Day Three - Sunday

If yesterday had been a fairly early start, by now I had learnt from the regulars what had to be done for a close up spot at the main stage for this final day. So there I was at 4am huddled up in a sleeping bag, guarding an area mapped out for my friends. I tried to dress this up as an act of altruism in thanks for their hospitality, but there was no disguising the fact that it was done purely for my own satisfaction. Luckily by the end of the day they too had fallen under the spell of Emmylou. Luckily waking up naturally at 3am because of jetlag helped, and by now I had made some new friends amongst the familiar faces.

As the sun just about chased the morning chills away, there came what was probably the highlight of the weekend - a full band sound check from Emmylou that was virtually an intimate mini-performance for a couple of hundred punters standing round with their mugs of coffee. Half an hour of songs and chat (she’s a funny chirpy lady as I discovered) starting with a bluegrass arrangement of “Love And Happiness” (not performed later) and a gorgeous “Snowin’ On Raton” - an old but unissued (until the recent “Songbird boxed set”) Townes Van Zandt song that was delivered in the evening (with a shout-out to the ’sound checkers’) along with his more well known “Pancho And Lefty”. This was almost too much of a good thing for any Emmylou fan, plus I got the chance to chat to people who had been watching her in bars in the early 70s with Gram Parsons.

The final day proper got off to a mellow start with Denver band Flexigrass - Pete Wernick on banjo, wife on vocals, and a bluegrass jazz fusion sound heavy on the vibraphone. Normally the two words jazz fusion would have me searching for the exit, but they weren’t overly serious, and it was a set I could let flow over me largely horizontal as I conserved my energy after the early start. Then Hazel Dickens - a name that had meant nothing to me, but was the start of what was to be a bit of a bluegrass history lesson at this stage this afternoon. A fan club was gathering specifically to see her, and Warren came out to announce the woman who was one of his inspirations for the whole festival concept - and has affected his political views with her provocative pro-union, feminist stance. She was one of eleven children in a poverty stricken mining family in West Virginia, and is 72 years old. Those who have heard Loretta Lynn’s vibrant collaboration with Jack White on “Van Lear Rose” will get some idea of the spunky little package of energy that wonderful lady possesses, and Hazel would easily take Loretta in a fight. When she walked into the middle of her band and curtly ordered “Hit it boys”, we knew we were in for a good time. There was high lonesome yodelling and there was classic picking from her boys. Only occasionally did the surprisingly chilly wind (despite the sun) get to her voice, and the other excuse she had was that she had been up singing way too late at Warren’s party the night before. What a trooper. For one of my friends she was the highlight of the day.

I was ready to enjoy the David Grissman Bluegrass Experience - especially as they featured former mandolin player from the Foggy Mountain Boys Curly Seckler (Grissman is a mandolin maestro himself), but that coincided with a blip in my mangled sleep patterns and today’s hillbilly dancer invasion, so although the music was great, I was feeling slightly below par sitting with a view of thrashing bare legs for the most part. I should have been dancing. Thankfully that passed, and another living banjo legend took the stage - Earl Scruggs - who has almost defined the bluegrass style since the 40s. Even if you do not realise it, you will know the instrumental “Foggy Mountain Breakdown”, and it was a treat to hear it, note perfect, live. The only other old timer I had wanted to see was on another stage that afternoon: Charlie Louvin, but he’s in the UK shortly as part of the Electric Proms season. And elsewhere the relative whippersnappers The Sadies and former Yorkshire punks The Mekons were doing their thing.

Next the elder statesman of the whole event - 84 year old Doc Watson from Deep Gap, North Carolina - the acoustic guitarist and singer who today put the white man’s blues into bluegrass. Blind since before his first birthday, his playing was beyond fantastic and he is one of the ultimate mountain musicians, playing banjo and harmonica as well. Just as marvellous as the music was his between song stories of Appalachian life and struggles with guitar sounds before electric pickups were invented. I could have listened to him all day long. If you ever get the chance, give this man the respect he truly deserves.

Jason Isbell from Drive By Truckers was headlining not far away, but as the festival came to a conclusion, most people’s minds were turning to its customary finale - Emmylou Harris at sunset. I had seen her with a full electric country ban over a decade ago, with her ‘new age’ setup at Cambridge folk festival last year, but this was to be my favourite configuration - the acoustic instruments of backing band Carolina Star could not drown out but only complement her incomparable voice with all its texture and sweet frailty.

All my travelling friends had returned and we were all set for what turned out to be a faultless memorable performance. Her almost signature opener “Songbird” started a set that was thick with older tunes - plenty of songs done by or with Gram Parsons and with a few gospel numbers, as it was, so she said, Sunday after all. A stunning a capella “Calling My Children Home” left me to pick up my jaw from the floor. Fellow musician fans were crowding the sidelines, and Warren always makes a point of coming out into the crowd to watch - he jumped over the barrier to find a spot around 5 yards from me. We’ve got a lot in common - shame it’s not a few billion though. At one point David Rawlins came round the front but was shooed away by unknowing security, so had to retreat to the side of the stage where he sat delightfully grinning like a schoolboy. For the last song, security urged the crowd to stand and move forward to ignore the strictly maintained access corridor and come right up to the barrier. We didn’t need a second invitation, and partied away to that last upbeat bluegrass number - with the black bouncers dancing away too in what for the younger lads had started as mock goofiness but soon turned into as much enjoyment as the rest of us. Emmylou - an absolute musical treasure, by any standards, across all genres.

Warren made a speech of thanks in what was expected to be the gap before the encore - and was roundly adored by all those present who realised how much they owed to his generosity. He is a humble and likeable man. Then Emmylou welcomed Hazel Dickens on stage and presented him with a banjo signed by the performing artists and many more from around the world. With this done there was no time for an encore, but it had been such a special day that it hardly mattered. Each day largely everyone had scrupulously taken the trouble to take all their trash home - the success of the festival and its continued residency in the park means that much to them. Or maybe Americans are simply much nicer than us. In San Francisco they are anyway. Lucky bastards.

Photo credit: Maudie McCormick

Day Two - Saturday

Though this trip was my first real rock tourism jaunt, my friends are seasoned veterans and most would indeed be leaving me temporarily to jet down to LA for an evening with Jon Brion. So, alone I set off in the early morning sun for a day of difficult decisions. I eventually decided to try and split my time between two venues, and set off for the secluded gentle gully that was home to a smaller stage, before a return to the main stage later. The shade provided blessed relief after nearly burning my face off in the previous two days and meant I could resist buying a natty festival cowboy hat. It was also an appropriately leafy setting for Irish singer-songwriter Fionn Regan. Those around me were not familiar with him, but with influences such as Bob Dylan and Neil Young and looking like a member of the Byrds circa ‘68 he was destined to go down well in this location. Quite a few paid a visit to the merchandising stalls later. Just half an hour, with partial drum and female vocal backing. If there is a criticism, it was one of circumstance not performance, since wordy heartfelt songs had to fight to penetrate the sleepy cool morning vibe and thin early audience. But he managed it, despite the handicap of being announced as a ’she’ by the straight-laced ‘county sheriff’ radio presenter MC - to which he quietly quipped ‘Sorry, I’m not wearing my high heels’. So, here’s a tip for success in the US: get a haircut Fiona.

A short break getting to know my neighbours better and luckily discovering the traditional festival semi-secret of tomorrow morning’s expected Emmylou sound check, and Allison Moorer took to the stage. I suspect (never having heard her before but having made a few enquiries) her recorded work to be a lot smoother in a country AOR fashion, and therefore definitely not to my taste, but her marriage to Steve Earle may well see her sound develop in a positive direction. Certainly live solo with an acoustic guitar she was fantastic - great voice, good songs and second top redhead of the festival. Buddy Miller came out for some raunchy electric guitar echoing through the trees for a cover of Patti Smith’s “Dancing Barefoot” and the day more or less took off from there. Then Steve Earle appeared to duet on the 60’s ant-war protest song “Where Have All The Flowers Gone”. Nose to nose, strumming hands almost colliding - it was a lovely moment. And in case you’re wondering, Steve is deliberately looking a bit rougher than usual at the moment since he’s playing a bum in gritty US show The Wire. Allison Moorer finished with her theme song from the film “The Horse Whisperer”. Again, maybe slushy on record (not heard it myself), but it worked for me stripped down and raw.

Steve Earle then hung around at the side of the stage to watch one of his mentors: Guy Clark. A buddy of fellow Texan songwriter Townes Van Zandt (”Townes Van Zandt is the best songwriter in the whole world and I’ll stand on Bob Dylan’s coffee table in my cowboy boots and say that.” - Steve Earle), he had a similar style, and whilst I had heard of Van Zandt, this was another old ‘legend’ who the crowd were going nuts for that was completely new to me. But as far as I was concerned that was all part of the reason for coming. Not someone I’m likely to seek out on CD, but great to witness live as the real McCoy in the lineage of American singer-songwriters. Banter and songs that were sometimes hell raising (like a tale of making bullets in the garage), sometimes overly sentimental; Clark performed without a set list - taking requests and accompanied by Verlon Thompson - who might even have pipped David Rawlings to the accolade of best guitarist I saw that weekend. That is really saying something.

After that deep south experience, it was back to Blighty with Nick Lowe solo and acoustic for over an hour, though there were bursts of mockney Elvis to bridge the Atlantic gap. I was glad to see how appreciated he was, and even the British humour in his patter succeeded. He was very upbeat to be coming to the end of his “gruelling” US tour (”I do it so you don’t have to”) despite sporting a rather angular hack of his usually lustrous silver barnet. An extremely varied audience ranged from indie teenagers brushing up on their music history to what can only be described as a gaggle of groupies (back stage passes and all) looking like thirty-something Paris Hiltons in retro frocks - complete with small dog. At least they knew all the words. Heavy on songs from the rather good new album, Lowe had the gully truly bopping with “I Knew The Bride When She Used To Rock And Roll” and since Bay Area favourite Elvis Costello played the festival last year, “Peace Love And Understanding” from its actual writer was greeted with awe. If we’ve got one thing to thank Curtis Stiger for, it’s that the royalties from his cover of that song will keep old Nick solvent for the rest of his days.

At this point my schedule called for a change of scene. Later I heard that the following Boz Scaggs and his ‘all star’ band had gone down a storm, and elsewhere the raucous Subdudes and cowpunk of The Knitters had people on their feet throughout. I practically had to fight my way out of the narrow funnel that led to the stage, and only then did the full scale of the event hit me. The sunny Saturday had brought out a lot of passing traffic as well as real music fans, so it was a real effort to get any kind of vantage point back at the main stage. John Prine was drawing huge crowds not far away, but I was angling for festival darlings Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings. Deciding that a view more than compensated for closer, but still not very close, physical proximity, I settled down to observe Ricky Skaggs and Bruce Hornsby (yes - the “Way It Is” man) with band Kentucky Thunder. Observed is the correct verb, since the distance, and majority of the music, left me mostly unaffected. However, there were hundreds of barefoot hillbillies (mostly young high student kids) pressing on the security cordons of the normally sit-down only main stage arena. At the signal they were allowed their half hour of madness - and it’s a wonder they could be persuaded to leave later. That sight alone made for an entertaining time.

My only regret from the whole weekend was that I was not closer for Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. If there is anyone reading this who does not have at least two of their albums in their collection - do something about it now! I was just close enough to see David wrestling with his guitar in typically fanatical concentration and drawing applause at each break as they played their intricate arrangements beneath Gillian’s haunting tones and their combined close harmonies. And speaking of which, Emmylou Harris joined them on stage for the a capella “Didn’t Leave Nobody But the Baby” - David having to cover the part normally taken by a third female. Just marvellous - and as my friend said: “just about as close to being able to hear a pin drop as you’ll get in a crowd this size”. And what would their set be without a murder ballad: “Caleb Myer” finished things off. This was the second of the trio of acts that had been the real motivation for this trip, and it has only made me more determined to catch them a lot closer when they finally get back to the UK.

It was now 6pm and things were running a bit late. Banjo maestro Bela Fleck had been massively popular on the second stage before Los Lobos ripped it up with what I was told was a stellar performance featuring many guest spots. I had opted for Steve Earle. In 1986 I picked up his debut, “Guitar Town”, as one of the artists that was establishing the ‘New Country’ genre that opened a lot of other musical doors to me. He has been through a lot and is one of the most interesting and passionate individuals making music today. In past years at the festival he has appeared with his ‘Bluegrass Dukes’, but this time he took to the stage alone - introduced by Warren himself - a strange meeting of apparently diverse politics if ever there was one.

The first half of his set was, for me, blighted by too much traffic as families left as dusk settled in and hipsters arrived. It was the first time I had witnessed the oft described American scenester in action - groups standing around with their backs to the stage chatting with absolutely no regard for the music. Incredible. Maybe the atmosphere was tight down front as Steve sang his activist songs like “John Walker’s Blues” and “Jerusalem” (”I’m just going to keep singing it until it comes true”) but I wasn’t having the best of times.

Then there was radical change as the second half formed around his latest: “Washington Square Serenade”. Steve picked at a lone banjo as the Pro-Tools generated booming hip-hop beats of the album were replaced by a live scratching DJ. At that point I had yet to hear the album (soon remedied), but it was intoxicating. Even the scenesters perked up their ears. There was now enough space for me to work my way down closer, and half the audience was starting to dance - a remarkable shift in mood as darkness beckoned. Only for a few moments on “Way Down in the Hole” did the rhythms not gel. Allison Moorer came out to join this odd duo for “Days Aren’t Long Enough”. Steve was determined to play a full set as planned, and before the encore invited anti-war activist and Congressional candidate Cindy Sheehan to make a one line speech: “Bring our troops home, impeach George Bush and Dick Cheney, and vote for me!”. I thought Steve had turned it around, and I went home more than happy, but really the whole weekend was about one artist for me and I walked home in anticipation of what might await tomorrow.

Look out for our review of Day Three tomorrow…

Photo credits: Andrew Dowdall, Maudie McCormick, Art Siegel & Chris Holmes

Day One - Friday

Wait! Yes - that does say Bluegrass, but carry on reading. The Hardly Strictly bit is significant. Although anyone with a whiff of a leaning towards Americana would be blown away by almost any of the regular Bluegrass acts on the bill, the loose umbrella takes in everything from aging legends like Charlie Louvin, bands who are to Bluegrass what The Pogues are to Irish folk, more or less mainstream folk or blues rock acts, through to the hillbilly Pink Floyd that is Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams - apparently: I was elsewhere since the Pink Floyd tag alone would be enough to put me off even if I did not have a heroine of mine to worship elsewhere at the time.

I had been aware that a few of my favourite artists (Gillian Welch, Steve Earle, Emmylou Harris) had a habit of attending this festival year in year out, and when Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy was announced as a headliner it seemed like some sort of personal alignment of the artistic planets was taking place. A rare fog-free forecast and an invite from some local fellow Wilco fans later and all that was required was the airfare. Did I mention that this is a free festival? Through the generous largesse and musical devotion (he actually plays banjo in a band) of wirey San Francisco investment banker Warren Hellman, several of Golden Gate Park’s pine-lined meadows were kitted out with five stages and became home to half a million visitors for the weekend. You get some idea of the scale of his commitment when you discover that all the multi-camera set-ups on each stage are there just to capture everything for his personal home movies - although there were rumours that this year some performances were due to surface as part of the ACL series in the US.

With no profit to make there’s not much need to advertise, and I was surprised how many San Franciscans were not fully aware of what was going on down in the woods just on their doorstep. The crowd were a very mixed bunch indeed - from Silicon valley yuppy families having a picnic day out, to hippy kids freaking on pot and older hippies still doing the same after 30 years, to park hobos, to what might be a stereotypically traditional country demographic (dungarees or embroidered shirts and all) of all ages. That range was succinctly demonstrated in the reaction to the flyovers by the Blue Angels jet aerobatic team buzzing the city for Fleet Week: from polite applause for ‘our boys’ to outstretched arms culminating in ‘the finger’. Then there was a large percentage of very knowledgeable music lovers for whom this was an annual pilgrimmage. The weekend is also famous for the number of off-the-cuff collaborations and guest spots that take place - the artists enjoying the chance to mingle with friends, and Warren’s (he is just ‘Warren’ to everyone - you’ll see him walking about everywhere) Saturday night private party is legendary.

Friday sees the festival limbering up gently, with just one stage and a more relaxed atmosphere until those at work during the day start to drift in for the evening headliner. This was welcome, since my previous first day in the city had been spent covering more ground on the streets than Dirty Harry, with a bike ride over Golden Gate Bridge thrown in for good measure. A morning arrival secured a good spot to crash out for the rest of the day - though the reviving effects of good music (and my host’s home cooking) were soon kicking in, with the huge bonus of a couple of songs from Jeff Tweedy at soundcheck to help pass the time nicely. Australian tunesmiths Augie March were in town for an evening support slot, and at the last minute had secured a spot opening the festival - a bit of a pleasant surprise as though they could be vaguely described as country rockers, it’s still a bit of a stretch. They just had half an hour to impress, but grabbed their chance with six songs which, as Glenn Richards put it “give you some idea of what we do”. The sweet melodies of “Baron Of Sentiment” and “Cold Acre” were soon drifting across the field and more and more people were soon paying attention to these ‘unknowns’. Everyone I met across the three days spoke well of them, so it seems to have been a wise move. Already I was glad I’d made the trip. Check out TLOBF’s recent review of “Moo You Bloody Choir” for more details.

Next up was the revered (as I soon found out in this crowd) singer, songwriter, guitarist (often for Emmylou), and producer Buddy Miller. There was a soulful country blues feel to his set provided by vocalist Gail West, and guest spots from singers Allison Moorer and Jim Lauderdale. With his talent, history and contacts he would be popping up all over the place during the weekend, and it was the start of a bit of a crush on Allison Moorer - Steve Earle’s current wife. Their hour soon passed - good without being spectacular for me, but it was easy to see he is a class act.

The crowd was buzzing during the 15 minute break (all changeovers were pretty slick). Only a couple of days before it had been announced that T-Bone Burnett’s advertised ‘friends’ would be Neko Case and John Mellancamp - Mellencamp having been a huge rock star from the 80’s and was generating goosebumps for the baby boomers in the crowd. He later turned away from the path most followed and the largely acoustic “Big Daddy” album is recommended. Burnett has become most well known recently for re-energising interest in America’s musical heritage by overseeing the “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” soundtrack (as well as “Walk the Line” and “The Big Lebowski”), and was most dapper in long dark tailcoat and waistcoat. Only the flowing silver hair jarred with the Civil War preacher look. He kicked off with a simple but effective version of “Rave On” from his famous fellow Texan, but was soon getting loud and mean with featured blues guitarist/singer Doyle Bramhall, though this third of his set was bedevilled by (lack of) sound problems. He spoke with a soft drawl and a genuine affection for that elusive quality that is ‘feeling’ in good music - as he introduced Neko Case to give a demonstration. Neko’s flaming locks and spectacular voice were a double assault on the senses - oozing from an otherwise restrained stage presence.

The sunny afternooon mood shifted up a few gears as John Mellencamp bounced on to the stage - short and muscley he seemed pumped up and all ready to give it some as only a mid-west rocker can. People were going wild as he launched into big past hit “Pink Houses”. I felt a bit left out, but was happy to take in all the atmosphere generated by this hiatus. T-Bone is currently producing a new album from Mellencamp, and a performance of the song “Jena” expected on that album (although already available) followed. Its social commentary on the ongoing allegedly racist events in Jena Louisiana are an indication of how far from the rock mainstream Mellencamp has come - though in truth this particular song is a bit laboured. Neko was still on stage to provide backing harmonies, and Jim Keltner had been sitting in on drums throughout.

With an official 7pm park shutdown (though often stretched to 7:30) it was soon time for today’s headliner: Jeff Tweedy. A 5:45 start saw an invasion of younger fans and those just off from work (including a swelling of my particular bunch of friends) but I was pleased to find how many of the hardcore festival goers were also Tweedy fans (most being familiar with Uncle Tupelo too) - even in his homeland ‘Tweedy’ will generate puzzled looks even from those who recognise the still generally obscure ‘Wilco’.

The sun was setting on a sea of people - it must have been a glorious sight from up on stage. Tweedy was nervous at this massive crowd for a solo show, but with his wife and young family in the wings, he was obviously in a good mood as he played 23 songs until the noticeable October twilight chill and curfew forced him reluctantly to leave the stage to a standing ovation. “When the Roses Bloom Again” was a first time live highlight for me, and “Remember the Mountain Bed” and closer “Acuff Rose” are always outstanding. The setlist was nicely wide ranging, plus there was a healthy dose of the usual dry wit. Over the years I’ve been listening his voice is now getting stronger and more expressive, and general acoustic guitar playing more accomplished. Having said that, there was one dodgy guitar solo that more or less collapsed under its own weight and by the end of the weekend led to some general mild amusement that he was lucky to be allowed on the same stage as some of the dazzling fingered acts on show. But who am I to complain - the man is a genius, and I was totally one of those joining in for “California Stars” and “New Madrid”. I left the higher register backing on “Heavy Metal Drummer” to my female friends, and whilst usually a hater of singing concert going neighbours - it was charming to hear a mother singing perfectly in tune to her young baby nearby for several songs. Day one finally over - time for a burrito.

Look out for our review of Day Two and Day Three tomorrow and Thursday…