music #13: Bluesfest 2011 Review - Part 1
Bluesfest 2011 was an introduction to a whole new world of music. The blues and roots festival was alive with its own organic music of laughter and residual booming background bass, a genre of music festival unto itself. I was warned that attending Bluesfest would be a week-long hell of a ride. It was a musical sandwich of road trip, tripping around stages in gumboots to watch musician after musician playing with smiles on their faces, songs in their hearts, and after all of that, more tiring road trip home in holiday traffic. I’m going to be realistic and acknowledge that undoubtedly some of the people blissfully holding their elbows as they chilled out against a pole were probably operating under the influence of something along the line of the “Hippy Hiney Whore Herbs” (as we affectionately named the floral Hippy Happy High Herbs tent), but we were running high on chai, traipsing around in multi-coloured gumboots and chattering about the latest, greatest act that we’d seen that day. With headlining acts that included Bob Dylan, B.B. King, Ben Harper and Relentless 7, Rodrigo y Gabriela, The Cat Empire and the Blind Boys of Alabama at the Byron Bay Tyagarah Tea Tree Farm, this Bluesfest was described through the appreciative murmurs of the experienced blues festival goers as one of the best line ups and festivals that they’d ever attended.
Friday
My first day at Bluesfest was a transformative experience. I’d bought my gumboots before the road trip to avoid exorbitant prices on wellies, had a packed lunch with lots of veggies, some flowy clothing on and had checked my camper chair with the coat tent (who ended up calling my group of people the “Village People” for how much stuff we carted through their friendly aisles). I was ready to festival that shit up. I betrayed myself when, crawling between the ropes and tent poles, I excitedly “checked-in” on facebook with those around me. That is when I learned that the internet access at the farm wasn’t ideal, and it became a fantastic part of my experience for the next three days. We ran from Eric Bibb to Xavier Rudd who did some awesome things with a rigged-up harmonica, to wandering around for hours sampling organic, oily, flavoursome and expensive festival food. Suddenly we found ourselves at Fistful of Mercy. Maybe I was a little blown away by their excellent line-up, but their eponymous song ‘Fistful of Mercy’ was the song that has kept with me ever since.
It’s a wonderful feeling when you walk into one of the Bluesfest tents and find yourself staying for the music and the way it makes you feel, rather than the fact you’ve payed for a two hour concert and you’re going to get your money’s worth, dammit. Ben Harper does some incredible things with the neck of a guitar, and has one of the most tortured yet peaceful expressions I’ve ever seen while playing. Although I missed him the night before with Relentless 7, I was lucky to catch him and now he’s nestled on my iPod.
There was a quick stop off at the Blind Boys of Alabama who were truly remarkable, and then recharged our batteries at the very popular coffee shop just outside the Crossroads tent. We sauntered in, hands clasped tightly around each others forearms in a monkey grip and wound up right behind a pole in a space that no one else wanted, front and slightly off to the right for the legend BB King. I’d never heard BB’s music, as far as I was aware, and I still probably couldn’t pinpoint any of his songs. He ruled that show. I have an intense knowing that unfortunately, that was the first and last time I’ll ever see BB King in the flesh. He was a seriously old guy, but he had the best personality on stage and got the biggest applause of anyone I saw that weekend. Sure, he made funny old-man facial expressions and my feet hurt quite a bit after standing around for nearly two hours, but it was worth it. BB was the first act of Bluesfest that I was glued to, craning my neck to get a shot of the brilliant purple shirt and amazing control he had over his lovely lady guitar.
Although I’d never heard of them before (this disclaimer is inherently popular in this review, my introduction to the world of blues and roots), Rodrigo y Gabriela had made a huge impression on me as my first night drew to a close. Wandering around between the tents, close to midnight on the first night, we entered the far corner of the tent in sight of the big screen and I was mesmerised by the form of a woman hanging over her guitar, wrists and fingers and knuckles stroking the life and rhythm out of her guitar in a way I’d never seen before. I don’t know where the solo belonged, if to any song at all, but it was five minutes of an act at the end of the second night that I won’t forget for a very long time.
We walked past Grace Jones on our way out and the impression I got as I walked off towards the gate was that of an enormous blow fish. A fat blow fish that had gone to seed and that was bellowing like Pumba with a great taffeta veil streaming out behind her. I heard that she was about forty-five minutes late to her hour-and-a-half gig, and that kind of diva attitude, especially at Bluesfest, is just unwarranted and uncool. No one cares for pretention on Byron, it’s all about the honest-to-god music and easy going experience, not the typical crap you get from overstated bands back in the capital city.
My introduction to the world of blues and roots was only just beginning, but it had been one hell of a day with exposure to some of the best music the genre had to offer, and some of the best hippy shopping and eating I’m likely to experience this year.
Saturday
One of the best things about Bluesfest is that it knows that before midday it’s likely that you’re surfing at the beach, running on the beach, sleeping on the beach, going to the markets on the beach and soaking your sore feet in a bath (or deep puddle, or ocean somewhere) in preparation for another day of gumboots and circus tents. Itchy wristbands still tight we werte herded once more through the gates carrying our trusty camping chairs and backpacks full of goodies. The smaller stages offered a lot earlier in the day, with The Hands and Bob Abot and the Fabulous Green Machine prompting people into haphazardly constructed waltzes and jives and kicking jigs. The lead sings of Bob Abot had the broadest shoulders and biggest booming voice; it was what drew me into the tent in the first place. The Hands had interesting ways of playing their instruments: there was a lot of flailing and keyboard bashing, standing on piano stools and flipping organ switches to mess their arrangements up. Ironically of course, their clothing and hairstyles seeming to scream. Aside from that though, they were one of the albums I purchased later from the tent.
I’d gone into Bluesfest not knowing most of the artists, bookmarking only Imogen Heap on my ‘artists-to-see’ list. I played it by ear as far as grabbing a spot for previous shows, but I was front and centre with a piece of chilli-garlic corn on the cob to see her performance. I’d seen her a year before in Sydney, and my sister had seen her the night before as she travelled up the east coast to Byron. Based on having experienced her set-list before I was a little disappointed that the stories were the same, and that I remembered the songs as being similar to the previous performance. Aside from this though, she was magical. She involves her audience, dances like a real person and has a musical voice that flutters ironically and delightfully over every little groan and laugh at audience heckles for attention.
Having seen Wolfmother at this year’s Big Day Out I knew how the lead singer Sideshow Bob would be playing with his band, so I was fine to skip him in favour of some more express Yum Cha. We rounded up the camper chairs and parked in the comfy section behind the big screen to enjoy the Indigo Girls. ‘Closer to Fine’ was a big hit with everyone except my boyfriend who curled up on the ground in the foetal position. While nothing really stood out in a big way, it was a really nice way to spend an hour, settled into our chairs and munching on om noms.
This was disturbed by the exhilarating arrival of John Legend onto the stage. Spreading his arms wide and stamping his feet, he began to belt out Adele’s ‘Rolling in the Deep’ into the blackened crowd, lit only by a single spotlight. Joined in the chorus by his three lovely ladies (who proceeded to rhythmically click and ooh through the rest of his performance), Legend proved himself to be the sex symbol that his assuming poster had set him up to be in the Bluesfest merch tent. One girl basically had sex with him on stage when he invited her up to give her a flower as part of a song, but he, laughing, deftly avoided her and escorted her booty off stage. He serendaded us until the end of Saturday with the chocolatey-smooth charisma of Usher and the talent of a modern-day Marvin Gaye.
Pictures from the MTV website
Part 2 including Day 3, 4 and 5 coming soon.
Friday
My first day at Bluesfest was a transformative experience. I’d bought my gumboots before the road trip to avoid exorbitant prices on wellies, had a packed lunch with lots of veggies, some flowy clothing on and had checked my camper chair with the coat tent (who ended up calling my group of people the “Village People” for how much stuff we carted through their friendly aisles). I was ready to festival that shit up. I betrayed myself when, crawling between the ropes and tent poles, I excitedly “checked-in” on facebook with those around me. That is when I learned that the internet access at the farm wasn’t ideal, and it became a fantastic part of my experience for the next three days. We ran from Eric Bibb to Xavier Rudd who did some awesome things with a rigged-up harmonica, to wandering around for hours sampling organic, oily, flavoursome and expensive festival food. Suddenly we found ourselves at Fistful of Mercy. Maybe I was a little blown away by their excellent line-up, but their eponymous song ‘Fistful of Mercy’ was the song that has kept with me ever since.
It’s a wonderful feeling when you walk into one of the Bluesfest tents and find yourself staying for the music and the way it makes you feel, rather than the fact you’ve payed for a two hour concert and you’re going to get your money’s worth, dammit. Ben Harper does some incredible things with the neck of a guitar, and has one of the most tortured yet peaceful expressions I’ve ever seen while playing. Although I missed him the night before with Relentless 7, I was lucky to catch him and now he’s nestled on my iPod.
There was a quick stop off at the Blind Boys of Alabama who were truly remarkable, and then recharged our batteries at the very popular coffee shop just outside the Crossroads tent. We sauntered in, hands clasped tightly around each others forearms in a monkey grip and wound up right behind a pole in a space that no one else wanted, front and slightly off to the right for the legend BB King. I’d never heard BB’s music, as far as I was aware, and I still probably couldn’t pinpoint any of his songs. He ruled that show. I have an intense knowing that unfortunately, that was the first and last time I’ll ever see BB King in the flesh. He was a seriously old guy, but he had the best personality on stage and got the biggest applause of anyone I saw that weekend. Sure, he made funny old-man facial expressions and my feet hurt quite a bit after standing around for nearly two hours, but it was worth it. BB was the first act of Bluesfest that I was glued to, craning my neck to get a shot of the brilliant purple shirt and amazing control he had over his lovely lady guitar.
Although I’d never heard of them before (this disclaimer is inherently popular in this review, my introduction to the world of blues and roots), Rodrigo y Gabriela had made a huge impression on me as my first night drew to a close. Wandering around between the tents, close to midnight on the first night, we entered the far corner of the tent in sight of the big screen and I was mesmerised by the form of a woman hanging over her guitar, wrists and fingers and knuckles stroking the life and rhythm out of her guitar in a way I’d never seen before. I don’t know where the solo belonged, if to any song at all, but it was five minutes of an act at the end of the second night that I won’t forget for a very long time.
We walked past Grace Jones on our way out and the impression I got as I walked off towards the gate was that of an enormous blow fish. A fat blow fish that had gone to seed and that was bellowing like Pumba with a great taffeta veil streaming out behind her. I heard that she was about forty-five minutes late to her hour-and-a-half gig, and that kind of diva attitude, especially at Bluesfest, is just unwarranted and uncool. No one cares for pretention on Byron, it’s all about the honest-to-god music and easy going experience, not the typical crap you get from overstated bands back in the capital city.
My introduction to the world of blues and roots was only just beginning, but it had been one hell of a day with exposure to some of the best music the genre had to offer, and some of the best hippy shopping and eating I’m likely to experience this year.
Saturday
One of the best things about Bluesfest is that it knows that before midday it’s likely that you’re surfing at the beach, running on the beach, sleeping on the beach, going to the markets on the beach and soaking your sore feet in a bath (or deep puddle, or ocean somewhere) in preparation for another day of gumboots and circus tents. Itchy wristbands still tight we werte herded once more through the gates carrying our trusty camping chairs and backpacks full of goodies. The smaller stages offered a lot earlier in the day, with The Hands and Bob Abot and the Fabulous Green Machine prompting people into haphazardly constructed waltzes and jives and kicking jigs. The lead sings of Bob Abot had the broadest shoulders and biggest booming voice; it was what drew me into the tent in the first place. The Hands had interesting ways of playing their instruments: there was a lot of flailing and keyboard bashing, standing on piano stools and flipping organ switches to mess their arrangements up. Ironically of course, their clothing and hairstyles seeming to scream. Aside from that though, they were one of the albums I purchased later from the tent.
I’d gone into Bluesfest not knowing most of the artists, bookmarking only Imogen Heap on my ‘artists-to-see’ list. I played it by ear as far as grabbing a spot for previous shows, but I was front and centre with a piece of chilli-garlic corn on the cob to see her performance. I’d seen her a year before in Sydney, and my sister had seen her the night before as she travelled up the east coast to Byron. Based on having experienced her set-list before I was a little disappointed that the stories were the same, and that I remembered the songs as being similar to the previous performance. Aside from this though, she was magical. She involves her audience, dances like a real person and has a musical voice that flutters ironically and delightfully over every little groan and laugh at audience heckles for attention.
Having seen Wolfmother at this year’s Big Day Out I knew how the lead singer Sideshow Bob would be playing with his band, so I was fine to skip him in favour of some more express Yum Cha. We rounded up the camper chairs and parked in the comfy section behind the big screen to enjoy the Indigo Girls. ‘Closer to Fine’ was a big hit with everyone except my boyfriend who curled up on the ground in the foetal position. While nothing really stood out in a big way, it was a really nice way to spend an hour, settled into our chairs and munching on om noms.
This was disturbed by the exhilarating arrival of John Legend onto the stage. Spreading his arms wide and stamping his feet, he began to belt out Adele’s ‘Rolling in the Deep’ into the blackened crowd, lit only by a single spotlight. Joined in the chorus by his three lovely ladies (who proceeded to rhythmically click and ooh through the rest of his performance), Legend proved himself to be the sex symbol that his assuming poster had set him up to be in the Bluesfest merch tent. One girl basically had sex with him on stage when he invited her up to give her a flower as part of a song, but he, laughing, deftly avoided her and escorted her booty off stage. He serendaded us until the end of Saturday with the chocolatey-smooth charisma of Usher and the talent of a modern-day Marvin Gaye.
Click to viewPictures from the MTV website
Part 2 including Day 3, 4 and 5 coming soon.