So we are sitting on the ground in our little chairs in front of the stage, watching the performers get seated. We are watching them; they are staring out into space above our heads. As each one stood up to sing, he or she paused for a moment, staring, and then said something like, “This is a great festival, it’s so beautiful here.” Every one of them used the word beautiful, and each of them had this moment of quiet introspection, ignoring the audience. It took me a while to figure it out. We were looking at them. They were looking at the Rockies behind us. I turned around several times myself after that. Wow. Great grey mountains lurking there in the sunshine, beyond the grass and the pines. In every direction.
Okay, so we came to hear music. Specifically folk music, the kind made using acoustic instruments and generally written a century or two ago, with some new songs by the current crop of singers. First off, all the acoustic instruments plug in, so we could hear them. Next thing, up pops a Fender and a Gretch. But hey, it sounded good, and Bob Dylan broke that ice back in the 60s when he went electric. It made for a nice mix.
Folk music is branching out, allowing fusion of various styles and modernizing of the repertoire. We heard ukelele with cello, 17th century Scottish ballads with reggae, and Irish fiddle with electric sitar. We were not dragged along kicking and screaming, we skipped along with it and bought the CDs because it was all so wonderful.
One of the best things about a workshop is seeing performers take turns calling the tunes, and before they start to play, they turn to the others and say, “It’s in B Flat.” Three bars in, half of the other musicians had joined in, and often they took a turn playing the riffs of the break. Some of them have better chemistry with each other than others, and it was nice when that happened. I liked watching performers intently watching whoever was playing, learning and appreciating.
The other thing that was warm and fuzzy about the workshops was seeing Murray and Ken again, after forty years.
40for40years 