You wish to go the festival?!
I had one of the best weekends, possibly in my whole life, but definitely of recently.
It is important that in this scenario, "weekend" include Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, but not Saturday. I get to define my weekends by the days I have off of work, and if you don't like it, sucks to your assmar!
I ended up with three days off in a row, which is completely unheard of at my work. One day off from one schedule-week bumped up against my two days off for the next schedule-week, which were next to each other because I had requested them that way. Wednesday you already know about; purchases were made and I was happy.
Thursday, I spent more time with Erin (she's an architecture student, so I take our time together when I can get it). We just ran a few errands and had lunch at Wibbley's, which is, for the record, the best burger joint in the greater Seattle-ish area (in this case including a good chunk of the Eastside, particularly that no-man's-land between Bellevue and Redmond that we call Overlake), and quite possibly the best place for milkshakes in said area as well. I must notify Liz Suburbia.
After our lunch, we went to their place and boring things happened that I am skipping because it's already too late to make this a short entry. Later in the evening, we (Erin, Jake, Ryan and I) decided to get Panda Express and watch the previous night's episode of Lost. Eh, it was ok. Kind of felt like random backstory that they made up just for that episode, which didn't really tell us anything. Also:
Dear Sawyer,
Stop being a fuckhead and just love Kate.
Love,
Sarah
After Lost I ran to catch a bus back to the U District, ran from that bus to my apartment, quickly changed clothes, fed Pepper, and dropped off my laptop, ran to catch a bus downtown, and made it to The Funhouse just in time to be a half hour early for the Steel Tigers of Death show. Really, I need to remember that no matter what the posters say, Funhouse shows never start until 10.
At any rate, it ended up being the best show I've gone to in AGES. Seemed like everyone was there: Anna and Chris and Devin, naturally, as well as Tina and Tim, my favorite goth couple. Even Stephen Notley showed up, making that the first time I've seen him since my birthday. The first two bands were "eh" (Hot Knives and A Gun That Shoots Knives). Steel Tigers of Death, however, are fast becoming my favorite local band (sorry Poorsport, I still love you too). Brad is just the most awesome person ever, I want so badly to be his friend. Anna and I dragged him into the photobooth, then later did one just with me and Anna. They are both awesome, but the latter is possibly THE best photobooth pictures of all time ever. Anna is making doubles at work, then I can scan them and show you.
The evening ended with me helping Chris drag home a very drunk Annabelle, and me crashing at their place for the night. Chris made us fish sticks and cheese sticks, which we gorged on while watching about half of Spaceballs before we collapsed around 3am.
Friday I woke up at Anna's around 8:30, due to construction across the street (and when I say "street," I mean "alley"). Once I realized it was Rex Manning Chris Thile Day, I couldn't fall back asleep. I didn't end up leaving their place until around 1pm, and didn't get home until 2. That left me with just under two hours to get ready for Ryan to pick me up for Wintergrass. I had to fuss over my clothes and change a million times, plus do all the necessary preparations in case I was able to secure an interview with Mr. Thile. I was very disppointed that my contact at Sugar Hill had failed me, but I guess I felt at least somewhat confident that I could snag him for a little bit of time. I told myself I probably wouldn't be able to, but I think that, deep down, I thought I'd manage it.
This is the part of the LJ entry where I am a huge geek. See...Chris Thile's birthday was just a few days ago (I am not a crazy stalker, it's on his Myspace), so I decided to make him a mixCD. I didn't put a TON of time into it, but I thought it was a pretty good mix. I decided I'd only give it to him if I actually got time to chat with him and it could be somewhat casual. I wasn't about to throw it at him onstage.
Ryan picked me up, and even though we had planned an extra HOUR into our schedule, traffic was abominable, and we ended up only making it to half of their first set. Luckily, I found out they were doing another full set on the main stage later. They performed first on the church stage, which was really a beautiful facility, albeit lacking anywhere to dance. We got to see them do their cover of "Ophelia" (Dear Gabe Witcher STOP you're so hot STOP please marry me STOP), "You're an Angel and I'm Gonna Cry" (sigh), "If the Sea Was Whiskey," (ohgod five-part harmony unf), "Cazadero," and I honestly forget what else.
After the show, they had a merch table going in a nearby room, and people started to queue up for autographs.
This is the part of the entry where I get all moody. I really wish I could be happy with a scribble of Sharpie and a minute or two of face time. I really do. It would be great; I could wait in line with everyone else, shove my CD insert at the band in question, garble on about what a good set it was and how I totally love the CD, earn myself a smile and a few words, and then go on my merry way, happy as two clams.
But I'm not. I'm not satisfied with that. I got over autographs years ago; they don't mean anything. And sure, usually a minute of face time is all you can hope for. But I want to talk to people. When I love an musician's work, I want to sit down and hang out with them, I want to ask questions, I want to just shoot the shat. I suppose that's one reason why I love music journalism. Sure, in those scenarios I am often still getting a face they put on for the press, but at least I don't appear to them as just "a fan." I'm a fan who wants to help them, has the capacity to do so, and ostensibly knows what I'm talking about.
Unfortunately, in this particular scenario, such things were not to be. Ryan and I waited off to the side until the line had died down. I hopped on the back of the line, and when it was my turn, introduced myself as respresenting Razorcake Magazine. Almost instantly, the "happy-talking-to-fans" mask fell away, and he seemed distracted and, although it pains me to say so, somewhat disinterested. I explained that I had been trying to set something up with Sugar Hill, but it fell through, and asked if he perhaps had some spare time anyway.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm not doing any press at this festival. I'm too overworked."
I nodded and said I understood, gave him the copy of the zine I had brought for him anyway, thanked him for the great show, and left.
Was that a reasonable response? Of course it was. I'm sure he was overworked and tired, and he's not obligated to talk to me just because the article would be fucking awesome and I wanted it terribly. I just felt so brushed off. If he had seemed earnestly apologetic, I would say, "c'est la vie," and think no more of it. But for the first time in my journalistic career, I felt that introducing myself as a member of the press had, instead of putting myself slightly above the role of an average fan, rather put me outside of it. It seemed like he assumed I wasn't actually interested in the music. I'm loathe to admit that it put a sad sort of cast on the rest of the evening.
After that show, Ryan and I got some food and went back to the lobby of the main hotel, where people are just jamming constantly in little groups. That was one of the most awesome parts of Wintergrass, I think. Little groups of three, four, ten people, of all ages and genders, huddled together and busting out some old time tune. It was charming (I especially found the number of women playing upright bass to be delightful). Really made me wish I played an instrument.
Next, we ventured to the main stage to see Tim O'Brien. When we got inside, I don't think "flabbergasted" is too strong a word for my reaction. It was a huge hall at the hotel (aliteration!), crammed full of chairs, with a large stage at one end. And when I say crammed, I mean crammed: there was hardly a place to stand and nowhere to dance. The seats even wrapped around the side of the stage, so you couldn't even dance there. What the hell is wrong with these people? Last time I checked, bluegrass was dance music. How can you listen to "Cazadero" and not want to get up and do a jig?
I was devastated. After the disappointment of meeting Chris, this was too much to bear. Would I not even be able to dance at their main show? Was this what an indoor bluegrass festival means? Sitting on your ass and complacently watching the musicians perform? Bollocks to that, I say. We sat through most of Tim O'Brien's set, but I was distracted. When he and his cohorts left the stage, Ryan and I tried to make our way up front and see if there was any way we could find a better place to sit or stand for the How to Grow a Band (rhyming!) Alas, the best we could hope for was to stand at the edge of the wall, which provided a crappy sight-line to the stage. At least there was sufficient room to dance.
This set was awesome and disappointing in turns.
Awesome:
-They played "The Beekeeper," my favorite song on the album.
-They did "I'm Nowhere and You're Everything," off Deceiver, which I never dreamed they'd perform live. The live rendition, I must say, was even better than the recorded one.
-A beautiful rendition of "Stay Away."
-This hilarious old man was standing next to us and kept asking me questions. After "Stay Away," which I had been silently singing along to and probably swaying with an enraptured look on my face, he asked, "You liked that song, huh? It's a beautiful one!" Then when they played "Brakeman's Blues," he asked me if I knew who wrote it. I did, and commented that they certainly did it differently than Jimmie Rodgers had. He crowed and slapped his leg, and said, "Yup, but they're both good!" It was encouraging to see an older Bluegrass fan really digging what they were doing.
Disappointing:
-There was very little of the awesome stage banter that makes their shows so fun. Chris did comment on the parenthetical title of "Wayside (Back in Time)," and then added that he really only said that because he likes the word "parenthetical." He won a few points back in my estimation.
-Obviously, not having a decent place to both dance and watch the band was quite vexing.
-It turns out that, as far as I can tell, Chris Eldridge has left the band and been replaced by Bryan Sutton. Bryan's a fine guitarist to be sure, but I wonder at the reason of it. Chris E. was there with another band, The Infamous Stringdusters, but we sadly missed their set.
After that set I didn't bother to seek out the merch table, still feeling miffed. We headed over to the third venue, another nearby hotel, to see The Greencards. They were slated to play at 10:30, right after John Cowan, Pat Flynn, and some guy I'd never heard of. We went in to watch the end of their set, but the lack of sleep began to catch up with me. We went out to the lobby and flopped in a couple of comfy chairs to wait.
That trio proved to be incredibly rude, overstaying their set by nearly a full hour, while The Greencards were waiting to go on. I was shocked at the show of unprofessionalism. The Greencards didn't get to begin their set until just after 11:30.
Luckily for everyone, it was well worth the wait.
The Greencards were the saving grace of Wintergrass for me. Everything about their set was delightful; I wasn't even bothered that they didn't play many songs off the album that I own. Carol's voice is incredibly beautiful, even moreso live than on the record. I was too tired to dance at this point, so I let the lack of dancing room slide.
At about midnight, Carol said, "I think we could be friends for life, you and us. Because you're all sticking around with us instead of going to the Mando Extravaganza." At this, their mandolin player, Kym, looked at his watch and jokingly said, "Yeah, I'll be right back..."
After the set, I went out to their merch table to buy a copy of their new album (not in stores until March 6!) and chat with Carol, who is just as much of a sweetheart as you'd imagine. We then meandered back to the main stage, to see if we could catch a bit of the Midnight Mandolins. Predictably enough, they hadn't even started.
The Midnight Mandolins (which didn't start until nearly 12:45) consisted of Chris Thile, Mike Marshall, and Hamilton whatisname (I am too lazy to look it up), basically just jamming and noodling. We stayed for a couple of songs, but although it was fun to watch them goofing around with each other, I was too damn tired to sit for it. We headed home, listening to The Greencards all the way.
That brings us up to date. Now it's time for me to head off to work, and endure the teasing of all my coworkers about whether or not I made out with Chris Thile.
It is important that in this scenario, "weekend" include Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, but not Saturday. I get to define my weekends by the days I have off of work, and if you don't like it, sucks to your assmar!
I ended up with three days off in a row, which is completely unheard of at my work. One day off from one schedule-week bumped up against my two days off for the next schedule-week, which were next to each other because I had requested them that way. Wednesday you already know about; purchases were made and I was happy.
Thursday, I spent more time with Erin (she's an architecture student, so I take our time together when I can get it). We just ran a few errands and had lunch at Wibbley's, which is, for the record, the best burger joint in the greater Seattle-ish area (in this case including a good chunk of the Eastside, particularly that no-man's-land between Bellevue and Redmond that we call Overlake), and quite possibly the best place for milkshakes in said area as well. I must notify Liz Suburbia.
After our lunch, we went to their place and boring things happened that I am skipping because it's already too late to make this a short entry. Later in the evening, we (Erin, Jake, Ryan and I) decided to get Panda Express and watch the previous night's episode of Lost. Eh, it was ok. Kind of felt like random backstory that they made up just for that episode, which didn't really tell us anything. Also:
Dear Sawyer,
Stop being a fuckhead and just love Kate.
Love,
Sarah
After Lost I ran to catch a bus back to the U District, ran from that bus to my apartment, quickly changed clothes, fed Pepper, and dropped off my laptop, ran to catch a bus downtown, and made it to The Funhouse just in time to be a half hour early for the Steel Tigers of Death show. Really, I need to remember that no matter what the posters say, Funhouse shows never start until 10.
At any rate, it ended up being the best show I've gone to in AGES. Seemed like everyone was there: Anna and Chris and Devin, naturally, as well as Tina and Tim, my favorite goth couple. Even Stephen Notley showed up, making that the first time I've seen him since my birthday. The first two bands were "eh" (Hot Knives and A Gun That Shoots Knives). Steel Tigers of Death, however, are fast becoming my favorite local band (sorry Poorsport, I still love you too). Brad is just the most awesome person ever, I want so badly to be his friend. Anna and I dragged him into the photobooth, then later did one just with me and Anna. They are both awesome, but the latter is possibly THE best photobooth pictures of all time ever. Anna is making doubles at work, then I can scan them and show you.
The evening ended with me helping Chris drag home a very drunk Annabelle, and me crashing at their place for the night. Chris made us fish sticks and cheese sticks, which we gorged on while watching about half of Spaceballs before we collapsed around 3am.
Friday I woke up at Anna's around 8:30, due to construction across the street (and when I say "street," I mean "alley"). Once I realized it was Rex Manning Chris Thile Day, I couldn't fall back asleep. I didn't end up leaving their place until around 1pm, and didn't get home until 2. That left me with just under two hours to get ready for Ryan to pick me up for Wintergrass. I had to fuss over my clothes and change a million times, plus do all the necessary preparations in case I was able to secure an interview with Mr. Thile. I was very disppointed that my contact at Sugar Hill had failed me, but I guess I felt at least somewhat confident that I could snag him for a little bit of time. I told myself I probably wouldn't be able to, but I think that, deep down, I thought I'd manage it.
This is the part of the LJ entry where I am a huge geek. See...Chris Thile's birthday was just a few days ago (I am not a crazy stalker, it's on his Myspace), so I decided to make him a mixCD. I didn't put a TON of time into it, but I thought it was a pretty good mix. I decided I'd only give it to him if I actually got time to chat with him and it could be somewhat casual. I wasn't about to throw it at him onstage.
Ryan picked me up, and even though we had planned an extra HOUR into our schedule, traffic was abominable, and we ended up only making it to half of their first set. Luckily, I found out they were doing another full set on the main stage later. They performed first on the church stage, which was really a beautiful facility, albeit lacking anywhere to dance. We got to see them do their cover of "Ophelia" (Dear Gabe Witcher STOP you're so hot STOP please marry me STOP), "You're an Angel and I'm Gonna Cry" (sigh), "If the Sea Was Whiskey," (ohgod five-part harmony unf), "Cazadero," and I honestly forget what else.
After the show, they had a merch table going in a nearby room, and people started to queue up for autographs.
This is the part of the entry where I get all moody. I really wish I could be happy with a scribble of Sharpie and a minute or two of face time. I really do. It would be great; I could wait in line with everyone else, shove my CD insert at the band in question, garble on about what a good set it was and how I totally love the CD, earn myself a smile and a few words, and then go on my merry way, happy as two clams.
But I'm not. I'm not satisfied with that. I got over autographs years ago; they don't mean anything. And sure, usually a minute of face time is all you can hope for. But I want to talk to people. When I love an musician's work, I want to sit down and hang out with them, I want to ask questions, I want to just shoot the shat. I suppose that's one reason why I love music journalism. Sure, in those scenarios I am often still getting a face they put on for the press, but at least I don't appear to them as just "a fan." I'm a fan who wants to help them, has the capacity to do so, and ostensibly knows what I'm talking about.
Unfortunately, in this particular scenario, such things were not to be. Ryan and I waited off to the side until the line had died down. I hopped on the back of the line, and when it was my turn, introduced myself as respresenting Razorcake Magazine. Almost instantly, the "happy-talking-to-fans" mask fell away, and he seemed distracted and, although it pains me to say so, somewhat disinterested. I explained that I had been trying to set something up with Sugar Hill, but it fell through, and asked if he perhaps had some spare time anyway.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm not doing any press at this festival. I'm too overworked."
I nodded and said I understood, gave him the copy of the zine I had brought for him anyway, thanked him for the great show, and left.
Was that a reasonable response? Of course it was. I'm sure he was overworked and tired, and he's not obligated to talk to me just because the article would be fucking awesome and I wanted it terribly. I just felt so brushed off. If he had seemed earnestly apologetic, I would say, "c'est la vie," and think no more of it. But for the first time in my journalistic career, I felt that introducing myself as a member of the press had, instead of putting myself slightly above the role of an average fan, rather put me outside of it. It seemed like he assumed I wasn't actually interested in the music. I'm loathe to admit that it put a sad sort of cast on the rest of the evening.
After that show, Ryan and I got some food and went back to the lobby of the main hotel, where people are just jamming constantly in little groups. That was one of the most awesome parts of Wintergrass, I think. Little groups of three, four, ten people, of all ages and genders, huddled together and busting out some old time tune. It was charming (I especially found the number of women playing upright bass to be delightful). Really made me wish I played an instrument.
Next, we ventured to the main stage to see Tim O'Brien. When we got inside, I don't think "flabbergasted" is too strong a word for my reaction. It was a huge hall at the hotel (aliteration!), crammed full of chairs, with a large stage at one end. And when I say crammed, I mean crammed: there was hardly a place to stand and nowhere to dance. The seats even wrapped around the side of the stage, so you couldn't even dance there. What the hell is wrong with these people? Last time I checked, bluegrass was dance music. How can you listen to "Cazadero" and not want to get up and do a jig?
I was devastated. After the disappointment of meeting Chris, this was too much to bear. Would I not even be able to dance at their main show? Was this what an indoor bluegrass festival means? Sitting on your ass and complacently watching the musicians perform? Bollocks to that, I say. We sat through most of Tim O'Brien's set, but I was distracted. When he and his cohorts left the stage, Ryan and I tried to make our way up front and see if there was any way we could find a better place to sit or stand for the How to Grow a Band (rhyming!) Alas, the best we could hope for was to stand at the edge of the wall, which provided a crappy sight-line to the stage. At least there was sufficient room to dance.
This set was awesome and disappointing in turns.
Awesome:
-They played "The Beekeeper," my favorite song on the album.
-They did "I'm Nowhere and You're Everything," off Deceiver, which I never dreamed they'd perform live. The live rendition, I must say, was even better than the recorded one.
-A beautiful rendition of "Stay Away."
-This hilarious old man was standing next to us and kept asking me questions. After "Stay Away," which I had been silently singing along to and probably swaying with an enraptured look on my face, he asked, "You liked that song, huh? It's a beautiful one!" Then when they played "Brakeman's Blues," he asked me if I knew who wrote it. I did, and commented that they certainly did it differently than Jimmie Rodgers had. He crowed and slapped his leg, and said, "Yup, but they're both good!" It was encouraging to see an older Bluegrass fan really digging what they were doing.
Disappointing:
-There was very little of the awesome stage banter that makes their shows so fun. Chris did comment on the parenthetical title of "Wayside (Back in Time)," and then added that he really only said that because he likes the word "parenthetical." He won a few points back in my estimation.
-Obviously, not having a decent place to both dance and watch the band was quite vexing.
-It turns out that, as far as I can tell, Chris Eldridge has left the band and been replaced by Bryan Sutton. Bryan's a fine guitarist to be sure, but I wonder at the reason of it. Chris E. was there with another band, The Infamous Stringdusters, but we sadly missed their set.
After that set I didn't bother to seek out the merch table, still feeling miffed. We headed over to the third venue, another nearby hotel, to see The Greencards. They were slated to play at 10:30, right after John Cowan, Pat Flynn, and some guy I'd never heard of. We went in to watch the end of their set, but the lack of sleep began to catch up with me. We went out to the lobby and flopped in a couple of comfy chairs to wait.
That trio proved to be incredibly rude, overstaying their set by nearly a full hour, while The Greencards were waiting to go on. I was shocked at the show of unprofessionalism. The Greencards didn't get to begin their set until just after 11:30.
Luckily for everyone, it was well worth the wait.
The Greencards were the saving grace of Wintergrass for me. Everything about their set was delightful; I wasn't even bothered that they didn't play many songs off the album that I own. Carol's voice is incredibly beautiful, even moreso live than on the record. I was too tired to dance at this point, so I let the lack of dancing room slide.
At about midnight, Carol said, "I think we could be friends for life, you and us. Because you're all sticking around with us instead of going to the Mando Extravaganza." At this, their mandolin player, Kym, looked at his watch and jokingly said, "Yeah, I'll be right back..."
After the set, I went out to their merch table to buy a copy of their new album (not in stores until March 6!) and chat with Carol, who is just as much of a sweetheart as you'd imagine. We then meandered back to the main stage, to see if we could catch a bit of the Midnight Mandolins. Predictably enough, they hadn't even started.
The Midnight Mandolins (which didn't start until nearly 12:45) consisted of Chris Thile, Mike Marshall, and Hamilton whatisname (I am too lazy to look it up), basically just jamming and noodling. We stayed for a couple of songs, but although it was fun to watch them goofing around with each other, I was too damn tired to sit for it. We headed home, listening to The Greencards all the way.
That brings us up to date. Now it's time for me to head off to work, and endure the teasing of all my coworkers about whether or not I made out with Chris Thile.