Having spent the weekend in a frenzy of folk music at the FolkWorld Fairbridge Festival, I was not quite ready to let the atmosphere go. So I was thrilled to have a little piece of folk waiting for me back in Perth. If I shut my eyes I could imagine Mojos was a little bar in the bush under the stars.
Tinpan Orange has a well developed style. It is sure
of itself. Even though their songs are so thematically diverse –
ranging from sweet and cute to intense and haunting – I feel that
throughout this range every song has a distinct ubiquitous ‘Tinpan’ feel
to it. I can taste it. It’s … mmmm… cinnamon sweet with a citrus kick
of intensity. I appreciate anything that can warm my heart and curl my
toes and all in one evening. Tinpan leaves me feeling quite drunk on
atmosphere.
As a front woman Emily Lubitz is glorious. She is
strong, confident and commanding in her vocals. Throughout the evening
she took us on a vertiginous and dynamic range of emotion with sweet
uplifting tones and then moments of deep operatic quavering (I think I
may have made that word up). Her voice has a tonal quality to it that is
unique and intriguing without being so bizarre as to convince me that
she’s ‘putting it on’. And that is very important to me in music –
organic and natural.
Her stage presence is quite charming – but in a slightly haughty way.
She has these quirky gesticulations and movements – her left hand
extended and her right hand shaking limply. She’ll raise her arm in a
windmill and let her body fall limp to the thudding beat of Harry Angus’ keys. She’ll twirl around the stage and imitate Alex Burkoy’s
violin, her hair falling across her face. I can’t tell if these
movements are uncontrollable, visceral responses to the intensity of her
lyrics, or if they are calculated, prepared and rehearsed. I get a very
strong sense that she is a “performer”. She is putting on a show – but
that being said it is an enchanting show and I am captivated. I think
that is an important element of the ubiquitous Tinpan style that is so
addictive.
Guitarist and vocalist Jesse Lubitz is everything I want a performer
to be – without any element of actual ‘performance’. His voice is warm
and sweet, his posture is comfortable and he seems so accessible and
unassuming.
Harry bounces around in the background on keys in a mustard coloured jacket. This man’s falsetto harmonies make me quiver.
Alex, a beautiful bear of a man with wayward curly hair dabbles with
fiddle, mandolin and guitar. He gently demands my attention and I find I
can’t look away. I always find myself completely mesmerised by the way
this man’s subtle movements.
The boys backup harmonies were impeccable. Harry’s ringing falsetto,
eyes clenched shut, Alex’s deep rumbling bass. It’s all so well layered,
so well pieced together.
Mama Kin and Loren Kate joined the band for Lonely People – which Emily called an anthem for truck drivers. It was an ethereal but cathartic cacophony of chanting voices.
What stood out for me about Tinpan was how I can see and feel them
working together. They seem to be so well cultivated, to know each other
musically so well, that together they create this united force. What I
saw was five essential parts of one creature. The whole band grows,
swells, breathes together – and this… force… clutches at the audience
and we are completely suspended, breathless for a golden, vulnerable
moment.
I found myself completely usurped by the swelling of their united
sound, their haunting harmonies and their captivating presence.
Words by Fiona Hugo
This review was published at http://colosoul.com.au/colosoul_2.0/?p=19047
Showing posts with label gig review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gig review. Show all posts
Friday, 21 June 2013
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
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
Lucy Wise and the B'Gollies at Kulcha
As a general rule, if a band uses a ukulele as one of their primary instruments, for me it falls a little too far along the ‘cute’ scale. You know when folk music just feels too sugary? But at Kulcha on Saturday night Lucy Wise and the B’Gollies crept up on me with light dancing feet, swept me up in their warmth and nestled themselves into my heart. Consider me a complete uke-convert.
Image courtesy of the label
This music is the perfect balance of the elements of folk. The lightness of the tenor ukulele – who we’re told is called Tony, with the richness of the double bass, called Mortimer. There are shades and levels of light and dark. It’s sweet but soulful, fresh but full. With trundling syncopation and folky minor chords it feels like magic.
I want to dedicate a whole paragraph to an unidentifiable quality to Lucy Wise’s voice. It is depth, warmth, colour, a sort of oaky flavour. But I just can’t seem to articulate it. I suppose there is magic in that. You will just have to listen to understand what I mean.
A few B’Gollies seemed to be missing – and I would have loved to have heard the piano-accordion, but the remaining two had such a presence. Fiddle player Chris Stone moved so beautifully with the music. I could feel the joy in what he does – he just can’t contain it. It buckled his knees and his hair fell across his eyes as he bended with the flow of the music. Holly Downes wore a dress with large green polka dots and was absolutely mesmerising. I always feel like double bass players are really dancers, with a beautiful elegantly stoic wooden partner, whom they guide through wambling bass lines.
Lucy Wise’s stage presence is gentle and graceful. It’s all so beautiful in a pure and wholesome way. And there is a genuineness that I adore – I think she puts it best in her song Little Bag when she sings “you can see what’s hiding in plain sight.” There is such value in music that has no performance, no pretence. I feel the artist gives so much, gently but boldly and intimately. And I walked away from the gig feeling so much fuller and richer.
Lucy Wise’s words are poetry. With vivid imagery of hats with feathers, bike rides through the country, well dressed birds and love songs dedicated to hot air balloons, her songs are free, warm and lovely. I love imagining what inspired her to pen such sublime words.
Kulcha as a music venue is fantastic. It feels sophisticated and jazzy. We sat in a long narrow room, only as wide as the stage. It is an intimate space – a perfect environment for this special music.
I’m completely hooked on how this music lifts my heart. It is just so joyful.
Words by Fiona Hugo
This was published at http://colosoul.com.au/colosoul_2.0/?p=19309
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)