Sometimes we don’t know the true value of a thing until it’s over and we’ve had some distance from what’s occurred. We need the reestablishment of home and its norms before it hits us what a profound, nourishing experience we’ve been a part of, and then a delightful pang rises inside, an urge to go back to that place, to hang out with our friends, new and old, and rekindle the warmth, laughter and music we made together. Lost Sierra Hoedown, even to this first time attendee, proved just this sort of rich experience.
The definition of intimate at just 500 people plus the bands and their guests, the Hoedown carried an air of benevolent anarchy, where just enough order and organization as needed for things to flow well was applied – the lights & sound were pure pro all weekend – but mostly the better angels of the temporarily gathered tribe reigned over the flowing, beautiful natural setting, new neighbors becoming fast friends as folks shared what they’d brought, helped strangers set up tents, and generally threw in what they could to ensure everyone was smiling and welcome. It was an instant and refreshing reprieve from the fractious, us versus them America we left behind on the highway to this Northern California spot.
While there were those who kept the wild rumpus rolling all night long throughout the festival, even those rabble-rousers were largely good natured, drunk on high spirits of several kind. With marauding bands of pop-gun wielding little boys, campsite loom operators, and impromptu picking sessions along the pathways, the Hoedown had a gentle, effective way of simmering one down, lifting tension and opening one up to exuberant whoops, dust cloud raising shuffles, and spontaneous outbursts of affection. Whether one was a local (there’s a strong Tahoe/Quincy contingent), a SF Bay Area visitor, or a traveler from another state (even Europe – a quartet of switched-on, charming Swedes who’d traveled thousands of miles on the recommendation of Hoedown staple Willy Tea Taylor stole many a heart this year), it was hard to escape the feeling one had arrived at a special place filled with special people.
Of course, there was the ostensible reason people had gathered in the Ski Bowl – a community ski area that the festival raises funds to rebuild – the music, and there was a lot of it. The predominant bent is acoustic-leaning, bluegrass and singer-songwriter inspired Americana and folk-rock intercut with occasional funk and rock tangents, though those generic terms do a disservice to the generally interesting lineup. The artists playing this long weekend each put twists on well-worn formulas to offer fresh sounds, shifting perspectives, and above all else, a sincere, genuinely earnest desire to serve music in a profound way. Sometimes the “feels” were so intense one had to step away and catch a breath of air. Emotions lived close to the surface in most of the music played, and not a single artist reminded one of anything in the mainstream. This was music that often asked one to hush up and lean in, engaged listening rewarding both the performer and audience as lines of connectivity grew in the flurry and swing of notes and sharply-edged human voices.
Late in the weekend Nathan Moore – this writer’s pick for most under-appreciated, under-rewarded classic singer-songwriter of the past 20 years – noted, while sipping whiskey from my flask on the front porch next to the open air, wooden main stage, “This place is full of storytellers.” He made observation noting the care in setlist choices and how many acts had ended their sets with death songs, gospel-esque updraft, or other poignant punctuation. Making music clearly meant something fundamental to every single performer, and whether or not one vibed with a particular style there was a great deal of respect for what each musician brought to the table, a respect that encompassed both attentive stillness & focus and rowdy ass revelry depending on what the moment and music demanded. Call it a well-attuned synergy.
Driving away from the Hoedown on Monday morning beneath a new sun, talk turned quickly to making this experience an annual late summer/early autumn event in our lives, the perfect, consciously small conclusion to festival high season to remind one why they pitch a tent and pass a dusty bottle to newly minted chums under a starry sky as bards tool among the trees.
5 Musical Highlights From Lost Sierra Hoedown 2016
1. Friday Night Main Stage
The whole festival was superbly programmed with just the right amount of variety amidst the sea of banjos, upright bass, flying fiddles, and dinged-up acoustic guitars, but there was an exceptional undertow to the positive about the one-two-three wallop Friday starting at 5 pm with the close harmonies, interlocking picking, and carefully carved songcraft of The Little Fuller Band giving way to the boot stomping, late 80s Tom Waits Wild Years recalling charge ‘n’ howl of The Sam Chase & the Untraditional, and finally the rib-sticking, true classic rock, body shaking whirligig of headliners The Stone Foxes. The build was palpable from band to band, and if one gave themselves over to the music there was something wonderfully Dionysian about this evening. And like many performances, this run sent me exploring the catalogs of each band after the fest and each rewards further exploration because they’ve got fantastic songs and a lot of heart and talent in executing them.
Perhaps the Hoedown’s MVP, Bowling reminds us what a magical, fabulously versatile and orchestral instrument the piano can be in the right hands. Starting with a chilly main stage set as folks loaded in on Thursday, Bowling wove a spell over anyone smart enough to take a knee and cozy up to her music inside the lodge or in guest appearances with several bands. Ostensibly built around reimaginings of the music of Phish and the Grateful Dead, Bowling’s music is filled with deeply engaging improvisation and an instinct for texture and nuance most musicians will never possess. Her whole body goes into each suite, each newly angled familiar chestnut, each cosmically charged flight of spontaneity. One friend called her the “George Winston of the jam scene” in a wholly complimentary way, and there’s some of the genre-free, melodically seductive feel of the Windham Hill piano man but Bowling is quite a bit more, a musician and composer who sees into the super-structure of music, throwing out lines of connection and creatively severing old ties in ways that make what she does pure, immediate, and haunting. It hardly matters if one is aware of the Dead or Phish number she’s exploring because the music is a pleasure and thought-stirrer in its own right. And she’s a big-brained charmer to boot, so the whole package as they say. Bowling’s latest project is a massive reimaging of Grateful Dead songs that one should consider crowd-funding HERE.
3. Singer-Songwriter Love
The Hoedown loves guys (and gals) singing their hearts out accompanied with only their own acoustic guitar. The Lodge behind the main stage became a near-constant picking circle of pros and patrons in the wee-wee hours and a showcase for some of today’s most dyed-in-the-wool sensitive singer-songwriters in the mold of John Prine, James Taylor, and Townes Van Zandt in the daylight. The raw, real stuff of living was compressed into one great song after another as one sat close to Will Taylor, Nathan Moore, and emerging tunesmiths like Jordan Smart, Brad Parsons, Ryan Bloom, Chris Doud, and Little Fuller Band’s Tim McCaffrey (amongst a small pack of folks whose names slipped by during long, late nights next to the fire filled hearth). Tuning into Bloom, Smart, Parsons and the others one discovered what I call “bindle music,” the kind of songs you throw into your duffle when you need to get out of town, just the essentials in your bag, the songs that’ll help you survive, thrive, and feel the right things no matter what life throws at you. Do yourself a favor and explore the names above you haven’t heard before and don’t be surprised if your own bindle of cherished songs doesn’t grow with each new artist you spend your time and money investing in.
4. Marty O’Reilly & The Old Soul Orchestra
Santa Cruz-based O’Reilly and his ferociously empathetic band broke a number of strings in a mesmerizing performance on Saturday that swung between throaty whispers and barbaric yawps, a skillfully careening performance that brought to mind the great Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds at their testifying lover men best. These are old souls indeed but doing innovative things rooted in tradition, the music redolent of the blues, small group jazz, and interwoven indie rock. O’Reilly’s voice is a slightly wild but compelling force of nature, murmured asides just as effective as the bared-teeth chomps. Everyone in this gifted band – O’Reilly (guitar, lead vocals), Chris Lynch (violin), Matt Goff (percussion) and Ben Berry (bass) – knows how to listen purposefully and get out of the way when one element or another needs to stand in the spotlight. Rarely has a first impression left me so curious to hear and understand more about a band.
5. Sunday Get Together
The rest of the Hoedown multiple stages operated throughout the day but on the final day all action was on the main stage, which gathered everyone going the distance in one place and further fostered the sense of community and shared experience. Early, party weary attendees and still-lively parents with kids gathered in the pockets of shade on the hill and luxuriated in the really pleasing, cover rich, lifetime picker charms of local faves Penny, Benny & Dude’s noon wake up, where they traveled through traditionals, Grateful Dead, The Kinks, Richard Thompson, and other well-picked and well-played choices along with a handful of originals that held their own. The richness of feeling continued through sets by Abalone Grey and Taarka, where string band norms were beautifully bent into lovely shapes, intuitively stroked strings and defense penetrating vocals making many brave the relentless sun in order to be near this tender, softly alluring music, gypsy sounds picked up by sonic journeyers with few barriers and great capacity for making quality mélanges.
High Sierra Music Festival veterans will likely be aware of the touching power and emotional tug of a Nathan Moore Sunday Service, and the 21st century newfangled troubadour delivered in a big way at his first Hoedown. Beginning solo, Moore drew us in, most seated in the growing shade as the sun set over the hill, a man alone on a stool plying a guitar with a song he wants us to hear. It’s so simple but herein lies the heart of Moore’s above-the-norm talent and presence. When he’s at his most sincere, his most exposed, he is at his very best, his vulnerability and honesty ringing in verses and melodies that speak to things we all wrestle with whether we discuss them with others or not. Once tenderized, he was joined by three-fourths of Taarka – which include two of his former bandmates in ThaMuseMeant – to whip up a subdued tent revival wave that culminated in one of the moments of the festival when one of the Hoedown organizers ran into the empty dirt dance floor in front of the main stage and tossed his hat into the air with a holler before busting into a slap-foot barn dance that got the rest of us on our feet and shimmying, chanting with Moore and his fiery companions, “Armageddon-ready for the end of the world!” It was a holy moment, a release from the fear and anxiety stoked by the news, the election, and the endless needles in our personal lives. Peels of laughter and rolling in the dirt followed the final notes. Thank God above for such Moore-stirred exultation.
This set the stage well for the Hoedown finale by fest regulars The Good Luck Thrift Store Outfit. While their studio albums and the songwriting of Chris Doud and Willy Taylor are fab, it’s the live incarnation of this Outfit that revealed their full rough but totally right character, a rock band using country and folk tools, full bodied, hirsute heirs to legacy of Little Feat, The Band, and The Pogues. At each turn, they seized winning opportunities, just the right drum fill or electric guitar sting to elevate proceedings, the whole gang of them looking road weary and steely-eyed in their determination to get folks off, help lift some weight off, and drag us ALL forward, one yard at a time, towards brighter pastures or at least a spot to rest, think, and drink until the voices in our heads subside for a few hours. Huddled together against the cold (it was warm during the day and shiver inducing chilly at night at the Hoedown), the crowd moved with the band and one another, the music and heartful playing of these men gathering us together for a bumptious, joyous conclusion to the Hoedown.
Photos by Andrew Quist
