A Mighty Wind Hits Chicago

I knew the University of Chicago Folk Festival would be a departure from my normal musical venues, and I suspected that hosting the folk fest after party at the co-op would be an adventure. I had no idea, however, how much old time folk goodness could be squeezed into an evening. With the fiddles pumping, the banjos banging, and enough harmonicas to outfit an entire barn dance entourage, we played host to the ultimate folk extravaganza this weekend.

As a sidenote, I'm not completely foreign to folk or old time music. Ben has been educating me on the historical aspects of old time and I'm open to the idea of square dancing. (I just haven't had a really good opportunity to showcase my abilities on that front.) This weekend was a real education, however, starting with a three-hour, six musical-act concert at the university,

followed by four or five hours of folk music in my kitchen, dining room, and living room. It was like being in a Christopher Guest flick, except a little less ironic. The clip below is from my kitchen.

It was really fun until I was ready to turn in around 2 or 2:30, and I had some trouble by-passing the musicians who had collected in my stairwell. I narrowly edged past a young woman doing a zealous rendition of "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore" on the recorder, accompanied by a couple young boys banging out a rhythm with spoons on the banister. Perhaps the most unfortunate aspect was the fact that my room, being right across from the bathroom, saw a lot of folk foot traffic. Including, after the gumbo was served, at least one person exclaiming... "DO NOT GO IN THERE!! WHOO WEE THAT WAS SOME GUMBO!"

Don't get me wrong, it was fun to play host to some fiddlin' magic and perhaps a once in a lifetime experience. I mean I'm not ruling out playing host to approximately 50 trained classical folk musicians another evening, but odds are, this may well have been my last and best chance to dig the old time rhythms just like they used in my grandparents' time. I think the enthusiasm of the evening will never be recaptured for me. At least one folkie played his fiddle so intently he broke the chair in which he was sitting. Like Nero as the city of Rome burned, this fiddler let the rhythm take him over, we have only the scraps of wood for kindling to remember his performance by.

This year's folk fest was dedicated to the late Starkey Duncan, a true pioneer for the Hyde Park folk festival and a fighter for the ways of the old timers.