Written into my will is the provision that if I die while holding tickets to the Ann Arbor Folk Festival, my remains will be propped in my chair so I can enjoy it one last time. This year, I came perilously close to exercising this provision due to a condition I’ve dubbed “The Death Cold” which has persisted in my head and lungs since shortly after Hallowe’en. I am happy to report that two nights of hand-crafted music were just what the doctor ordered.
Full disclosure: these are my highly idiosyncratic reflections of these two wondeful evenings. My tastes tend toward what Laurie Anderson described as “difficult listening.” For calibration’s sake, my personal musical highpoint of last year, for instance, was the University Musical Society revival of “Einstein on the Beach” that glorious, four-hour weird operatic work of Robert Wilson and Phillip Glass. I like my culture chunky, chewy and difficult to digest. But I also appreciate polish, showmanship, craft and the willingness of a performer to gratify an audience. At one end is “steak” and the other “sizzle” with no value judgement beyond taste weighing either end. My Dear Loving Partner and I are members of The Ark – the sponsoring venue of the Folk Festival – because it reliably delivers entertainment that is both intriguing and nourishing.
The MC for the evenings was Colin Hay, a performer forever doomed to be known as the former frontman for “Men at Work.” I confess that during the 80’s, that band could have been my musical nemesis, vacuously pleasant pop that hence was overplayed on commercial radio. It was a hard sell for me but, damn it, Colin nailed it. I caught myself humming one of his songs in the shower this morning, for goodness’ sake. He knows how to pluck a guitar and his tunes are wistful, sensitive reflections on life and there’s hardly much wrong with that, is there?
The first performer, Carl Broemel, got down to business with a tight set of tunes featuring, to my mind, a masterful use of the digital delay. Carl recorded and overdubbed passages and rhythms live on his guitar and slide that he then was able to pop into and out of quite seamlessly. (Amateurs on the digital delay let the loops drone on too long, IMHO.) The couple sitting next to us clucked their tongues at what they suspected was lip syncing but Carl actually made a tricky technique seem simple. The high point of his set, for me, was his witty rendition of “Lolly Pop” adding a layer of harmony to the chorus on each repetition.
I’d heard good things about Frontier Ruckus but didn’t know exactly what to expect. To be brutally honest, I was afraid they’d be a slightly precious “college band” but they turned in a solid performance, even attempting an un-miked number to test the fabled acoustics of Hill Auditorium. From what I could tell of the lyrics, the song and verse structures themselves were intriguing with buried rhymes and almost rambly sentment and line length.
Brown Bird were probably my favorite act of the first night of the Festival, but given my predilections, that’s no surprise. Gutsy, sometimes gutteral, spare and dark, this duo of a seated guitar and stand-up bass performed a tight set of balls-out gritty tunes probably a good choice for a revue type show such as the Folk Festival. I would like to hear what they do with slower, more introspective pieces. I will definitely be in attendance when Brown Bird flies back to the Ark later this year. Note to self: I shaved off my chest length beard a year too early. All the young hipsters seem to sport them nowadays.
When I glory in the sizzle of Delta Rae, please do not hear it as a criticism. These half dozen vibrant young performers were fully conscious of their presence onstage and disciplined every drop of their youthful zeal to churn out a performance that was both polished and authentic. I had the sense that these positive and professional younguns had perfected their chops while performing in church, the wellspring of so much great Ameican music. In the days before pyrotechnics and digital projections, bands had to captivate audiences with purely musical means, and Delta Rae is well practiced in these classic techniques. They used a shiny metal trashcan as percussion, for cryin’ it out loud. The tune “If I Love You” in particular was a great example of soulful, passionate, gospel tinged awsomeness. In my estimation first evening’s most enjoyable blend of sizzle and steak, Delta Rae rocked.
“Dance in the Graveyards” by Delta Rae
A brief intermission allowed me to suck a cough drop, stretch my legs and rub elbows with a fellow music lover who clued me into the utterly fantastic story of Rodriguez. Seriously, check it out. I usually try to exclude extra-musical information but wow, in this case knowing a few background details made his performance infinitely richer. Rodriguez was the oldest performer on the bill and was escorted onstage with the honor befiting a dignitary. His music channeled a different time, a time when music could be about love and politics, perhaps a bit repetitive and psychedelic, when difficult social problems could be confronted with little more than hope and optimism.
Trampled by Turtles, damn, I rather enjoyed them. They felt like a rock and roll band who accidentally picked up old timey instruments and I mean that as a compliment. Their chops were competent, sure, but they seemed to approach acoustic music unencumbered by past traditions. Their tunes were fresh and boisterous, snapshots from a musical journey still an adventure for the performers. If they were the house band at the local bar, I’d be a drunkard for sure.
Curmedgeon alert: I rarely enjoy the headliner at the Folk Festival. City and Color was, by that measure, pretty good. His between song patter was unaffected and engaging which made him seem personable. I have to give him special props for performing a song about night terrors. It just wasn’t my thing, which isn’t to say I might react differently if I encountered his work in a different context. I was feverish, achy and congested, remember.
A sparkling dust of snow had fallen while we were inside and My Dear Loving Partner bundled me up against the cold and freighted me back to my sick bed, the warming glow of the 36th Annual Folk Festival still pulsing through my system.