Former Edmontonian’s Folk Festival Diary Excerpts:
Thursday 8:00AM, in my parent’s spare room.
The morning of the first day, I wake up already feeling a little tired from having slept in my parent’s spare room. Having come from BC in the midst of its ravenous wildfires and record-breaking streak of high risk on the air quality index, I am happy to be breathing fresh air despite being tired.
Edmonton has always been ‘Festival City’ to me. As I edge toward my 40th birthday at summer’s end, I realize how important that notion has been throughout my life.
Way back before I moved away from Edmonton, I was a stage actor here in the city. During my days as an actor I participated in many a Fringe festival. Though most of my community of actors counted the Fringe as a second Christmas, I always made sure that if I was going to do a show, I could have the weekend of Folk Fest free from rehearsals. That was a steep ask. Folk Fest is a week prior to the Fringe. But I got my way. During my Edmonton Fringe career, I never missed a single one of my extra Christmas’ – Folk Fest.
It’s a light pack day. We’ve decided not to line up too early for the first night. From Friday to Sunday, tarp placement becomes a science, a marathon and a reality tv game show all at once. For tonight, we’re just going to lay the tarp down where we can find some space. It’s early days yet and I need to conserve some of my Folk Fest stamina for the bulk of the event.
12:00PM, in the general Folk Fest line-up
I palm a five dollar bill, eagerly awaiting the program volunteer’s appearance. I’ve exhausted any attempts at communicating with my line buddies to the left and right of me. I’ll need something to read. The Folk Fest app is on my phone, every show I want to see marked, every artists’ bio read through. There’s something about the paper version of the program I cannot resist. I’m a sucker for rad program art. This year, a tattooed arm reaches up, almost defiantly on the program’s cover. Perched between the hand’s thumb & index finger is the guitars natural amplification: the pick. I buy my paper copy of the program.
7:00PM, on the main stage hill
Lakou Mizik’s drummer has a steady time pulsing through the main stage hill. If the guy eating elephant ears downwind of me finishes up soon I might even be able to focus. As a community begins to form here on Gallagher Hill, I see many familiar faces. Some old friends have already cropped up. Wait, are we friends? Sometimes the faces in the crowd will nod and you’ll nod back. Did we go to high school together? Have we worked together? Probably not. Did we have the same shared experience on the hill last year…the year before… 10 years before…? Probably. The community at folk fest is a real one. A good one. I know this because I’m currently munching on a small piece of that elephant ear a couple tarps down.
I love the newcomers I see and hear around me. They are very obviously here to see Shakey Graves and/or the Decemberists. I remember those first years of EFF, myself. My 16 or 17 year old’s eagerness of getting to the front of the crowd to see my hero, Elvis Costello play the main stage. I don’t begrudge those who are just now getting their toes wet. This is what sustains the festival and every other art form really. I try not to laugh when I see young people walking around in Nirvana shirts as if they were a brand new outfit, just as I would hope no one laughed at my Rolling Stones or Beach Boys t-shirts I would have worn at the same age.
A gust of wind and suddenly a black cloud engulfs the hill. I go to pee hoping it will pass by as fast. As I return, everyone is headed my way. Turns out Folk Fest administration just decided to call the night a bust. I grab our tarp and our group shuffles through the crowd toward the exit. A storm is coming. Eventually we’ll find out it’s the wind that caused the danger. Folk Fest organizers were not going to take any chances. I can appreciate the difficult choice they have made, despite losing the opportunity to see the marquee shows of the night.
www.edmontonmuse.ca