Old Settler’s Music Festival
Driftwood, Texas April 16-19, 2009
photo Manny Moss
by Sarah Hagerman
It’s no secret that in recent years, Old Settlers Music Festival has been branching out from its acoustic and bluegrass roots. This being my first OSMF, I had little to compare it to, save for collected stories from friends and new acquaintances – and observations of threadbare t-shirts boasting past line-ups. On the one hand, nostalgia always casts our hindsight in a rosy glow. There’s a well-known local joke that goes, “How many Austinites does it take to screw in a light bulb?” Answer: “Five. One to change the bulb and the other four to complain about how much better the old bulb was.” On the other hand, one always worries at the possibility that, “another good thing has done gone on,” as John Hartford, whose last performance was at this festival, sang in “Tear Down the Grand Ole Opry.” In recent years, no shortage of festivals have sprung up – and some have fizzled out just as quick – and the concern of co-optation, with line-ups being determined by money rather than by the original spirit of the organizers, is a lingering worry that creeps down into the fans of any event.
photo Dave Jackson
But, at 22 years old, OSMF has held off on the corporate atmosphere that younger, albeit more behemoth, fests jumped on to after they learned how to walk (I’m looking at you Bonnaroo). The key is that OSMF has maintained a sense of intimacy (which may have something to do with the steep ticket price), a truly family friendly atmosphere and a hands-on feel. Give me reasonably priced microbrews served by jovial bar tenders, a small but substantial collection of independent food vendors and handicrafts (not to mention the Salt Lick BBQ just next door) any day over the corporate swag jungles of Austin City Limits and Bonnaroo. The close stages in the Salt Lick Pavilion made it easy to bounce between sets, but were arranged in a way that sound bleed was never an issue (I’m looking at you ACL). The port-a-potties were clean, as were the grounds (thanks volunteers!), and recycling bins were ample. My main complaint would be the water situation in the main stage area. With no spigots set up onsite, and only one vendor selling teeny bottles for two bucks, this is pretty shabby. Since you have to take a bus back to Camp Ben McCullough, and many goers opt for day tickets which do not allow access to the campsites, you don’t have many water options. The security seemed cool with people bringing smaller bottles in, but with nowhere to refill them, hydration went quick, especially after the sun came out. Also, the anti-bacterial soap stations were frequently broken throughout the weekend. These are pretty basic health issues that I hope will be addressed at OSMF 2010.
video by Mike Abb
Ah but we’re ultimately here for the music, and for Spring Creek (info/live sounds), an SPPS Partner Band on the rise, their perspective on the festival was very positive and affirming, as Taylor Sims (guitar) and Jessica Smith (doghouse bass) described.
photo D Jackson
“It was the first festival I ever came to, as just a listener, and that was just six years ago.” Sims reflected, “So to get to play it is great, it’s quite an honor. It makes me feel like we’ve come a long way. Sometimes it’s hard when you’re on the inside to actually see the changes, but when we get to come and do things like this, play such great festivals and get signed to Rebel [Records], it becomes easier to see that our hard work is paying off.”
Exactly!” Smith agrees. “Coming here a few years ago, watching all these amazing bands on stage – Del, Leftover Salmon, Yonder – all those guys have played this festival and now we’re playing it, its definitely pretty cool… I would say this festival is very comparable to Planet Bluegrass and Rocky Grass and Telluride in a lot of ways. It’s mostly kind of a younger crowd and a good diverse mix of music, but all great music, and it’s really laid back. Camping and jamming is a big part of it and just has a really great, high spirited crowd.”
Campground Stage - photo Manny Moss
Thursday April 16th
With threats of thunderstorms looming, the sky was a rather ominous gray as my husband and I pulled into Camp Ben McCullough. Passing by the Campground Stage – set up in a tin roofed picnic pavilion – we could hear a sharply executed mando lick from Joe Walsh of The Gibson Brothers , the first act of the festival. With Eric Gibson on banjo and Leigh Gibson on guitar, the brothers have an easy-going stage presence and some solid original material, including “Iron & Diamonds” (from the 2008 release of the same name), which explores life in the mining town of Lyon Mountain, New York, with its passion for the local baseball team. Their sense of place songwriting and the group’s tight, immaculate picking was impressive, but with periodic sprinkles of rain, we decided we should set up our tent while the ground was still dry.
Comfy Camp Ben was already buzzing with festivalgoers firing up grills, popping beers and plunking banjos. Some had been raging for a few days, since Camp Ben is a public campground when the fest isn’t on. We managed to throw our tent up just in time to rush back for Great American Taxi.
Vince Herman - photo Manny Moss
As the drizzle thickened around us, GAT bear hugged the diverse strands of Americana music, from bobbing funk to honky tonk janglers to vigorous grass, pulling up to a smoky bar to down shots of the strong stuff and chatter silver-tongued about some highway love. From rocking opener, a great cover of Bad Livers’ “Lumpy Beanpole and Dirt” (man, it would have been nice to see them here) to encore “Ain’t No More Cane on the Brazos,” an old prison song made famous by The Band, this was a set that channeled some legendary voices. Vince Herman lights up the stage with his jovial presence, chuckling throughout “One of These Days,” and throwing a brick on the gas pedal with his mando picking in “Nobody’s Business.” His moving “Appalachian Soul,” a rousing cry against mountaintop removal mining, was a fitting moment of pause. Propulsive playing shook its thang throughout, with guitarist Jim Lewin taking some cues from Jerry Garcia during “Straw Man,” and Chad Staehly pushing those keys during “American Beauty.” When Herman joyfully declared, “it’s a good night to boogie with y’all!” (during, uh, “Good Night to Boogie”), we couldn’t have agreed more and responded in kind. This is a band that always leaves a grin on my face.
the Gourds - photo Manny Moss
Up last was Jitterbug Vipers , a classy show of Deep Texas swing and smoky jazz that has leapt from a flickering, grainy black and white reel into Technicolor. They turned the dusty pavilion into a speakeasy, complete with couples holding each other tight as they swayed across the dance floor. All we needed were the martinis, but the beer would do. Twenty one-year-old singer and violinist Katie Holmes’ honeyed vocals and scats danced through classics such as, “I Got It Bad (and That Ain’t Good),” “Blue Skies” and “Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans.” And when she draws that bow, stand back. Visually the band are a fun bunch to look at – from Holmes’ laid-back poise to bassist Francie Meaux Jeaux’s Rainbow Brite-inspired hair to drummer Masumi Jones’ uber-cool art school vibe to the man himself Slim Richey’s bushy white beard and sunglasses. But that was just a bonus to their stellar playing. The sax bopping and hopping over flowering piano jangles, Richey’s distinctive guitar work dripping and driving, and the tight rhythm section getting toes tapping. These cats created a dreamy atmosphere, sending us floating into the night, as a banjo breakdown mingled with a cover of “Dead Flowers,” two different campsite circles holding things down in their own musical home fires.
Friday April 17th
Waking up to torrential rain beating the roof of our tent, we peered outside. The tall grass was bending sideways under its force and as the morning progressed, it pounded the earth into mud and streams, as thunder rolled and lightening flashed. Still we could occasionally hear brave pickers from nearby campsites, and they soundtracked our morning, as we hunkered down until lunchtime with PB & J, and later PBR, the latter of which caused mad splash dashes to the port-a-potties. At the Campground Stage, from noon until three, The Flying $ Bunkhouse Band hosted various acts from the campsites – something that wasn’t clear on the schedule, as they were listed as playing from 12 until 3 – a prelude until the main stages opened. Huddling under the pavilion we caught folkie duo The Flying A’s , aka Hilary and Stuart Adamson. Hilary Adamson made purposefully cheesy jokes, and they remained sunny on that stage, even as the thunder roared and the rain rattled the tin roof, threatening to drown out their singing. A nicely done Texas swing take on “Fly Me to the Moon,” was lovely with their two guitars and Beth Galigher’s (Flying $ Bunkhouse Band) pretty flute flourishes.
The weather had begun to slack off, so we decided to see the first bands scheduled to start at four. To travel across FM 1826 between Camp Ben and the Salt Lick Pavilion area you have to take the shuttle buses – which are actually a fleet of hired school buses, so you can relive your back of the bus glory days or front of the bus dorkdom. Coming to the main area, we were informed, not surprisingly, that the stages were running late. The Bluebonnet Stage wasn’t going to be running today, so the bands had been moved inside to the Discovery Stage (which was located in a nifty, long shed-like building). Blue Highway, I was informed to my disappointment, was stuck in Houston and would be unable to make it. As the festival staff scrambled to get things moving and figure out the revised schedule themselves, we decided to explore the grounds, and try and find a dry spot to hunker down.
Julie Fowlis - photo D Jackson
While walking behind the Discovery Stage I had heard the sound of bag pipes and upon investigating, spotted a petite, dark-haired woman wailing away on the instrument. This was Julie Fowlis . Singing in Scottish Gaelic, I let the sounds of the language and the music simply wash over me, although Fowlis did provide us with history lessons. One old Scottish love song she described as being, “unusual because there’s a happy ending.” It was about a woman pining for her lover at sea, only to have him return, drawn back by her singing. Fowlis similarly drew us in with her transcendent voice as her band sketched delicate textures around her. They could also throw down in the jigs, which was a welcome way to warm up. Eamon Doorley was marvelous on the bouzouki, an instrument that sounds similar to a mando and resembles a large lute. “This weather makes us feel at home,” Fowlis had mused earlier, and for the encore she busted out those bagpipes to play what she said was a traditional dance to stop the rain. Points for trying!
photo Manny Moss
One band I had missed at the campsite stage the previous night was Blackie and the Rodeo Kings . Named after a song by Canadian folk singer Willie P. Bennett , the trio of Tom Wilson, Stephen Fearing and Colin Linden make a tremendous noise for three dudes with guitars – and sport some rhinestone cowboy fashion sense. They stewed the acoustic, electric and slide into a dense goulash, dialing it down with broodier numbers like “Veil of Tears.” A mischievous spirit and cock-eyed grin marked their show, like the spangled pizzazz on their black suits. But we ventured out from their set on the Discovery Stage to see The Greencards, nervously watching the heavens lest they start dumping on us again. Two Aussies (Kym Warner on mando and Carol Young on bass) and a Brit (Eamon McLaughlin on fiddle), I’ve heard a lot about this group, who originally made a name for themselves in the Austin bar scene and have since moved on to Nashville. They have a restlessness that fits their name, a wide-eyed and open-armed approach that ponders, breathlessly spacious, before it bursts at the seams with dashing breakdowns. “Fascination,” the title track on their just-released album, has a tapping, creeping melody, while their take on Stanely Brother’s classic “Another Night” rummaged for a while before finding its dancing shoes. An intriguing group with a fresh sound, reminding me a bit of Nickel Creek with a case of the blues, they would burst through those cumulus layers with often unexpected precipitation.
I know precious little about Cajun music. It’s just never been part of my musical lexicon, but seeing the legendary Beausoleil avec Michael Doucet has definitely inspired me to do some musical research. They drew the biggest crowd I saw at the Discovery Stage all weekend, with folks teetering on the ledges and stretching out into the lawn. This is music that just wrenches your soul into a gleeful spring, steeped in brightness and a measure of rust. Sawing fiddles, throaty accordions, slinky guitars and a kicking rhythm section had folks getting down in every direction. From waltzing numbers sung in French to funky zydeco hip shakers, this group makes you move muscles you didn’t even know you had. For the last song they asked the audience if they would like to hear a fast or slow number. Everyone screamed for “FAST!” and the band left us with a good and greasy aftershock. The shed shook with a fury, flying feet trampling mud into dust.
The Bodeans - photo Manny Moss
The BoDeans have been at it since 1983, but may be best known for “Closer to Free,” which was used as the theme song for the show “Party of Five.” On the Hill Country Stage, they had plenty of enthusiasm, and were whipping the crowd into a frenzy, but I personally wasn’t really feeling it. After the hearty meal of Beausoleil, I just was hungry for some more natural grit, not E-Street style rock band starters, but I think I was alone. When they played their big hit for the encore, it felt like the expected rock show punchline. But hey, they delivered what the crowd wanted and they certainly can’t be faulted for that. The mood couldn’t have been more different for Hayes Carll , whose drawn comparisons to Townes Van Zandt. Plugging into the current of hard living, with a rough and tumble backing band that shifted between slow burners and country tread, Carll has a vocal delivery that’s uncontained and slumps over the bar before hitting you unexpectedly with some hoarse punch. He wields a pen that’s been soaking in an outcast well, from the defiant “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up” to the heavy thing of beauty that is “Arkansas Blues,” standing as a proud younger addition to that Texas tradition, which was well represented this weekend with Ray Wylie Hubbard and Robert Earl Keen .
Robert Earl Keen - photo Manny Moss
But it was a set that may have been served better earlier in the day, as it seemed like much of the crowd left. Perhaps switching the scheduling would have been better, letting the Bo-Deans close out the night.
I did leave for a while to check out local jammers Flounders Without Eyes at the Discovery Stage, although mostly just to see Adam “Pickles” Moss and Dave Wilmoth from Green Mountain Grass sit in for a few tunes including a rambunctious “Freeborn Man.” Moss rambled to some great heights with his fiddle while Wilmoth spun some snaky blues-inspired picking. It was a treat to see them up there, but once they left, I admittedly lost interest in the Flounders. I wandered away to catch more Carll, and then catch my bus back to camp, where I whiled away the late night hours losing myself in the campsite jamming ether.
Saturday April 18th
Back from a few months break, those GMG boys were all over the show this weekend (OSMF MVPs!). No wonder they were rubbing the sleep out of their eyes a bit at the start of their noon set on the Hill Country Stage, under a persistently cloudy sky. An Austin quartet currently making some tour tracks, they got no qualms about taking weird left turns, dropping the bottom out and going completely free-form in the midst of their blazing ‘grass. The four – Wilmoth, Moss, Trevor Smith (banjo and guitar) and Jesse Dalton (bass) – have an inviting stage presence, as they play with fierce hunger and unforced intuitive chemistry. They have some witty lyrical styles as well, taking turns both dark and light hearted, sometimes in the same song. Jaunty anthem of sorts “84 Blues” drops geographic locations like hot rocks on a run from the cops, and “Banker” – with its lyrics, “you mistake me for a banker/but I am just a thief” – was appropriately dedicated to the Wall Street CEOs. There were unexpected cover choices in this set, such as Radiohead’s “Exit Music for a Film” and friends and fellow Austinites The Blue Hit’s “All the Children,” with the latter eliciting warm laughs from those in the know. This unpredictable, uncanny, and at times refreshingly offbeat, group always manages to surprise me each time I see them.
Sarah Jarosz - photo D Jackson
In Sarah Jarosz’s career thus far, she has shared the stage with countless of big name acts, and has some heavy hitters (Tim O’Brien, Jerry Douglas, Mike Marshall, Abigail Washburn) on her upcoming album Song Up in Her Head (which she co-produced with Gary Paczosa on Sugar Hill Records). Oh yeah, and next month, she’ll graduate from high school. Switching between banjo, guitar and mandolin, and backed by Sam Grisman on bass and Alex Hargreaves on fiddle, she owns natural talent in spades and an effortlessly confident stage presence. To be that relaxed and assured at 18 is no easy feat, but to pick the hell out of “Rocky Road,” break hearts with original songs such as “Tell Me True, and bust out a killer cover of Tom Waits’ “Come On Up to the House” is something else altogether. Phenomenal. I pulled my jaw out of the mud and made my way over the Discovery Stage only to have it dropped to the floor once again by Spring Creek. These four have a genuine rip and a commanding bellow in their sound, with a powerful stage presence that draws you in with a force field pull, incendiary as they draw choice weapons and lean into that single mic. Smith wailed on a honky tonk number, Sims explored all those pretty female distractions on “Drivin’ Me Crazy,” banjer-killer Chris Elliot and skillful mando and fiddle juggler Alex Johnstone leaned into the mic for an old-timey duet, and the four simply threw it down and kicked it around on “Bowling Green.” This is some exciting, hot-ass grass, and as the set ended, the audience was screaming for more. But I guess the stage needed to move on, and as they were grabbing their instruments, it appeared they were told they wouldn’t get an encore. The boos were as loud as the cheers had been seconds earlier – maybe louder. Luckily, we would be treated to a second dose of Spring Creek on Sunday. And, lo and behold, during their set the sun came out, ushering in a gorgeous day just as quickly as the storms had arrived on Friday morning!
Belleville Outfit - photo M Moss
I had to take a campsite break at this point, leaving the compelling acoustic amalgamation of Austin’s The Belleville Outfit at the Bluebonnet Stage. I made it back in time for The Lee Boys at the Hill Country Stage. Their sacred steel always rocks the show, and even an agnostic such as myself can get down with their lofty, raucous injection, at least for a little while. I may not be able to testify, but I can surely dance. Under the hot afternoon, the space in front of the Hill Country Stage came alive with folks moving and shaking what god gave ‘em to Derrick and Keith Lee’s colossal vocals, Roosevelt Collier’s screaming steel, and Alvin Lee’s depth charged guitar. The Lees like to see things get rowdy here on earth even if their eyes are turned towards heaven.
Before the The Travelin’ McCourys took the stage, my buddy turned to me and said, “This is going to be bluegrassy goodness.” And hell yeah, the MC at the Bluebonnet Stage was wearing a “Del Yeah!” t-shirt when he announced them. Del’s sons do him proud even without the patriarch on stage.
Travelin McCourys - photo M Moss
This set was absolutely note-perfect. They barreled out of the gate with a turbo charge, Ronnie McCoury soaring on his mando, Rob McCoury laying waste to his banjer, Jason Carter sawing and singeing his fiddle, Alan Bartram thumping that bass, and Cody Kilby (a welcome addition) igniting on guitar. The McCourys spread the love to several influences in their set – Hartford’s “Vamp in the Middle,” Jimmy Martin’s “Hold What You Got,” timeless classic “Another Place Another Time,” the tears in your beers “Lilly Hoskins,” and even some of Grisman’s “Dawg” music, which they dedicated to Sam Grisman, a mutual appreciation of the generational torch passing. Couples reeled in each other’s arms by the stage in the golden early evening light, the McCourys an impeccable score to an idyllic scene.
Next up on the Bluebonnet Stage was Ray Wylie Hubbard. An elder statesman to Texas songwriters, his music has a wicked throb squirming through it, something that makes you want to dance inappropriately, slipping a low, sinister moan through those nether regions. “Snake Farm” snapped at our legs and hips and “Name Droppin’” was prefaced by Hubbard’s opinions on the subject. “I think it’s an amateur thing to do,” he growled, before launching in the swiping, snaky song. Hubbard speaks his mind, and even his t-shirts say, “Screw You, We’re From Texas” (named after one of his songs). A stubborn Lone Star attitude served up undiluted enough to burn holes in your throat.
Lee oys & McCourys - photo M Moss
The McCourys and The Lee Boys first teamed up together at Del Fest last year, and then again at Warren Hayne’s Christmas Jam. I wasn’t quite sure how the sounds would mesh together, but gospel and bluegrass are deeply entwined, and a collective of musicians who juggle both tradition and evolution are no doubt united by a common language that extends beyond their respective genres and families. “Let’s Celebrate,” with its declaration of, “We’re gonna have a good time!” was the best way to sum up this ecstatic show. The bands sort of switched off leading on different songs, with the Lee Boys trumpeting a rock charge, shredding Hendrix’s “Voodoo Chile” at one point, and the McCoury’s driving the rootsy train through classics like “Going Down the Road Feeling Bad.” They met head on and wrestled, fiddle racing over steel, mando stewing with chucka chucka guitars, and rhythm sections colliding, a jam session between friends, everyone on stage having a blast. Isn’t that ultimately what OSMF is about? I even kicked off my shoes and danced in the sand pit on the side of the stage, grit between my toes as little kids waged glow stick sword fights around me.
Robert Earl Keen - photo M Moss
Headliner Robert Earl Keen’s set was being broadcast to troops in Iraq, giving “I’m Coming Home,” an extra layer of heartache, especially when the screen would flash a live feed of the soldiers. In festival land, it’s easy to block out the real world, so it was sobering and grounding reminder of what’s happening outside the gates. Like Hubbard, Keen is another Texas institution, and I appreciated the opportunity to finally see him. Coming after the Lee Boys and McCourys’ set, this was an energy shift for sure, but his band sounded rock solid with rolling country, and a great cover of Townes Van Zandt’s “Flying Shoes” is something you can never argue with. While Keen was unraveling his droll, earthy tales on the Hill Country Stage, New Monsoon was deep into sonic explorations over at the Bluebonnet. Vets of OSMF, they are a band that dodges any darts you may throw at them. Tonight, they were leaning heavily into Phish territory, slipping periodically into Americana roots outfits, and then pulling out some rollicking Allmans flavors on “Alaska.” As talented and diverse as they are, they aren’t a band whose music I find sticks in my head. I like eclectic and I like lots of ideas, but sometimes I feel like there’s a lack of cohesion in this lot. I just haven’t quite found the thread that I can wrap around my finger and take with me after their show is over.
The night got mighty interesting after that, as my buddies and I attempted to navigate the muddy ground at Camp Ben, like lost ducklings, in search of the stage at the fabled Camp Good Times. As we traversed the darkness, we gradually began seeing friendly, familiar faces and lights in the trees. Coming into a clearing, we found the stage. Raina Rose was singing, joined by Smith and Moss from GMG, and Andrew Pressman (bassist from a cracking local outfit called Electric Mountain Rotten Apple Gang ). The space in Camp Good Times looked like some kind of psychedelic fairyland. A chandelier with lights tumbling down hung above the crafty stage, which was flanked by paper structures, and tube lights that wound through the ground. No mics set up here – this was entirely unplugged, to the point where shushing was in order. This was my first time seeing Rose, a Portland, Oregon-based singer-songwriter. She’s not afraid to get plenty of grit under her fingernails with her words, and her voice has head-spinning potency. I only caught a couple songs, but she sold me.
Green Mountain Grass - photo M Moss
The Blue Hit took over the stage next. I think fans of Sometymes Why would dig this. It’s very left-field, shuddering with a strange illumination. Revolving around the singular voice of Grace Rowland, a feisty songwriter with otherworldly, spine tingling pipes, this group snaps you to rapt attention. There’s stage presence and then there’s a voodoo kind of magnetism, and with the lights flickering at Camp Good Times and what looked like an endless sea of black beyond, something was sparking akin to magic. John McGee’s guitar and David Moss’s cello tumbled and prowled, while Grace stood in the middle of their instrumental tosses, her singing hushing us to silence. The Blue Hit played a captivating set, and we were treated to several faves, like the creepy carousel-like melody of “All the Children,” and they even teased GMG’s “’84 Blues,” as a nod to the GMG’s earlier cover of “Children,” the haunting “Out the Door,” and the poppy “BoysGirls.” I have to admit, I never thought I would like that song from Pocahontas (“Colors of the Wind”), but stripped down and performed with an eco-warrior edge of anger instead of Disney’s saccharine bombast, it had some reverb in a forest the weekend before Earth Day. Re-examinations that strip away assumptions – that summarizes this trio.
Green Mountain Grass closed down the late night and their traveling jams and warm vocals radiated waves that swept us forward to write the night however we saw fit. Some folks pounded terra firma, others simply sat in rapt captivation by the side of the stage. Others flitted back and forth, bumming cigarettes and shwills of booze to keep their party going. No matter what narrative yarn we followed, we were all carried through by this band. The yearning in this music mirrors our own journeys and to hear them in songs such as, “Long, Long Road”
I’ve been on this road for I don’t know how long
Just a ramblin’ and singing this song
With my fiddle and my bow I don’t need no place to go
I’ll just keep walking til I get back home
or their heart-swelling version of Ola Belle Reed’s “I’ve Endured,” I felt like it was touching at some core of my own search for home. They were joined by Rose at the end, whose voice was sounding strained, but she soldiered on for a feverish take on “Jolene,” where she stomped the stage in a fury. Then, the musicians all threw down with Django Porter , a guitarist who has played with Willie Nelson, and was quite a force of gypsy nature. At this point it was creeping up towards 4:00 a.m., and those on stage all deserve serious props for remaining upright, much less keeping the energy high throughout the show. I thought about this late night show on my way back to the campsite. When I was younger, I loved punk and truthfully still do, but more the drive behind it. That DIY philosophy and art for art’s sake is an elusive ideal. But I think that’s what in part what attracted me to bluegrass – the moxie to keep that spry musical fire alive and the sense of community that inspires. This was that spirit in action.
Manny Moss photographer
Sunday April 19th
I woke to sunshine streaming through my tent, leaf shadows dancing patterns across the nylon. I lay for awhile, just simply listening to the sounds of Camp Ben waking up, and then catching the distant music of The Rockin’ Gospel Project starting on the Campground Stage. On Sunday, there were only a few bands left to play in the campground, and I had two I really wanted to see. After enjoying a pleasant stroll in the virtually dried up Onion Creek, I wandered back to the Campground Stage to see my second helping of Spring Creek . They drew quite a crowd for noon on a Sunday, and I couldn’t have thought of a better way to redeem my sins from the night before. This band has a red-blooded firebrand force with a keep-it-real, old school yen as they own the stage, and it was wonderful to soak in their electricity once more. It was also a prime chance to appreciate more of their versatile songwriting, from the spicy “Cuba Vera Swing” to their rousing “My Love is Way Up on the Mountain.” And yes, they got a well-deserved and overdue encore this time, ending on an exuberant cover of Elton John’s “Honky Cat.”
Stonehoney were up next, and if you dig the Eagles, you would probably like this band. My feelings on The Eagles are best summed up by The Dude in The Big Lebowski, so they eventually sent me back to my camp, to dismantle my site and pack up the car. As I watched Camp Ben clear out around me and said my goodbyes, I could feel the weekend catching up with me. But I wanted to see The Lovell Sisters , and I’m glad I made it back to the Campground Stage one last time for them. As we sat on the stone picnic bench in the back, we watched the friendly scene around us. Kids hula hooped, families picnicked, and a group of older folks silly on beer played a sloppy game of checkers, as the unmistakable shudder of a Dobro filled the air. I was really impressed by these sisters, whose melodic sensibilities are spot on, and whose playing shakes the topsoil. A triple attack of Dobro, mando and fiddle, and backed by a rhythm guitar and bass, they were a shiny end to the weekend. A gorgeous a capela gospel number was followed by a haunting cover of Massive Attack’s “Tear Drop,” kudos for bringing something unexpected to the table, and for infusing it with a rootsy shimmer all their own. It was my end credits to the weekend, and it was after that, with creaky bones, muddy feet and sunburned shoulders, we piled into our little red Mazda and drove on, back down that road towards home.
Related Audio:
Green Mountain Grass Live from OSMF 2009 [archive.org]
regina bartlett Says:
