The National Folk Festival

Column: Gig Reviews | Date Published: Tuesday, 24 April 12 | Author: James Fahy | 1 year, 1 month ago

@ Exhibition Park In Canberra, Thu-Mon April 5-9

I hope you’ve all recovered from another soul-recharging National Folk Festival! The usual run of happy stories flows from conversation to conversation. The Sessions Bar was packed with reeling trade-folksmen, the younger jammers enjoyed their self-imposed exile out by the fire and the buskers at the Busk Stops were more reliable than Action buses. The Majestic soared, of course, populated by too much local talent to name, and some inspired tie-ins from interstate acts and piano-gypsies The Tiger and Me. There was even some drama: as the rumour mill had it, the Rapskallion crew had too much Sliwowicz side-stage and heckled the famously gentlemanly Mikelangelo until his patience was severely frayed. Long story short, competing gypsy-cred claims led to a fiery showdown when the two groups shared the stage for The Majestic midnight cabaret. We are pleased to report that no blood was shed.

The Festival suffered some other more difficult problems, and on two of its biggest stages. Southern Cross Ten’s Budawang stage collapsed under the feet of a fairly sedate Celtic act, somehow leaving the Nash litigation-free as the players and instruments mercifully escaped injury. More pervasive was the missing Troubadour stage, a venue famous for daringly mixing up-and-comers in among the big names. Many a career has been jump-started by The Troubadour’s friendly curation; this year, sadly, it was not to be. Apparently, a stoush erupted between the Troubadour’s long-time organiser and the Nash’s Grand Honcho over the supply of wine. Historically, the various stages of the Nash have supplied the same wine pan-festival and the Troubadour’s edge has come, in part, from the provision of wines grown on the family vineyard. When the forces of standardisation were marshalled and the battle for the Wine Cup was going in the Nash’s favour, the Troubadour threw up its arms in defeat and deprived festivalgoers of a crowd-favourite venue.

Never to fear: there were more than enough highlights to go around and the word on the street has been overwhelmingly positive. Newcomers like Adelaide’s Bearded Gypsy Band and the re-branded Territorians of the Brass Knuckle Band found a fitting welcome at The Scrumpy. The Scrumpy punched well above its weight by sporting overflow late shows that would have fit happily into The Majestic, as well as my personal highlight, Peter Combe. Sure he’s a legacy act but there’s no criticising a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd bursting at the seams with honest joy. The sing-along was unironically heartfelt. The rising star that is Bearded Gypsy Band continues to grow into incandescence—you can see their instrumental mastery honing its edge. It’s a no-brainer to flag them as an act to watch, but who’s going to stop me?

Ultimately though, the Nash appears to be in a bind. The declining focus on world music has wounded the program and the end of ACT Government funding for The Majestic and the loss of The Troubadour could be exceedingly damaging for next year.

An image that will stick with me was watching an old couple, reputedly festival veterans of more than a decade, leave the ticket counter crying because rising ticket prices were sending them packing without making it onto the grounds. Scaring off the faithful crowd with pricing issues and hurting the curiosity ticket with programming issues looks like a pretty powerful one-two punch for the festival, particularly in the year of the Centenary. The Artistic Program Manager position has been advertised, with the by-line, “Do you have what it takes to program the NFF?” I hope they’ve got what it takes to get it back on track.

	Cracked Actor EP Launch: @ The White Eagle Polish Club, Friday April 20 The stage of The White Eagle Polish Club looked like a giant pillow fort, or a stage erected by kids for a backyard production of a play. Draped with mismatching fabrics, dominated by a tangle of power cords and looking out over a sea of old plastic chairs and sofas rescued from footpaths, it gave off an air of effortless comfort; a wonderful accident. Not so for the bands and performers assembled for the launch of Cracked Actor’s EP Solar Driftwood. The carefully selected line-up included solo acts Chris Finnigan and Rueben Ingall, as well as bands Elisha Bones and Mornings (who share a guitarist with Cracked Actor). Those lucky enough to arrive early watched Chris Finnigan standing alone on the whimsical stage, meticulously looping and layering the simple sounds of his guitar into something close to the sublime. It was a quiet, slow set that left everyone in the room smiling. It was a hard act for fellow soloist Rueben Ingall to follow. His style, louder and somewhat discordant, was not well received by the then small crowd. Next, Elisha Bones. Their set was a strange mix of sounds: eerie prog-rock contrasted with folk-like tempos. When the band played as a four-piece the sound was particularly heavy and bass-driven, but they gave their set an interesting twist with a guest appearance from American singer Sharleen Chidiac. She and guitarist/singer Michael Bones performed a haunting duet called Family Man that single-handedly silenced the now crowded venue. Mornings began their set with an announcement. Lead man Jordan Rodgers awkwardly faced the audience and, as quietly as one can into a microphone, muttered: "Um, we don't usually talk. But some nice man told us to introduce ourselves, so—” Without further ado they launched into a mostly instrumental set, the band rocking back and forth as one. They played like clockwork, each song perfectly timed and refined to produce an energetic sound. Their final song ended with a mathematically precise swell of pure sound. The few attempts to provide accompanying vocals would have been best abandoned in favour of concentrating on this formidable instrumental strength. When at last Cracked Actor took to the stage it was as though the audience had collectively experienced a revelation of the intricacies of the evening’s structure. From the first quiet notes struck by Chris Finnigan to the final wave of Morning's sound to hit the back wall, everything had been building towards this moment. Cracked Actor were worth the wait, to say the least. Their polished sound is clearly the product of careful thought and hard work, and the final product is more artwork than album. The bass line was moving but not overwhelming, and lead singer Sebastian Field's unearthly vocals rose above the rest of the band. Their set was accompanied by a video clip: an unending loop of psychedelic colours, remixed footage of men standing awkwardly in hedge mazes, women feeding ducks, trees made out of broccoli and segments of an old US Air Force H-Bomb warning reel. The songs were interspersed with dated recordings of newsreader announcements. Field's lyrics, as out-of-this-world as his voice, mirrored these apocalyptic themes. He sang of alien invasions and worlds ending. High-speed images of nuclear warheads bounced around the screen (the same image that graces the cover of Solar Driftwood) as the night drew to a close. The crowd swarmed around the stage, pockets of people spontaneously bursting into fits of interpretive dance. It really did seem like the end of the world.

	KRS-One/Def Wish Cast/Kokyprik Records: @ Canberra Southern Cross Club, Friday April 13 The Canberra Southern Cross Club is an atrocious venue for anything, the telling exception being business functions and wedding receptions complete with cover bands. How can a high-ceilinged function room with a carpeted floor and movable walls hope to have atmosphere? Walking into the gig I was greeted by the sight of the KP Records crew giving it their best. I won’t deny there’s talent there but it flows in the wrong direction. While Australian hip hop evolves and defines itself there are still a brand of Australian rappers who attempt to appropriate American hip hop tropes for Australian contexts. For instance, the idea that hailing from a certain area is worth mentioning, or that being a criminal is the same as being a gangsta. Thankfully a pair of islander MCs brought some understated skill to the stage soon after. Def Wish Cast took over from them, their DJ Murda One showing some awesome skill mixing and splicing before the MCs took the stage. DWC are often credited (by themselves) as the founders of Australian hip hop. Wearing matching Puma sweats and rapping aggressively they bounced around the stage spitting at phenomenal pace. Australian hip hop has come a long way since DWC were the be-all, which contributed to a sense of their being a bit dated. Maybe it’s that Def Wish was wearing a doorag and Jesus chain. Australian gangsta rap necessitates that there be such a thing as an Australian gangsta, but for their raw skill and energy DWC can’t be faulted. Thank fuck for KRS-One. In room that could have held 600, the smattering of 200 who stood loosely in front of the stage were never going to be easy to psyche up, least of all with only one DJ and one MC, but when that MC is KRS-One it was always going to work. The Teacha did everything right. First, he recognized he was working a crowd with low energy and little intimate knowledge of his work. A classic move is to leave open your memorable lines for a crowd to complete. When he saw that only 20 or so people were throwing the lines back at him he stalled the beat to work the crowd. He used every track he had, hip hop classics like I’m Still #1 and Sound Of Da Police, and made sure to freestyle when he was feeling it, including an unforgettable set of rhymes over Vivaldi’s Spring. Second, he read the room. He heaped commands on the sound techies until they pumped the volume. A sense of atmosphere came jolting up through the crowd as the bass thickened enough to fill the enormous room. Every time he heard them letting it creep down he pushed it back up. Lastly, at the end of the show he came striding offstage. At well over six feet tall, KRS has a commanding physical presence. He used it to make anyone he could feel welcome. His huge smile and open expression is now the treasure of at least 50 fans he stopped to take photos with. Watching him sling an arm around a blind fan and talk to him for a minute in a thronging crowd of 100 was a surreal highlight, probably for the fan far more than me. “This is the best kind of show to end my tour,” he told the crowd, and I couldn’t help feel it was because it was a challenge. He deserves every scrap of respect there is for rising to it.