Quiet Color

eliza czander

This year, The Newport Folk Festival, famous for it’s big folk acts and their performances by the water, did little too impress me or make me want to return. The lineup itself was sub par for a $70 per day festival; Jakob Dylan, The Black Crowes (folk?), She & Him, Brandie Carlile, The Avett Brothers, Trey Anastasio, Calexico, sure they’re all good acts, but where’s The Allman Brothers, Emmylou Harris, and maybe, I don’t know, the other Dylan?! This was especially frustrating, since the headliner finishes their set before sundown. Upon arrival, and after a shitload of traffic, we were ushered into a grass parking lot and told to wait.

SHINE BY TREY ANASTASIO:

There was a bus that was picking everyone up and taking them down to the festival…okay. Twenty minutes later, a bus, a yellow school bus mind you, showed and packed in everyone and their grandmother. I started to notice that a ton of people were bringing huge coolers and umbrellas on board. Something the website clearly stated was not allowed. We also passed a bunch of signs on the way in boldly declaring “NO COOLERS.” Huh. When we finally got to the ticket counter, my friends and I were a bit perplexed that not only were coolers being permitted, but that there was a separate “cooler line” to get in. WTF? Security barely looked inside them, and I noticed how many people brought in food for a picnic, as well as coke bottles filled with wine, water bottles filled with vodka, etc. Would’ve been nice to know that was an option, right?

By the time we got inside, we had missed Jakob Dylan and The Cowboy Junkies. Not the biggest deal in the world, but they were toward the top of the acts I thought might be interesting to see. We got there just in time for Trey Anastasio to take the stage. He was so low key his performance was almost insipid. With barely anyone to back him up on stage, he played acoustic versions of Phish favorites such as “Bouncing ‘Round The Room,” and “Waste.” There wasn’t quite enough room for the audience on the lawn, so too many people ended up on top of each other, doing their best to sway and bob to Trey’s mellow act.

SOMETHING GOOD THIS WAY COMES BY JAKOB DYLAN:

At one point I got up from our two feet of blanket space to get a beer and something to eat. Telling my friends I’d be right back, I quickly realized that would not be the case. The fucking beer tent was out on
a pier about a mile away from the lawn. Seriously? I figured there had to be another tent on the actual festival ground that I was missing, but alas, they only had one goddamn tent that was all the way out on the freaking water. Confused and unnerved, I made my way over to the pier only to discover a line of about seventy five people waiting to get I.D. bracelets. I noticed the VIP tent on the other side of the line, and decided to try and smoothly ease my way in. I threw on my “Trust me, I belong here” face, and walked into what was actually one of the nicer VIP’s I’ve been in at a concert. Free booze, an array of food items including wraps and a grill nearby, a dessert bar, comfy couches, and a masseuse, I thought I could hang here for a while. There
were only two problems. One was my friends were back on the crowded lawn, waiting for me to return with their cool $8 beers. Two, the VIP was so far away from the lawn, I could barely make out Trey’s face on
the big screen. So, I hit the nice, clean bathroom, grabbed a sandwich and a corona, and decided to go wait in the beer line with the common people. Half an hour later I was on the pier and, guess what? Had to
wait in another line to buy tickets which I could then use to get the beer! Awesome. I noticed that instead of buying the beer and bringing it back to where the, ahem, music was, everyone was setting up camp at the picnic tables on the pier. They don’t let you take the beers from out of the tent and back to your blankets. I’m sorry, in my good ear? Was this for real? “Let me get this straight,” I barked at the ticket girl. “We have to wait in line three times to buy a maximum of two beers, to then drink here while not listening or seeing any music.”

She nodded apologetically, and I looked around wondering how an uproar of enraged fans had not yet knocked over the registers and started ganking beer at their own volition. Was I the only person thinking
this setup was ludicrous? I started to really loathe all the people with their goddamn coolers. I plodded back to the lawn just as god started to cry. He must’ve been as upset as I was, because moments later, it was fucking pouring. I couldn’t find my friends, so I walked over to a smaller tent to catch some of American Babies. Struggling to wedge myself into the tent and out of the rain, I enjoyed the few songs I was able to watch. A four-piece band from Brooklyn, their sound is caught somewhere between Ryan Adams and The Felice Brothers.

SWIMMING AT NIGHT BY THE AMERICAN BABIES:

As I stood there, soaked and sober, my mood was boosted by what can only be described as some great American music. These guys were good. A little young, a little unpolished, but charming and clearly happy to
be playing. I finally found my friends, they were at the stage where She & Him was up next, watching Steve Earle. I was only able to snag the tail end of his show, but I remember thinking that I needed to immediately download me some Steve Earle when I got home. What I witnessed next was a performer who was not quite as charming or happy as the aforementioned American Babies. Having only been introduced to She & Him recently, I was actually impressed by Zooey Deschanel’s sweet vocals that seem to resonate more with the
sounds of the fifties and doowop bands than the music of today. Seeing the twosome live proved to be a different story. I never liked Zooey much as an actress. I always felt that her flat, uninspired performances were not performances at all, but rather features of the bland characterless person that she actually is.

WHY DO YOU LET ME STAY HERE BY SHE AND HIM:

Watching her onstage was not much different than watching her on film. Wearing a sequined, pale yellow vintage dress, resembling a suburban supreme, she stood on stage, rarely shifting facial expressions. Don’t get me wrong, for the most part, she and M. Ward sounded lovely together. They harmonized, she hit her notes, he actually seemed to be having an okay time. But, as the rain came down harder and harder, the only connection she could muster to the crowd was monotonously observing that it was, wow, raining. Thanks, Zooey. C’mon! This is an artist’s big chance to have fun with their audience! To recognize that they are extremely uncomfortable and yet still standing here, just for you! I’m not saying you have to go join them in the hailstorm, but a little acknowledgment would be nice, hmm? I tried to get into the dry tent to snap a few pics, but of course the security didn’t enable a barricade for photographers, so my fancy blue photographer bracelet was clearly a waste of paper. By her fifth or so song, the rain was coming in sideways. God wasn’t sad, at this point he was pissed. The temperature had dropped to a cool sixty, and since we could no longer see what was three feet in front of us, let alone the stage half a mile away, we decided to hit it.

I would have loved to see Jim James, Cat Power, and The Black Crowes. In fact, those were really the only people I did want to see. But, at this point, I don’t think Mick Jagger himself could’ve kept me there. Well, maybe. Of course, we weren’t the only people wanting to get the hell out, so the line for the school bus back to the car was about a hundred deep. We opted to walk, chevrolegged up the hill about a mile or so, got in our car, and blasted the heat for about twenty minutes. We figured the only thing that might save the day was a nice dinner and some drinks in Newport.

I don’t need to bore you with the details, but it’s safe to say it didn’t save shit. After all the traffic, a trip to the Gap for some dry clothes, we were out of the vicinity of the festival and finally happy. And then, just
as we were sitting down to enjoy a cold one, the sky cleared and the sun came out. Just in time for The Crowes, but it was too late to go back. Thanks a lot, God. I thought you were on my side.