Fairbridge Festival

Hunting through the scrawl of notes from my weekend, I feel that familiar dichotomy of needing to record an experience. I could then create a vestige out of something so divinely ephemeral, but without distracting myself from being fully and freely in the experience. The result is a few muddy sheets of paper with mad illegible sporadic bursts. How will I ever draw something sensible from such a mess? But in a way, this article should reflect the experience that I had this past weekend. It should be mad, it should be vertiginous, and it should be organic.

The Folkworld Fairbridge Village Festival was all of my ridiculous musical dreams come true at once. A euphonious and delightful farrago of styles; rich and organic Australian folk and country, layered and bouncing bluegrass, smooth and growling blues and a sort of European funky orchestral jazz.
I found myself unconsciously on a scavenger hunt, voracious for little moments of delight. A woman in a polka dot halter dress. A giant French horn. A banjo-ukulele hybrid. Drums made out of garbage bins. Drinking red wine in a leafy alcove. Dirty knees and muddy boots. A cacophony of tambourines. Delight, delight, delight.

At one point I sat drinking peppermint tea in the rain listening to my favourite discovery of the weekend, a bluegrass band called The Company. There really is nothing better than bluegrass. With two fiddles, a mandolin, a banjo, a guitar and a double bass, what could top that? Jaunty rhythms, lyrics rich with story and myth and every piece of the band huddled around the one mike to bellow out twanging harmonies. I thought to myself, sipping on my tea, how deliciously lucky I was to have this secret delight all to myself. It felt so rich and decadent, but wholesome at the same time. Like dark chocolate. A rampant feast. I felt like a jolly fat man rolling around, drunk on loveliness.

If you are like me and find people who talk during gigs morally repugnant, this is the festival for you. Sometimes I find audiences so maddening, like the time some guys thought it was appropriate to have a burping competition during a show. But at Fairbridge – people waited until songs were finished to leave the tent, everyone sat attentive and eager to hear each artist’s stories, and when the artist was singing… silence. A number of artists seemed very impressed and grateful for this respect. I believe it was due to the unique atmosphere that is cultivated in Fairbridge.

There is something so wholesome about the atmosphere at this festival. It is welcoming and nourishing. It is organic and comfortable. There are kids busking on the market street. Everyone has been camping, we are bouncing around full of fresh country air and we are all unwashed and care free. Everyone is there in united pursuit and celebration of music. Music is not the means to some drunken raving end; music is the end itself.

There is this rhythm pulsing through the property. It is foot tapping, leg slapping and hip shaking. I think that my feet are still bruised from dancing so hard. Everyone is mad with folk fever. And I still can’t stop humming Flap!’s new album.

Speaking of Flap!, they were an absolute joy. A five piece jazz band bounding with vibrant energy and adorned in sequined dresses, tuxedos and red bow ties. They imbue such exciting creativity into every element of their creation and performance of music. It’s funky and audacious.

Loren Kate in the Fairbridge Chapel was an incredible experience. She quietly and intimately weaved beautiful stories of wandering and creating. She was completely stripped bare and vulnerable and I felt I was witnessing the most present and genuine musical experience. You could see the intimacy and honesty left her quite exhausted and overwhelmed.

I missed out on seeing Mama Kin due to the tent brimming with hordes of people spilling out the sides. But my friend came running up to me afterwards, took my arm and looked me square in the face with a light in her eyes. She told me of a moment during the set, completely entranced with Mama Kin’s presence, her subtle confidence, her organic energy and listening to her rich mellifluous voice where she felt so full that she thought she might surely burst. Although it was not my moment, I had to share it because music has such value in its ability to fill our capacity to feel.

There were also workshops available throughout the village. I went to a bluegrass harmony workshop, in which we bellowed our four parts to a rapt audience of gumtrees. On the first morning my friend and I stumbled across an Indigenous dance workshop. We learned about the importance of dance in the role of story, tradition and teaching. The best moment was at the end of the workshop when we all formed a circle, stamping our feet, and people could run into the middle to feel the energy of the circle and dance freely. My heart swelled in my chest when the dance instructor told us that with an interest to learn a little bit about other cultures comes respect.

In an example of the effect Fairbridge has on people, we spotted a man at The Justin Walshe Folk Machine on the first night. He must have been at the festival alone. A few people had gotten up to dance and you could see in his body that he was nearly bursting for the desire to join them, but he just stood tentatively on the sidelines tapping his foot. Then, on the final night, we saw the same man at Flap! He threw off his jumper, took off his shoes and danced with us, barefoot in the mud, with his eyes closed and his hands in the air. I think that is what Fairbridge does – cultivates your inner carefree, wayward self believer and lets it run amok.

Words by Fiona Hugo

This review was published at http://colosoul.com.au/colosoul_2.0/?p=19099