a hard rain’s gonna fall: day two of Calgary Folk Fest 2011

Matt Anderson, the big man from New Brunswick with the even bigger voice, rocked the mainstage with his rollicking blues and his impressively intricate guitar licks. He didn’t make the sun shine, but he made the rain a little less cold for a while.

 

 

I was chilled to the bone and soaked through four layers of clothing by the time Bonnie “Prince” Billy took to the stage with his theatrical presence and heartfelt honesty. The Spousal Unit had already given in to the chills and headed back to the hotel, as had many of the increasingly chilled festival-goers, but the Resident Offspring, in her uncanny salesmanship, persuaded me to stay. Let’s go for a walk, mom, get some coffee, do a little dancing…

That was how we ended up crawling out from under our drenched tarp to find ourselves over at the twilight stage, where Yemen Blues were just completing a spirited and stirring set. Although encores are generally frowned upon at a festival setting, the rapturous crowd begged for and received, another ten minutes of funky Mid-Eastern soul. The cloak of invisibility that comes with having two damp hoodies pulled over my head gave me the license to dance like I was alone in the kitchen instead of squelching around in the mud with a few hundred other half-drowned souls. And then the rain stopped for a while. It was the first magical moment of this year’s folk festival, and the first time that day that I felt warm.

As the dusk settled into a cold wet night, Patrick Watson lit up the mainstage with his ethereal brand of cabaret pop, piano driven and fueled by his soaring falsetto that rang out into the open heavens. Some guy with twinkle lights on his jacket danced his way through the crowd during Watson’s set and imparted some much needed warmth and light upon the night.

By the time the eclectic Herbalizer blasted onto the stage with their funk, jazz, hip-hop melange, I was slipping into the final stages of hypothermia, so we shuddered to the beat for a few songs and then squelched our way back to the hotel, to a hot bath and piles of thick blankets.

We patted each other on the back for what felt like a major accomplishment and an initiation into the Folkie Bad-Ass Hall of Fame. Anybody can folk fest in sunny warm weather, after all; it takes sterner stuff to keep dancing when your curry is floating in rain puddles on your dinner plate and you can see your breath.

coming up: day of mud and ecstasy.