This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2013/jul/17/music-american-bluegrass-festival-telluride
The article has changed 2 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
Previous version
1
Next version
| Version 0 | Version 1 |
|---|---|
| My love affair with the American bluegrass festival | My love affair with the American bluegrass festival |
| (2 months later) | |
| It has been three years since I fell in love with bluegrass music. It was the frenetic fireworks of the fiddling that did it for me, rather than the jangle of the banjo. I had played violin since I was a little girl, and the idea of turning what had always been an instrument of torture (classical is hard, man) into something so joyous was what drew me in. But what kept me there was the people – the welcoming community of jobbing musicians, front-porch pickers and enthusiastic audiences that make up this vibrant world. | It has been three years since I fell in love with bluegrass music. It was the frenetic fireworks of the fiddling that did it for me, rather than the jangle of the banjo. I had played violin since I was a little girl, and the idea of turning what had always been an instrument of torture (classical is hard, man) into something so joyous was what drew me in. But what kept me there was the people – the welcoming community of jobbing musicians, front-porch pickers and enthusiastic audiences that make up this vibrant world. |
| Mandolins and banjos have been flirting with the mainstream since Mumford & Sons made braces and beards a thing. And bluegrass's continuing moment in the spotlight has resulted in increasing audiences all over the US, from its Appalachian homelands to New York and Los Angeles. And with it, the music's traditional outdoor festivals – a few of which have been around as long as Bill Monroe himself – have grown in number and confidence. As a proud subscriber to Bluegrass Unlimited – the industry's homegrown fanzine – I have often looked at the full-page ads for North Carolina's Merlefest, or Indiana's Bean Blossom, and sighed wistfully, wishing that the Atlantic Ocean wasn't quite so wide. | Mandolins and banjos have been flirting with the mainstream since Mumford & Sons made braces and beards a thing. And bluegrass's continuing moment in the spotlight has resulted in increasing audiences all over the US, from its Appalachian homelands to New York and Los Angeles. And with it, the music's traditional outdoor festivals – a few of which have been around as long as Bill Monroe himself – have grown in number and confidence. As a proud subscriber to Bluegrass Unlimited – the industry's homegrown fanzine – I have often looked at the full-page ads for North Carolina's Merlefest, or Indiana's Bean Blossom, and sighed wistfully, wishing that the Atlantic Ocean wasn't quite so wide. |
| What's interesting about bluegrass festivals is that they are not exclusively about the onstage performances. From ancient fiddle contests, such as Galax in Virginia, to more urban flowerings, such as LA's Bluegrass Situation, there's an expectation that the fans will do as much jamming as the pros, and there's plenty of encouragement for the budding musician. None more so than the Telluride festival, which celebrated its 40th anniversary last month. | What's interesting about bluegrass festivals is that they are not exclusively about the onstage performances. From ancient fiddle contests, such as Galax in Virginia, to more urban flowerings, such as LA's Bluegrass Situation, there's an expectation that the fans will do as much jamming as the pros, and there's plenty of encouragement for the budding musician. None more so than the Telluride festival, which celebrated its 40th anniversary last month. |
| Bluegrass fans talk of it like a religious pilgrimage, and it's true that the lineup always impresses. This year includes legends ancient and modern, from Del McCoury, Bobby Hicks and Emmylou Harris to Tim O'Brien and Chris Thile, not to mention the younger generation represented by the prodigious talents of Sarah Jarosz and Alex Hargreaves. But what no one could explain was quite why this tiny, single-stage affair in Colorado – 2,000 miles away from the music's Appalachian heartland – attracts them here year after year. | Bluegrass fans talk of it like a religious pilgrimage, and it's true that the lineup always impresses. This year includes legends ancient and modern, from Del McCoury, Bobby Hicks and Emmylou Harris to Tim O'Brien and Chris Thile, not to mention the younger generation represented by the prodigious talents of Sarah Jarosz and Alex Hargreaves. But what no one could explain was quite why this tiny, single-stage affair in Colorado – 2,000 miles away from the music's Appalachian heartland – attracts them here year after year. |
| The drive into the mountains gives you some inkling. The former gold-mining town is nestled deep in the San Juan mountains, with dramatic cliffs and pine-covered peaks hemming it in. There's a literal barricade in place during the festival that keeps the town free of all but essential traffic, so the pristine 19th century main street becomes an extension of the festival site itself. Optimistic, talented buskers claim every corner, and everyone is walking around with a big, stupid grin on their face, like they can't quite believe they were allowed in. | The drive into the mountains gives you some inkling. The former gold-mining town is nestled deep in the San Juan mountains, with dramatic cliffs and pine-covered peaks hemming it in. There's a literal barricade in place during the festival that keeps the town free of all but essential traffic, so the pristine 19th century main street becomes an extension of the festival site itself. Optimistic, talented buskers claim every corner, and everyone is walking around with a big, stupid grin on their face, like they can't quite believe they were allowed in. |
| By 9am on the first morning, the Telluride crowds are already lined up patiently. It's unusually early for festivalgoers to be awake, but what's more strange is that some of them are doing quad stretches. A piper in full regalia fills the mountain air with bagpipe music. It transpires that this is the running of the tarps, the bizarre and democratic tradition that decides who gets the best seats. When the piper finishes his reel, a hush descends, and those at the front of the queue gather their tarpaulins, ready to spring. The gates open – "Welcome to Festivaria!", booms the PA – and men and women hare across the field, plastic sheeting trailing behind them, to the accompaniment of a bluegrass version of the William Tell Overture. It's like a school sports day as imagined by the Goodies. Having secured their prime spots in front of the stage, the early risers high five each other, then remember how tired they are and slink back to their sleeping bags. | By 9am on the first morning, the Telluride crowds are already lined up patiently. It's unusually early for festivalgoers to be awake, but what's more strange is that some of them are doing quad stretches. A piper in full regalia fills the mountain air with bagpipe music. It transpires that this is the running of the tarps, the bizarre and democratic tradition that decides who gets the best seats. When the piper finishes his reel, a hush descends, and those at the front of the queue gather their tarpaulins, ready to spring. The gates open – "Welcome to Festivaria!", booms the PA – and men and women hare across the field, plastic sheeting trailing behind them, to the accompaniment of a bluegrass version of the William Tell Overture. It's like a school sports day as imagined by the Goodies. Having secured their prime spots in front of the stage, the early risers high five each other, then remember how tired they are and slink back to their sleeping bags. |
| Reading on mobile? Click to view. | Reading on mobile? Click to view. |
| Being so close to the sun – this festival takes place at 8,750ft – makes standing around for long periods of time inadvisable. But that's OK: there's only one main stage here, and once your tarp is stretched out in front of you, you're all set for the day. "Remember it's a four-day festival," smiles John from Salt Lake City, whose chair is next to mine. "You need to pace yourself." So we sit like basking alligators, as the Milk Carton Kids, a duet that sound uncannily like Simon and Garfunkel, pour vocal balm into our ears. | Being so close to the sun – this festival takes place at 8,750ft – makes standing around for long periods of time inadvisable. But that's OK: there's only one main stage here, and once your tarp is stretched out in front of you, you're all set for the day. "Remember it's a four-day festival," smiles John from Salt Lake City, whose chair is next to mine. "You need to pace yourself." So we sit like basking alligators, as the Milk Carton Kids, a duet that sound uncannily like Simon and Garfunkel, pour vocal balm into our ears. |
| Anyone with an interest in roots music can recognise the interstellar calibre of Telluride's most regular names – the "house band" comprises Jerry Douglas, Béla Fleck, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer and Sam Bush, which is the bluegrass equivalent of having Beyoncé as your backing singer – but the atmosphere is uniquely collaborative, and during any given set you can expect several of the star attractions to make cameos. "You can always tell the newbies," a veteran tells me. "They say, 'And then Sam Bush came out and joined them!' Dude, Sam wants to play with everyone." | Anyone with an interest in roots music can recognise the interstellar calibre of Telluride's most regular names – the "house band" comprises Jerry Douglas, Béla Fleck, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer and Sam Bush, which is the bluegrass equivalent of having Beyoncé as your backing singer – but the atmosphere is uniquely collaborative, and during any given set you can expect several of the star attractions to make cameos. "You can always tell the newbies," a veteran tells me. "They say, 'And then Sam Bush came out and joined them!' Dude, Sam wants to play with everyone." |
| Musical surprises come thick and fast. Some are carefully orchestrated – sets from Feist and Jackson Browne offer a more louche counterpoint to the jangling bluegrass rhythms – and others are well trailed. Trampled by Turtles are renowned for ferocious shredding that makes Metallica look listless, and by the time the hairy foursome took to the stage (looking distinctly like some other act's roadies), the crowd had already surged forward to head-bang ecstatically. Some of the best moments are completely spontaneous, such as the last-minute appearance of Steve Martin, whose slick comedy songs prove ample solace when Mumford & Sons are forced to cancel (their bassist Ted Dwane is still recovering from surgery). "We're sending all our love and prayers to Ted," the festival announcer reminds us. "Family comes first." | Musical surprises come thick and fast. Some are carefully orchestrated – sets from Feist and Jackson Browne offer a more louche counterpoint to the jangling bluegrass rhythms – and others are well trailed. Trampled by Turtles are renowned for ferocious shredding that makes Metallica look listless, and by the time the hairy foursome took to the stage (looking distinctly like some other act's roadies), the crowd had already surged forward to head-bang ecstatically. Some of the best moments are completely spontaneous, such as the last-minute appearance of Steve Martin, whose slick comedy songs prove ample solace when Mumford & Sons are forced to cancel (their bassist Ted Dwane is still recovering from surgery). "We're sending all our love and prayers to Ted," the festival announcer reminds us. "Family comes first." |
| Reading on mobile? Click to view. | Reading on mobile? Click to view. |
| And there's the rub. Our 10,000 strong invasion is received with an unearned warm and familiar embrace. The town's merchants welcome the newcomers with organic brownies and two-for-one lattes, and each new morning the security guards continue to beam at us: "Free bag check with every festival pass!" On the second afternoon, my friend and I were hailed in the street by someone we didn't recognise. "How were the fries?" he asked, before we realised he was our waiter the previous night. | And there's the rub. Our 10,000 strong invasion is received with an unearned warm and familiar embrace. The town's merchants welcome the newcomers with organic brownies and two-for-one lattes, and each new morning the security guards continue to beam at us: "Free bag check with every festival pass!" On the second afternoon, my friend and I were hailed in the street by someone we didn't recognise. "How were the fries?" he asked, before we realised he was our waiter the previous night. |
| This is one festival where no one gets too drunk or stoned. It would mess with your playing, and you've got to be prepared to pick all night. Whether your tent is pitched at the much-coveted "Town Park" (showers, tennis courts, a lido), or you're camping out in the boonies, you can guarantee that your guitar/mandolin/mouth harp will be getting plenty of use. At the very least you'll be expected to stamp your foot enthusiastically. By the third evening, when we stop to get takeout at the town's Chinese restaurant, we're so acclimatised that playing the ukelele for the waiters while we wait seems only natural. | This is one festival where no one gets too drunk or stoned. It would mess with your playing, and you've got to be prepared to pick all night. Whether your tent is pitched at the much-coveted "Town Park" (showers, tennis courts, a lido), or you're camping out in the boonies, you can guarantee that your guitar/mandolin/mouth harp will be getting plenty of use. At the very least you'll be expected to stamp your foot enthusiastically. By the third evening, when we stop to get takeout at the town's Chinese restaurant, we're so acclimatised that playing the ukelele for the waiters while we wait seems only natural. |
| We don't enter the band or troubadour contests ourselves – the quality of musicianship on show is dizzyingly high – but there are plenty of learning opportunities at the "workshop stage", which has been set up in the town square. The venue also provides one of my fondest memories during an intimate performance by the Punch Brothers. With their experimental verve, this band is the Radiohead of bluegrass (although rather more rabble rousing), and the crowd packing the square sits to watch them with a breathless reverence until a lone female begins to dance. One by one, those around her stand up and join in, until everyone is on their feet like a congregation waiting for the first glimpse of the bride, and the band has disappeared behind a mass of joyful, jumping bodies. | We don't enter the band or troubadour contests ourselves – the quality of musicianship on show is dizzyingly high – but there are plenty of learning opportunities at the "workshop stage", which has been set up in the town square. The venue also provides one of my fondest memories during an intimate performance by the Punch Brothers. With their experimental verve, this band is the Radiohead of bluegrass (although rather more rabble rousing), and the crowd packing the square sits to watch them with a breathless reverence until a lone female begins to dance. One by one, those around her stand up and join in, until everyone is on their feet like a congregation waiting for the first glimpse of the bride, and the band has disappeared behind a mass of joyful, jumping bodies. |
| Reading on mobile? Click to view. | Reading on mobile? Click to view. |
| Thrilled with their reception, the musicians come out into the audience to perform an acoustic encore, so close I can see the layers of veneer on the lead singer's mandolin. At Telluride, there's no us and them. There's just us. | Thrilled with their reception, the musicians come out into the audience to perform an acoustic encore, so close I can see the layers of veneer on the lead singer's mandolin. At Telluride, there's no us and them. There's just us. |
| Our editors' picks for the day's top news and commentary delivered to your inbox each morning. |
Previous version
1
Next version