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?!

I live in Peterborough, ON, a mid-sized city with a bustling heritage downtown, a penchant for hockey, a lively arts scene, a smallish university and a college.  Bethune Street runs along the west side of downtown proper, and in terms of the revitalization of the downtown, it’s a bit of a problem child.  Once the edge-of-town railway corridor for trains bound to nearby Lakefield, it’s extra-wide for most of its length. Though where it runs through the old north end it’s mostly residential, down closer to the commercial district it’s industrial, rough-looking, and derelict in places.

This is a big problem for the city.  It seems innocuous enough until you really start thinking about it, but with the mighty Otonabee River on one side, downtown Peterborough sort-of has its back against a wall.  On the other side of the river, there’s East City, jurisdictionally a part of the City of Peterborough but realistically (and historically) a place unto itself.  With only the Hunter Street bridge as access (especially now, with the train bridge closed to walkers and cyclists), downtown is mostly speaking to the rest of Peterborough. To the north, it’s limited by a block of massive heritage institutional buildings, such as City Hall and the Armories, which are beautiful but put act as a barrier between the shops and cafes of the downtown and the heritage homes of the old north end.  To the south, there’s a slow trickle of business and some opportunities for development, but once you get to King Street and the Dieter and Darcy’s building, you’ve hit a wall in terms of how far pedestrians feel comfortable walking, with George Street at it’s busiest and a series of large-scale modern buildings that sit too far back from the road or have too few windows to make walking pleasant.

To the west, Bethune stands like a no-man’s-land between downtown and the affluent neighborhoods of The Avenues. Its presence drags down the streets around it, creating a barrier of run-down heritage homes, unfriendly industrial spaces, and a sense of emptiness that discourages people from hanging out or even walking through. Much as I love urban decay and the visible layers of built heritage, I think the city’s health will be best supported by some big changes – and they’re already under way. I often walk or cycle down Bethune, and it’s been fascinating watching these small changes impact the neighbourhood for the better, and encourage the kind of growth that will keep the downtown bustling.

Throughout the course of The City Walker project, however long that is,  I’ll be talking about Bethune Street, Peterborough, and other cities, and thinking about what makes a streetscape and a city a liveable, healthy place that fosters community.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback – leave a comment below to let me know what you think!

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.

Elementary school had been, for me, completely brutal.  Our family moved to the village when I was in kindergarten, and in a place where many families could trace their roots back generations, we were strangers. And from that point, until my graduation in grade 8, I was a social pariah, an easy target for bullying, a weird girl in hand-me-down clothes who loved books and knew nothing about sports.

People often speak about the idylls of childhood as though kids are innocents, and being one is an unrelenting exercise in pleasure, play, and freedom from responsibility.  I can’t identify; childhood for me was an endless round of fears, from what new taunting, theft, or physical violence was going to be inflicted upon me at school, to the ever-present money problems at home that formed the backdrop to everything else.  When I look back, I remember stress, anxiety, and depression; I retreated further into my books and was dragged resisting out of bed in the mornings to go to school.  On the walk, I would often daydream about falling and breaking a leg, the idea of avoiding school for a week so appealing that I longed for injury.  

I didn’t have anything that I’d call a ‘friend’ in elementary school, so there was no one to turn to in moments of fear or frustration. The teachers were either oblivious or complicit, with the exception of Mr. Kelsey, whose classroom was a refuge of learning in a desert of stupidity.  In one memorable incident in Grade 5, my teacher called me a liar in front of the class for insisting that there was such a thing as a sand dollar - despite the fact that I was holding a photo of one. Every interaction left me bewildered and afraid.

Look, I don’t know what kind of kid I was – maybe I was annoying, or odd, or whatever – but no one deserves the kind of treatment I got.  I often left school in tears, sometimes sneaking back home after my parents had left for work.  My attendance record was awful.

When the opportunity came up in Grade 8 to audition for the Arts Program at PCVS, I leapt at it – in my case, I was certain that the devil I didn’t know couldn’t be any worse than the devil I was already subjected to.  I knew I couldn’t continue on with these same tormentors at TASSS; I couldn’t even contemplate a future where I rode a bus and went to class every day with these horrible kids.  The very thought induced a despair I can’t articulate. Getting accepted into the program was the best news I’d received in my young life.

Going from being the lone weird kid at a rural elementary school to being one of a group of weird kids at an urban high school was a freedom that I had longed for but never imagined could be mine. Intellectual pursuits were encouraged, being cultured was admired, and my hand-me-downs suddenly were transformed from the markers of a poor kid to vintage cool.  I went from being the kid who’d been skipping school since Grade 1 to having perfect attendance in Grade 9.  A quick five-minute walk brought us to all the theatre, visual art, and culture we could ask for. I felt like Cinderella, stepping into the Prince’s ball.

Sure, there were still bullies; we got called ‘Art Fags’ more times than I could count, tripped in the hallways, taunted and pushed.  But we outnumbered them, and my new freedom gave me the confidence to stand my ground and face them down.  In 1995, when PCVS established its Anti-Bullying Committee (a group of parents, teachers and students that I’m proud to have been a part of) and surveyed the school, we were surprised to learn that the majority of students felt safe and had little to report. From what I understand, they’ve continued to nurture that kind of environment, a place where students of all types can find a place to fit, to learn safely, to grow into adults who go on to shape not just our immediate community but also the national dialogue.  While bullying has become a high-profile issue in the past few years, PCVS has been proactive in dealing with it for nearly twenty.

When I heard that they were talking about closing a local high school, I didn’t worry much about PCVS; every argument, from capacity to student performance to good city planning stood behind keeping my alma mater.  When I heard that they were leaning towards closing TASSS, I felt that they were making the right choice.  A dated building from the late 60s, with asbestos and sinking architecture in the suburbs of Peterborough, TASSS was operating at half-capacity.  It made perfect sense.

But in what seemed like a fairly sudden turn, the Trustees voted to close PCVS.

Like many in the community, I was stunned.  The arguments for closing PCVS seemed senseless – one trustee mentioned the lack of playing fields (students have used Nicholls Oval without problems for decades), another cited the absence of a robotics program.  Protests began immediately, and involved the whole community – from downtown merchants to community members, alumni, and current students.  The suggestion that the Integrated Arts Program would be moved to TASSS was met with fear as TASSS students began writing threats and insults online.  A rally to protest the decision at Queen’s Park in early December drew 500+ participants, and despite freezing rain and raspy voices, remained loud and strong for hours. A video created by PCVS alums Brown Meadow Bird and Jared Raab drew tens of thousands of hits over a few days, now standing at 126,000 and climbing, and brought national and international media attention to the proposed closure.

The Ministry of Education has appointed a facilitator to review the decision, and money brought in through a fund-raising concert is going towards a legal challenge.

I’ve heard a lot of people’s opinions about the situation, and a lot of angry reactions to the idea that Peterborough needs PCVS, and while I can answer their arguments from an urban planning, financial, and academic standpoint, today I prefer to say simply, from my own experience, that I needed PCVS.  Kids like me need PCVS still.  It saved my life and my future.  It put me in a position to become a confident and competent adult. While the arts are central to my life, and I’m grateful for the opportunities I had through the Arts Program, much more than that is the safe space PCVS gave me to dream, to attempt, to accomplish and to flourish.

As long as I have breath to use, I will protest and work against any acts or decisions that lead to the end of that safety.

In the words of the PCVS school song:

Lift up your heart and let our your voice,
Here we belong and here we rejoice,
Fighting, Singing, Marching, Swinging,
Onward to Victory! 

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.

The thing about roller derby is, at the beginning at least, a really open sport.  It’s growing in popularity, but still relatively few people have played.  The skill level varied, at Friday’s practice, from a few women who’d played before to those who’d rarely (if ever) skated.  It’s a bit of an outlay for skates and protective gear, but people of all ages and body types are welcome; you don’t have to be young or athletic, or have a certain build or height.

For someone whose team photo is pretty tough and whom I imagine is a hellion on the track, Lucid Lou is a patient, affable teacher whose ability to really communicate the basics makes her an excellent coach.  I watched her talk new skaters through their very first movements, correct mistakes in a constructive way, and stay supportive of the newbies while pushing the more experienced skaters to new skills.

Over the course of the two-hour practice, I went from loving shooting the women ((so much more fun than shooting a person at a mic, no matter how interesting their talk or how good their music), to envying them and wanting to get out on the floor myself.  There’s something so powerful about roller derby; it combines so many things I admire.  They seemed transformed from regular people with kids, jobs, and student debts to tough, physically resilient women moving with power and some grace (the grace will increase; give them time!).  It was inspiring to see so many women of such different backgrounds and physicalities out on the floor, looking strong and confident.

In a time when so many women are reaching back to an imagined ideal housewife of the 50s (I like that aesthetic too, but do your politics have to match your outfit? Those crinolined, white-gloved ladies were second-wave warriors in the 60s, y’know),  it’s nice to see women of all sorts reaching occasionally for their inner Tank Girl. That, to me, is the essence of feminism; to sometimes be a mom, sometimes a bookish Star Wars nerd, sometimes a tough bitch on wheels, but having the choice to decide to reject whatever parts of the archetype don’t work for you.  To define yourself as a multi-faceted individual, rather than be defined by some things you do or choose.

In short, it was awesome.  You won’t find me lacing up anytime soon (I have kind-of a busy year ahead of me), but I’ve been bitten by the derby bug.

[flash http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFKIYO3OpF4]

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.