou Harris's arrival for "Love Hurts" or the near closer "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding" for the second time this weekend.

In no way, though, was this some run-of-the-mill set. For one thing, Elvis's young twins watched their dad (apparently for the first time) from the side of the stage. Wearing big headphones to protect their ears and High Whine tour t-shirts to support their father, they stomped away and waved drumsticks in time to the music--as befits their lineage. Elvis referred to them quite often during the set too, his paternal pride clearly evident and very endearing.

The toddlers nearly stole the show, but they had to cede the spotlight to a few dozen more guests--mostly the Burlington Welsh Male Chorus, accompanied by Jon Langford, Warren Hellman, and even more friends--for the moving finale. Their performance further punctuated a set that beautifully embodied everything Hardly Strictly Bluegrass represents.



I also caught most of Ben Kweller's set. It's been a while since the one time I've seen him in concert (opening for Evan Dando and Jon Brion), but it wasn't hard to determine that his music has definitely matured, as has he. He even dedicated one song to his wife and son. Ben and his band sounded great, and I think even the older folks around me were impressed.

Yeah, I could really get used to walking to Golden Gate Park for concerts.

See also:
» used to be one of the rotten ones
» now I try to be amused
» searching for light in the darkness of insanity

searching for light in the darkness of insanity

When I was in sixth or seventh grade, one of my teachers had us break into groups and gave us an assignment that attempted to connect our interests and passions with the discipline at hand. So as we compiled our alphabetical list of--errr, I can't recall exactly. People? Things? Anyway, when our group reached the letter "N," I suggested Nick Lowe, who at the time had the occasional video on MTV and enjoyed some radio airplay. My friend's reply: a withering sneer of the variety so masterfully deployed by teenage girls. Fast-forward to 2008, I didn't bother informing the same friend--a dear pal to this day--that I was headed out to see Nick Lowe at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival.

Nick Lowe, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, October 4, 2008: I'm obsessed with the idea of musical DNA--that is, some inherent element in your tastes and preferences that you can't escape. Granted, I don't think anyone comes out of the womb knowing they like classical or hip-hop or rock, but I love the idea of those musical tropes that get under your skin without your even knowing it until many years down the line. The two acts I caught on Saturday at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival are prime examples of these stealthy survivors.

Back to that Mean Girls moment from my pre-pubescent years: My friend had a point. We were a bit too young for Nick Lowe at the time, and we listened to synth-pop bands who wore eyeliner and frilly shirts--nothing like the pub rock Nick was known for. Yet, though I skipped the '80s-oriented Regeneration Tour this summer, I made a point of hitting this gig (the price of admission and proximity to my flat helped too).

On the surface, it's pretty easy to see/hear why: Nick's timeless songwriting and soulful voice, though they might never be in vogue, certainly never go out of style. And those rich, warm tones were complemented by nothing but simple acoustic guitar. In addition, despite all the associations he's shared with so many other artists on the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass roster, Nick went completely solo for his set. Thus, there were no visitors from the Prader-Willi benefits from the two preceding nights--or from any point in his career, for that matter.



But his actual set was a different story, encompassing his handful of hits and, more abundantly, fan favorites. Of course, "Cruel to Be Kind" got a huge reception, but even Nick was surprised when the crowd whooped appreciatively for the more recent release "I Trained Her to Love Me." And do you even have to guess his closing number? Sure, it was "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding," but the slower, more deliberate take made for a lovely tidbit. And to top it all off, Nick couldn't have been more charming. I don't think I've ever heard such an effortlessly engaging performer.



Immediately preceding Nick were Gary Louris and Mark Olson from the Jayhawks, two years into their reunion and now with a new album to show off. They performed songs from that upcoming release, as well as from the Jayhawks catalog. Gary, a little surprisingly, forgot some of the words to "Sister Cry," and his voice couldn't quite reach some of the high notes on "Blue." Their mellow, melodic set suited the cozy grove beautifully on this gorgeous Saturday afternoon.

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» the whole damn crowd seemed so far away

feels lucky to have you here

Not so long ago, if you wanted to watch me squirm, all you had to do was ask me one simple question: If Wilco/Jeff Tweedy and Jon Brion were playing the same night--and all other factors being equal--which would I go see? I still think it's an apples-and-oranges comparison, but I actually have an answer now.

Jeff Tweedy, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, October 5, 2007: Festivals are great in concept, allowing you to sample a smorgasbord of artists in one fell swoop. I used to travel to England to indulge in this summer tradition, but as my tastes have grown more, errrr, specific over the years, the mix-and-match nature of most festivals has become less attractive to me. Of course, there's always an exception, and if a free festival practically in my backyard with Jeff Tweedy as the headliner can't get me out the door, I don't know what can.

I have to hand it to the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass folks; they don't phone it in. This year, the stage had already been built and the fields prepared by the time we got to the park at a fairly early hour of the morning. All we had to do was walk right down to the sweet spot and spread out the blankets to mark our space, which gave us plenty of room to welcome Dr. Judy and her family when they arrived. Sharing the expanse were Trish, Sinead, Brianne, Andrew, and me--a far cry from last year, when I navigated Elvis mostly by myself.



Jeff was, in fact, the first performer we saw that day, when he emerged for a short soundcheck. Before he returned for his headlining slot, however, we took in the day's other artists. Augie March showed that they were capable of covering a good selection of musical styles, though it seemed like they left almost as soon as they began. Buddy Miller was an early crowd favorite, and he performed a cover of "Rock, Salt, and Nails," which I had no idea was in his repertoire until Brianne mentioned it earlier that day. T Bone Burnett and friends had several technical problems, but Neko Case sounded as amazing as ever. She did only three songs on her own before John Mellencamp joined them, at which point she was relegated to backup duties. Still, it was a kick to hear her singing harmony on "Pink Houses"--a song I never thought I'd hear live and in person, even when it was an MTV staple.



T Bone's set went a bit long, which made us wonder how Jeff would fare. Our concerns, as it turned out, were unfounded, as he was called back for an encore and went a good half hour past the supposed 7 p.m. curfew, delivering a truly satisfying selection of tunes. Early on, he attempted to downplay expectations by informing the crowd that there wouldn't be much bluegrass in his set. No worries there, especially when he's playing up some of the folksier angles, such as songs by Woodie Guthrie and Uncle Tupelo, as well as the twangier end of Wilco's spectrum.

I admit that I have a bias toward the older songs, such as "New Madrid," which I will never refuse an opportunity to hear. But aside from sentimental favorites, the two titles that certifiably lit up the evening were "Someone Else's Song," sung in that high register I love (see "Gun"), and "Summerteeth," to which we contributed some excellent backing vocals, if I do say so myself. But don't take my word for it--the artist chimed in with his agreement, and I may have spied some nearby faces in the audience smiling back at us when they realized what we were doing. No shushing here!



It was kind of weird seeing Jeff--the only solo performer of the day--all by himself on such a big stage. Fortunately, the Blue Angels had ceased their exercises long before his set started, so at least there was no overhead buzzing to distract us. Overall, he handled the daunting stretch of bodies well, joking with the audience and frequently looking toward his family, who were watching from the side of the stage. I just pray that he didn't resurrect "cock" with his brief foray back into that word's terminology. On the other hand, I can confidently say that "loves me some" and "true dat" will continue to live on for some time, despite his best efforts.

As for the rest of the festival, Brianne and I missed Saturday (check back later to find out why), but we returned Sunday, when Andrew had secured our amazing spot, thanks to his dogged determination, his convenient jetlag, and his sheer cult of personality, judging by all the new friends he had made while we were gone. Sunday was, for me, my first ever taste of bluegrass at this festival, and though it'll never be my music of choice, I can't tell you how far I've come aesthetically to be able to listen without prejudice.

Earl Scruggs and his six-piece band showed off the fullness of these supposedly simple tunes, while Doc Watson was charm and talent personified, playing alongside David Holt, as well as his grandson Richard Watson. Finally, there was the transcendent Emmylou Harris; I don't know if it was the setting, the company, or the songs themselves, but I found myself getting a little choked up when those multipart harmonies kicked in. When David Rawlings showed up to watch her set from the photographer's pit (and almost got kicked out by a well-meaning but uninformed security person because he wasn't wearing his badge!), an entirely different emotion, however, took over. Yowza!

See you next year!

See also:
» now I try to be amused