More Strict Than Hard, Another Year At Hardly Strictly Bluegrass (Part 2)

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass (Part 2)
Laurie Lewis and the Right Hands, Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers, Edie Brickell, The Devil Makes Three, Trampled By Turtles, Gogol Bordello 
October 6,2013
Golden Gate Park
San Francisco, Ca

More Strict Than Hard

The sun dangled above us, all the scattered strangers meandering westward along JFK in the park; each of us a part of the migration toward a land that promised riches in musical currency. It reminded me of a stony version of the expansion after the Gold Rush, only instead of horses people were settled atop bicycles and in place of the covered wagons people towed Radio Flyers full of beer and hot dogs. I walked along, alone amongst my fellow enthusiasts but far from lonely. Candice had decided to opt out of being sardined tight amongst drunks, not to mention the various confrontations induced by territory claimed by the mere presence of a blanket. I can’t say I entirely blamed her but there were a few acts today that I was quite excited to see.

The first of which was Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers who I kinda saw when they played Hardly Strictly a couple years back but was so far from the stage, adrift in the sea of bodies, that it more resembled deciphering constellations in the night’s sky than actually watching a star’s performance. So this year I got to their stage early and meandered my way as close as socially possible. I slipped my way into a small patch of grass between groups of aforementioned blanket territories and got cozy.

The band playing the stage pre-Steve was called Laurie Lewis and the Right Hands. They were some great hand-clappity bluegrass, Laurie Lewis being an incredible singer and performer. She had one song about wanting to be put back in the Earth when she died to help the flowers grow and I’m not that ashamed to say I got a bit misty eyed. I really enjoyed their set, particularly considering some of questionable bands I’ve tolerated in festivals of yesteryear just to retain my spot at a stage. This band made the wait quite enjoyable.

After Laurie Lewis was done we waited in anticipation for the next act. In the space of thirty minutes just about every inch of negotiable space became inhabited. I saved a spot for my best bud Robb and his lady friend, Lizzy. They showed up moments before Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers stepped onto the stage accompanied by Edie Brickell, all of whom were welcomed by an uproar of cherished applause. I saw The Steep Canyon Rangers play minus Steve Martin a few years back at the bluegrass festival they have in my hometown, Grass Valley, California every year on Father’s Day. They are one of the most incredible groups of musicians I’ve had the pleasure of watching and just the fact that Steve Martin plays with them is like dipping a bowl full of angels into hot fudge and re-assembled dreams. That guy came out swinging too, cracking jokes immediately and keeping them coming every chance he got. The man is such a master in front of the mic that he can say anything and it’s likely to induce a guffaw. The way he accents the rest of the band with his banjo pluckery had me just grinning like a dumbass the whole time they were on stage. With members of the band, Mr. Martin and Edie Brickell all taking turns singing songs, getting on and off the stage with musical rotations and all the jokes, they put more variety in the hour long set than I could have ever expected. It was like some glorious helicopter ride, especially after Robb busted out some Seagram’s and ginger ale. That show was really a treat and I felt drunk on laughter…or maybe it was the booze but who’s to say for sure.

After they exited the stage, Robb, Lizzy and I made (tried) haste (very slowly) for the Arrow Stage to watch The Devil Makes Three. Well, our intentions were noteworthy but apparently a billion or so others had similar instincts. The entire expanse of the field in front of their stage was pretty much nuts-to-butts with partygoers and try as we might, it was pretty much impossible to get to a good zone where we could enjoy the show. Robb got textual word that our good friends Max and Simon were watching the same show, on the exact opposite side of the jumblefuck collage of spectators. Luckily we at least had The Devil Makes Three soundtracking our journey as we manipulated our way around and they sounded great as always. I’ve seen them many times, both here in San Francisco and a few times in Santa Cruz, and it’s always a good time. I don’t know what it is but their very music somehow makes me feel more drunk, and I’m a witness to the fact that it has similar effects on most others at their shows. People just get coo coo over them to a nearly frightening degree. But, you know, frightening in that fun way. Like watching weird porn. Not that I have ever done that. No, never.

We finally found our crew of buddies just as The Devil Makes Three was finishing up their set. Our homies were at the bottom of a hippie-strewn hill in the bushes and I was initially concerned about body odor and armpit hair run-off. Good thing I was drunk and able to say “Eh. Whatever.” We were met by a whole gang of folks from our hometown who had come down to the city for the festival and each of them had clearly been busy partying like it was the last day of Senior Year. Alright, that’s a bit of an exaggeration but suffice it to say bottles were getting pissed in and things were continuously being thrown at oblivious by-standers. I felt like I was back home, which stirred in me mixed emotions. I mean, I love all my home-people, but…I don’t know, I guess it’s just not always simply and easily rad when you feel like you’re hanging out somewhere that you tore yourself away from promising never to permanently return. Dang. Shit just got real. Sorry about that. Anyway, I love you dearly, all my Nevada City buddies! …do I hear crickets?

Back to the music: the final band who I’d been supremely puckered to see was due up on this very stage next: Trampled By Turtles. I was turned on to them about 7 years ago in Biloxi, Mississippi and I love them dearly. They took the stage and I couldn’t see them super well but I still enjoyed hearing their expertly maneuvered fiddle-faddle. They really are not only one of my favorite bluegrass bands but one of my fave bands point blank period. They can jerk a tear of two with the poetry of their lyrics and the passion with which each of them plays their instrument. I try to make it whenever they wander to these parts from their home in Duluth, Minnesota and they leave me floored every time. This performance, despite my various visual impediments, was no exception.

Their set was done and I no longer had business or the energy to remain. My good friends Jim and Miyuki tried to get me to stay and watch Gogol Bordello but one look at the crowd in front of their stage had me very slowly running. I left my hometown heroes each involved in their own cross to bear, be it drinking beer, pissing in the bushes, sleeping in the bushes, or trying with varying success to scale a fence. It was another wonderful year at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass and I thank all the wonderful people who help put it on. It’s incredible how many people step up to the ginormous task of putting on a free festival for a bunch of drunken ingrates. And of course I thank most of all Warren Hellman. I hope you’re up there sitting on a cloud or whatever laughing your ass off at Steve Martin. With! I meant with. Sorry, Steve.

The End.