Here’s a list of artists who I listened to who caught my positive attention for one reason or another; being included in this list doesn’t mean I’m going to book them (tho I’m noting the ones that are shortlisted for PFF 2012), or even think they’re right for our festival, but it does mean I think they’re doing something right, whatever that’s worth.

Vandana Vishwas (Missisauga) – I can imagine lying back in the grass on a sunny August day while this music washes over me, and while I feel like it’s a bit too mellow for our festival, it is totally lush and lovely.

The Belle Game (Vancouver) – I feel like their sound is a bit ubiquitous right now, but they do it very well, so that’s not really a bad thing.

The Pining (Toronto) – Holy lead vocals! That voice is haunting and a bit threatening, and I really like how they use it. Regardless of how good they are, when I see their name, I always read it as ‘The Pinning,’ and for some reason that always cracks me up.  Terrific website.

Kevin Myles Wilson (Toronto) – He’s an odd mix of almost radio-friendly country-folk and the sparse, broken-hearted singer-songwriter tradition that I love, and he pulls it off remarkably.  But no website?! You’re killing me, dude.

Dinner Belles (Hamilton) – I seem to have hit a run of country-folk here, but I can’t deny that this is exactly the sort of band I’d like to be listening to while drinking in a small venue.

Three Little Birds (Ottawa) – A trio with pretty harmonies, interesting lyrics, and a nice poppy feel.  They make it look easy to take serious subjects and make catchy, singalong songs out of them without sounding preachy, which is a miracle in itself.

Fanfarniente della Strada (Quebec City) – Even stronger than my almost-unnatural love of banjos is my love for big, bouncy, Eastern-European style bands with lots of brass and loose rhythms and skirling woodwinds.  When done well, as it is with these guys, it will never fail to appeal to me.

Dawn and Marra (Dundas) – Am I just a massive sucker for harmonies? Maybe.  But these women are young, and while I’m not endorsing everything they’re trying on right at the moment, I think they’ve got the potential to blend experience with talent and end up with something magical.

Don Amero (Winnipeg) – The first time I heard Don was years ago at the OCFF conference’s ‘Hey Big Ears’ session; I commented that there was too much reverb on his vocals, and that I wanted to be closer to the voice, and he piped up from a few seats away that I could get closer if I wanted.  Since then, he’s done really well, and gotten really polished, and his website is gorgeous!

Triple Gangers (Toronto) – I kind-of wanted to hate this, initially, but as much as it is hyper-self-aware and sort-of smug, I can’t hate it. I can’t quite love it, either. But I think I like it. Good enough, yeah?

Coole & Downes (Toronto) – Clawhammer banjo and spot-on vocals. Pretty much made for a sunny afternoon stage, and pretty much made for me.

Jenn Rawling and Basho Parks (Portland, Oregon) – I like the spareness of some of the recordings, and the vocals, and the use of horns.  There’s a wistful sweetness about them that really appeals to me, and seems tailor-made for a sit-down, listening festival. Again, no website?!

If you’re interested in my immediate reactions and thoughts while I listen, you could follow along on my Twitter account, where I mostly bitch about the things that artists do which are driving me crazy as I see them over and over again.

While we’re on the subject, I have a page of Resources for Musicians which contains a lot of info about approaching bookers and promoters, and in particular, I wrote an article called 10 things I want musicians to know, which does what it says on the tin.

Here’s a list of artists who I listened to today who caught my positive attention for one reason or another; being included in this list doesn’t mean I’m going to book them (tho I’ve noted the ones that are shortlisted for PFF 2012), or even think they’re right for our festival, but it does mean I think they’re doing something right, whatever that’s worth.

Tops (Montreal) – Though their photos kind-of make you want to do something to crack that hipster facade, and their sound took me about 10 seconds to adjust to (in a sea of acoustic entries, your ears just aren’t accustomed to that much synth/electric), I really like Tops’ sound and

Fort York (Toronto) – It’s the track ‘Mary’ that particularly caught my interest, but that maybe because I have a thing for banjos. I think these guys would be terrific live, in an intimate venue.  Solid band; useless website.

Joal Kamps (Calgary) – Joal’s an artists who seems tailor-made for folk festivals – he has a sound that would work on an outdoor stage, and rhythms that are going to work for the low-chair aficionados/tyrants as well as for people who want to get up on their feet and dance. And his website is gorgeous.

The Tequila Mockingbird Orchestra (Victoria) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – Aside from great musicianship and a strong sense of songwriting, can I say that artists who include a stage plot in their EPK make me happy? When I’ve booked them and they’ve forgotten to email it to me, I can still find out what our sound techs need to know. I’m not implying that these guys, or any artists, ever forget to send that to festival ADs, of course. Anyway, I like this band.

Dear Sister (Toronto) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – A roots trio (sort of?) with great lead vocals, lovely harmonies and solid musicianship (and a banjo. Did I mention I have a banjo thing?).  A sound that would be as sweet in a tiny club or a festival stage.

Kelly Sloan (Dartmouth) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – Her sound is a little more slick/polished than my usual taste (that seems to be an East coast thing), but her vocals are great, her songwriting is great, and the musicianship and instrumentation on all of her tracks is like, perfect (that’s also an East coast thing).  And a quick Youtube search reveals that she’s just as good live (and that she shares a name with Miss South Carolina 2009).

Nick Ferrio and His Feelings (Peterborough) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – I’ve known Nick for ages, and it sure has been nice to see him find his own voice and settle into it so beautifully. Great songs, great players, and a really strong sense of self, which makes him stand out.

Orchards (Toronto) – I can’t tell if I really like this band or not. I like a lot of things about this band, but I feel like maybe they haven’t quite settled into their final sound yet?

Silvergun & Spleen (Cantley, PQ) – Something about the guitar on ‘Kiss & Tell’ and the general arrangement reminds me of stuff I listened to in high school in the best way.  The rest of the music I heard didn’t light my head on fire, but they’re a pretty new band, and there’s lots of potential there.

Sarah Jane Scouten (Montreal) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – I like her voice, and her lyrics, and the instrumentation. While listening to her songs, I was picturing her on the main stage at Shelter Valley just before sunset on a warm Summer night. Golden.

If you’re the glass half-empty type, it only takes a glance around to see that we’re in bad times.  Ecologically, financially, politically and socially, there’s a lot of fodder for thought, protest, and despair.  And yet I feel hope.  I look around at the world, I watch video of Pete Seeger at Occupy Wall Street singing ‘We Shall Overcome,’ I see people giving each other a hand up when they’ve stumbled, I see people taking the time to make things with their own hands instead of feeding the corporate greed.  And I hear a lot of really, really good music.

We’re just weeks away from the Canadian Folk Music Awards, and this year I’ll be taking part as the host of a workshop called ‘Good songs for Bad times’ with fabulous artists Dave Gunning, Evalyn Perry, and Melissande.

Featuring performers from diverse musical styles and backgrounds, we’ve got one brief hour to talk about the Good songs they’ve written during or about Bad times. You can join us at 1pm on Sunday, December 4 in Alumni Hall in the Victoria College Building at the University of Toronto. Tickets for the workshops are $15, or in combination with your Gala ticket, $50, and you can purchase them here.

I’ll be at the Gala as well, presenting the award for Contemporary Album of the Year – you can watch the live broadcast Sunday, December 4 at Roots Music Canada.

Lastly, I have the honour of being nominated for the CFMA’s 2011 Unsung Hero Award, which is a pretty nice thing.

Would you like to learn more about the artists who’ll be taking part in the Good Songs for Bad Times workshop?

Evalyn Perry

Called “equally funny and dangerous” by CBC Radio, award-winning songwriter, poet and ironic social commentator evalyn parry is gifted with a sharp pen, a quirky musical sensibility and a wicked sense of humour. From 19th century cycling heroines to 21st century sailors; from “feminine protection” to bottled water to the quest for the Northwest Passage, evalyn’s outspoken creations hold out a powerful vision of social and personal change, while her irreverent wit holds nothing sacred.  Fierce, funny, poignant and provocative, over the past decade parry has toured music, storytelling, pride, poetry and theatre festivals across the continent, taking her unique perspective on the world and transforming it into art that spans genres, genders and generations.

Melisande

Sultry in both official languages, Melisande holds her audience in the palm of her hand throughout her performances.  While Quebecois traditional music has a strong place in her life, she embraces a diverse range of influences and styles, blending them like a well-seasoned soup into songs with broad appeal, deftly delivered.  On stage, her presence is warm, engaging, and energetic, a performance which doesn’t stop merely at delivering songs – she engages the listener in a tacit dialogue.

Dave Gunning

Firmly rooted in the East Coast tradition of songwriting that hearkens back to the traditional music of the region, Dave Gunning blends the past and the present in songs that feel as familiar and welcome as a beloved and well-worn sweater on a cold day.  As accolades pour in, Gunning stays true to himself, his songwriting never swayed by concerns about marketing or genre – he writes what he’s prompted to write, and allows those songs to stand on their own.  Finding inspiration and motivation in the people and stories he knows, Gunning’s works often speaks of hard times and bleak days, but never leaves the listener without the sense that all is not lost; the next day might dawn brighter.

You can join us at 1pm on Sunday, December 4 in Alumni Hall in the Victoria College Building at the University of Toronto. Tickets for the workshops are $15, or in combination with your Gala ticket, $50, and you can purchase them here.

I always feel a bit gormless for a while after the festival, not really sure what to do with myself and not terribly focused.  After a year of planning, of having my schedule revolve around the festival, the weekend itself goes by so quickly that it seems like I missed it.  Can we go back? Can we slow and stop time so that I can talk to a few more people, hear a few more acts, get a few more things done?

It’s also a relief, I won’t lie – we pulled it off, another great year, and while our ambition always outstrips our abilities, it’s impossible to doubt that this was one of the best years of the festival in memory.  Some years it rains, some years technical things go wrong or acts don’t live up to your expectation or volunteers flake out and don’t pull their weight.  This year, the weather was lovely, the events ran so smoothly that it felt weird, the musicians were terrific, and our Coordinators were on their game.  Everyone was happy, great to work with, and responsible.  It was, in a word, charmed.  Lots of work, still, but work where the payoff was a great festival.

It’s bittersweet for me, because this is my last year as Executive Director of the festival. I wear multiple hats, so I’ll still be involved – most notably as Artistic Director for one more year – but for the past five years, I’ve had the opportunity to shape the vision of the festival, to lead a great team of committed, pleasant, and talented people towards a festival that embraces a wider audience and that has a growing reputation in Canada.  It’s both difficult and exciting to let that go. I’m not sure what my life is like without the festival at the centre of it.

I first volunteered for the festival as a parking attendant in the late nineties.  Later, I came on board as the Coordinator for the Artisans Village, and after a break, as the Coordinator for the Club Crawl.  Watching Aengus Finnan and crew as the Shelter Valley Folk Festival took shape, I got a lot of ideas about how we could change our festival to be better, and I put my name forward as Director.  I remember the feeling of panic and fear when the AGM was over and I’d been voted in; I’d never done anything like this, never put myself forward for anything this big, and I wasn’t certain I could pull it off.

I remember PFF 2007 like it was a dream; it still seems like a shining moment to me, mostly because of the stellar lineup and the euphoria of everyone on our team over making it work.  It hasn’t ever felt quite like that again – every year has been different, but that one was striking because so many of the Coordinators and the Board were new, and the look in in everyone’s eyes when the festival was over was one of wonder and excitement. And exhaustion.

We’ve made a lot of changes to the festival since then, dropped things that weren’t working, added things that seemed to be missing, and worked hard every year to make sure this is the best festival we can present.  Despite being one of the lowest-funded folk festivals in Ontario and probably Canada (mostly because we’re one of the last free folk festivals in Canada), we put on a great show and this year, over 10,000 people came out and enjoyed it.

That’s not to say that getting here has been easy; honestly, I can say that there’s been hard times throughout my run as a festival volunteer (the PFF has no paid Staff).  Lots of times I’ve been angry or stressed beyond what I thought I could bear.  I’ve heard things about myself through the grapevine that have been heart-breaking in their misunderstanding of my intentions.  I’ve had people I considered friends do things that were painful and upsetting, and I’ve seen enough unprofessional behaviour for a lifetime.

The goal has always been to raise the bar for arts and events in this area.  Peterborough has great energy, good artists, and a wellspring of ideas, but they’re stifled by lack of confidence and professional rigour.  They’re willing to accept low pay, poor performing conditions, and little respect because they don’t have the confidence to try harder and ask for more.  People don’t like being challenged on this; it’s been the status quo for so long, and habit and familiarity has made it difficult to combat.  I feel that it’s getting better, and I think the festival has had a strong impact on that by bringing in great emerging artists from across the country.  These acts are new, but they rehearse, write, perform, and approach the business of music with a professionalism that belies their short time in the business.  They bring musical sounds and influences from other cultures and scenes, and hopefully inspire local artists to add new sounds and ideas to their own repertoires.

I’m proud of this, and I’ll continue to be proud of this.  I’m proud of all of the work we’ve done with the festival over the past five years.  And I’m excited for the future – both to see what my life is like when the festival is no longer the centre of my year, and to see what is accomplished with the festival in the future.

This year marks a change; a change in personnel, a change where five years of strategizing and planning have paid off, and now it’s time to think ahead another five years, and to bring in fresh minds and ideas.  This festival exists only because so many volunteers are so willing to give up their own time to make a dream happen – the idea that a community can come together without boundaries, without huge corporate sponsors, in the spirit of local multi-generational celebration and cooperation to create an event that is uniquely Peterborough in its shape even while it welcomes people from beyond our city.  The idea that you can run a professional urban folk festival where a friendly, relaxed atmosphere pervades everything.

It’s exciting and satisfying, and I can’t think of a better way to have spent my time over the past 5 years than to help make this happen.

I had a variety of reactions to that, from ‘Pssht, get over it,’ to ‘No, seriously dude: get over it.’ I know Hip-Hop and Rap have a low reputation amongst the Folk community, though I’d underestimated how reactionary and unwelcoming some people would be.  I don’t have much patience with people who write off a whole genre of music, especially those who haven’t really given it a listen.  You may hear that all Rap is about violence, drugs, and hos,* but if you actually like, listen to it, you’ll find that even when that imagery is in heavy use, there’s a lot of other stuff going on. “Rap music is the continuation of the Folk tradition,” I’d say, generally to raised eyebrows and shaking heads.

Which is why, watching one of last week’s episodes of The Colbert Report, I was so excited by and exchange between Stephen Colbert and Talib Kweli that I leapt up and danced around punching the air for a couple of minutes. You can watch the exchange (in Canada) by clicking here, but I’ve transcribed it:

Colbert “What is Rap, really?”

Kweli “Rap and… Hip-Hop… is a vehicle, it’s a tool for expression, and it’s more Folk music than Folk music actually is, because it’s speaking – ”

Colbert “It’s more Folk than Folk?”

Kweli “That’s right – because it’s speaking the language of regular folk. Y’know what I’m saying? When Folk music got popular, it’s ’cause it was stripped down,  it was in the language of what people actually said; and that’s what hip-hop does very well.”

There are plenty of Folk artists currently writing and performing whom I quite like, and whose music I find relevant, but as a whole, the Folk music scene can be a toothless, bland beast malingering on the opposite side of the politics it once espoused. It’s not really anyone’s fault; there are a lot of babyboomers in the Folk scene, and they got old.  Nostalgia has overruled their sense; Stephen Harper can plonk out ‘Imagine’ ’till the cows come home, but I like to ‘imagine’ John Lennon spitting in his face while he does.

Folk music had a lot to say, once, and was powerful in its delivery, but that was more than 30 years ago, before I was even born.  Folk music now has lost its power by avoiding politics and focusing on romance or the supposed simplicity of an earlier time, a nostalgia for things that never existed.  When it does deal with social or political subject matter, it’s often the politics of the 60s, or too preachy, simplistic, and heavy-handed for most audiences.  When I want to hear about things that are relevant to my life and the world I see around me right now, I turn to Rap and Hip-Hop.  Because the torch that Folk let fall has been picked up by the rappers and DJs; they’re talking about people struggling to survive in a hostile environment, about how they and their families and friends respond to social injustice, racism, and hard financial realities.

Folk music was the music of poor people, people who lived close to the means of production, who earned their meagre pay by mining or farming or rough, physical labour and yearned for a day when things would be more equal.**  The reality these days is that the working poor are in call centres and bargain stores, a time when being poor means you’ve never been to a farm or had the opportunity to grow or make something tangible with your own two hands.*** The wheel has turned quickly; the sympathy of the people isn’t with unions – which are pretty well seen as rich fat-cats and corrupt representatives that protect the upper middle-class at the expense of quality and fairness – or with the issues of the past.  It’s with the rise of a relatively-unprotected, urban existence, where the difference between making rent this month and living in serious debt is largely outside of your control in an almost Dickensian way.

Rap and Hip-Hop are as much a comment on and a protest against these conditions as they are a celebration of getting out of them.  And when you listen to what have been classed as ‘Conscious‘ rappers, you hear progressive views on community, equality, social justice and protest that seem to be the direct inheritors of the folk movement – or perhaps, more than inheritors, because they have raised some pretty rudimentary ideas up into adulthood.  There aren’t so many of those easy slogans or simple answers that Folk music has often fallen back on; the politics are complicated.  As a Feminist and someone who leans towards pacifism, I find the sexism and violence in some rap music problematic, but it doesn’t keep me away from the genre, nor does it change the fact that some truly great artists are people whose views I don’t share.

After Shad K performed at the Peterborough Folk Festival in 2008, I had people from all walks of life, ranging in age from their twenties to sixties, come up to me and with wonder in their faces tell me that they had no idea they could like Rap music.  It’s one of those rare victories that I’ve savoured ever since; tuning other people in to the amazing and important work being created by Rappers and Hip-Hop artists is a pleasure and a privilege.  And when you open your ears to something new, you might find yourself more familiar with the feeling of community, struggle and and passion than you’d have imagined.

*The word is used to illustrate opinions,with all respect. Do your thing, ladies.

**I have thoughts about how the middle class of the 60s romanticized poverty and the “simple life” much like the French aristocracy did in the 1700s, but that’s a topic for another day.

***Being able to afford chickens and have a yard where I can keep them, and grow vegetables, is a privilege I’m aware of; I have a complicated relationship with the urban homesteading trend, because I’m reasonably certain that this back-to-the-earth stuff is aristocrats playing at being milkmaids.  I can’t shake that sense of romance myself, but I do know that it’s pretty well bourgeoisie bullshit.

This is my fourth year as Artistic Director and Executive Director for the festival. I first volunteered for the festival in the late nineties, when I got stuck as a parking attendant for hours without water or any clear sense of what I was supposed to be doing.  Since then, I’ve coordinated Healing Arts and the Club Crawl, eventually taking on the positions I’m in now.

The festival is run by a small, dedicated, and hard-working group of volunteers, many of whom have been with the festival for years and work, month after month, year-round to bring together three great days in late August.  We’ve made a lot of changes to the festival in the past 4 years, changes I’m very proud of because they’ve made the festival infinitely better, and infinitely easier to run.  We’ve tightened up, planned carefully, and created a strong foundation for considered growth.  But change always angers people, especially when they see it as negatively impacting themselves.

Last year, when I proposed that we cut the Club Crawl, it was not the first time I’d argued that it was a waste of effort that reflected poorly on the festival as a whole.  Originally conceived as a fundraiser for the festival, the Club Crawl rarely worked as such, generally losing money despite our best efforts.  In my opinion, it was a clusterfuck; paying artists a pittance to play in venues unsuited for live music, running technicians ragged as they dealt with jury-rigged gear and practically no switch-over time.  Venue owners didn’t feel they were getting a good deal, either, and as a result, often dropped out or screwed us in some way at the last minute.  The final straw, for me, was when one of our funders praised the festival as a whole but suggested in strong terms that the Club Crawl didn’t live up to the standards they expected as a baseline for paid, professional artists.  I agreed, and either argued persuasively to the Board of Directors or just browbeat them (they may want to comment on which) into axing the Club Crawl for 2009.

I have to admit I was completely taken off guard by the anger from several local artists.  What I saw as a shitty gig or tokenism they (I guess) saw as inclusion. And I’m sorry they felt that way; it reflects poorly on local audiences and venues that a $50 gig with no real soundcheck is considered okay for a skilled artist who’s been playing for years.  I know it’s a lot harder to get into the festival now than it was in the past, because there are fewer slots.  But I think it’s important for any publicly-funded arts organization to treat artists with respect, and part of that respect is to create opportunities that operate at a professional standard – decent pay, decent playing conditions.  Another facet of that respect is to set the bar high and encourage the community to reach it.

My philosophy for booking has always pretty much been the same, from my very earliest days as a promoter, through my MoHo days, to now.  I book great professional artists who are good to work with, and I pay them as well as I can and ensure they work in decent conditions.  My resources are limited and I’m bound by the conditions of my funders, and this means that, if I’m going to follow my own ethical code, I book fewer artists, but better gigs, than we’ve done in the past.

In addition, we receive funding from the terrific Arts Presentation Canada program, run by the Federal government, whose purpose is to increase diversity at festivals, and who stipulate that their funding should be used to book artists from out-of-province as well as emerging and culturally diverse acts.  I see this as an opportunity to introduce Peterborough artists and audiences to the sounds and ideas that are happening across the country, but it also means that there are fewer slots for local artists than in the past.

I’m extremely lucky because I book a free festival, so I don’t have to worry about a draw – every year, 7000-9000 people come regardless of who’s playing.  Personally, I prefer to support emerging acts in any case, and I really don’t like the idea of blowing half or more of my artistic budget on the last two acts of the night.  But it also means that we miss out on those tasty admissions fees that can make up a third or more of a festival’s funding.  The idea of fencing off the festival area and charging admission has been bruited about, but none of the current Board are comfortable with the idea of changing 21 years of tradition in such a fundamental way – we like the festival free and accessible.  So we do our best with the funding we receive, and I think we do a pretty damned good job.

There are so many things I wish for the Peterborough Folk Festival - good god, how I’d love to expand and do three days in the park, to rebuild that concrete stage with a proper proscenium and offices and dry storage underneath,  and re-terrace the hill.  How I’d love for us to own our own sound gear, to build some permanent platforms in the park, and to do weekly concerts throughout the Summer and a Winter series.  I want to draw in the communities of new Canadians in Peterborough and become relevant to them, and I’d like to see more participatory workshops where our audience get to learn how to do things.  I want to see fewer and fewer cars in the parking area, and more and more people arrive on foot or via transit/canoe/bicycle. I want to see an increasingly diverse crowd of people enjoying the kind of music they can’t hear anywhere else in the City.

My dreams always outstrip my abilities, and our finances.  I am constantly disappointed by what I was not able to achieve in any given year.  But by consistently setting the bar higher for ourselves, we reach a little higher every year, and do better.  It’s hard work, but I think we can’t ask any less of ourselves than we ask of our community.  And I think that, if we don’t ask for high standards from our community, we tacitly encourage unprofessional-ism and sloppy work.

Join us, August 27 – 29, 2010, as we try to reach a little higher than we have before; there will be mistakes, absolutely, and things that don’t quite make the grade.  But there’s a spirit of sweetness, or openness, and a sense of community that you won’t find elsewhere.  Moments of beauty that you can share with friends and family, great music, delicious food, and fabulous crafts.  For all the heartache I’ve occasionally felt over the PFF, the end is always worth it.

This year I intend to step down at Executive Director of the Peterborough Folk Festival; if you’re interested in the job (it’s primarily a volunteer position, involving grant writing and administrative work, but comes with a small honourarium), you can get in touch with me and we’ll talk about it.