The lovely Alela Diane and her band, Wild Divine, broke open the day with “Dry Grass and Shadows,” complementing the parched summer scenery perfectly. Diane squinted in the high-noon sun while the band (including her father and husband) stood coolly behind her, eyes shrouded in sunglasses. She was added to the lineup last minute, so the audience was freshly enthused to hear material from her most recent album, Alela Diane and Wild Divine. Though I had seen her play twice before and have listened to Pirate’s Gospel and To Be Still to the point of exhaustion, I was moved nearly to tears by her performance of “The Rifle” and “Every Path.”
Wye Oak’s beautifully pained harmonies floated their way to my ears as I followed an enchanting character to an elusive recording studio buried in the woods. This is where the music was coming from every night after 2am--music that had many times woke me up and summoned me, but I was too sleepy to investigate. Only a few bails of hay, a sofa, and music equipment lay scattered outside the shanty dubbed "The Red Dog Salloon" [sic], where we roamed around quietly while Breathe Owl Breathe recorded a few tracks for the upcoming Pickathon 2011 compilation album. Though no big whoop to Pickathon staff and musicians, I was floored and beyond grateful to have been given access to this hidden gem. To boot, its entrance was guarded by a giant light-up tiger frozen in mid-pounce.
Backstagey-ness continued after being shuffled to the outskirts of the Workshop Barn when the weight from the people lining up to see gospel queen, Mavis Staples, collapsed the porch. No worries; Ms. Staples was around back having a gregarious round-table discussion with the Pendarvis family before the show. Our photographer charmed his way into the group, and more or less became the "table" around which they laughed and conversed (see photos).
Flint, Michigan’s Whitey Morgan and the 78’s sang a spittoon-full of honky-tonk country songs (confirmed as such by the unchecked number of times he said "honky-tonk") but, most importantly, they educated the audience on how to create the perfect “hillbilly margarita": Gatorade from 7-11 and cheap tequila drunk from the bottle (the Gatorade bottle, of course). “Keeps you hydrated,” explained Professor Whitey. You couldn’t dislike these guys; they had a pedal steel and cleverly packaged advice like, “Start livin’ life and don’t worry about the bullshit because memories are all you got,” and “Memories cost a lot when you don’t make ‘em.” “The First Time I Saw Waylon,” an ode to Waylon Jennings, bowled me over, and I had to scamper away to the nearby 7-11 for a celebratory Gatorade to kick off the start of my new hillbilly life. Yeehaw.
Later, half drunk on hillbilly margaritas, I had to close one eye to see straight. Vetiver played “Rolling Sea” and rocked us all to sleep or something like it, then picked up the pace with “Another Reason to Go” before I could refer back to my hunch that Pickathon was conspiring to tranquilize us.
The much buzzed about Thao and the Get Down Stay Down from Virginia ventured to blow the sleepy dust from our eyes with wacky dance moves, twitches, side-by-side drummers, and plenty of happy bouncy indie-rock. Thao had stage presence to be reckoned with.
Now, be forewarned that the upcoming statements are heavily steeped in bias and unfair judgment: Black Mountain are FUCKING RAD. They started their second show of the weekend strong with “Wilderness Heart” and kept the thunder rolling through “Tyrants,” “Rollercoaster,” and finally, the hyped-up “Let Spirits Ride.” Amber Webber did girly little half-twirls, her arms swinging loosely outward as she sang; her refusal to thrash around uncontrollably, like their songs no doubt demand, somehow made her presence all the more commanding. I felt cooler just knowing that I lived in the same region as Black Mountain, albeit separate countries. I must, as many times before, bow in humbled gratitude to Vancouver, BC for birthing these guys.
Mavis Staples, transported from her castle on a hill, arrived in a white limo with her family, The Staples Singers, in-tow. Everyone was respectfully present to watch her perform. As a Rock and Roll Hall of Famer, a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award winner, a National Heritage Fellowship Award recipient, one of VH1’s 100 Greatest Women of Rock and Roll, and Rolling Stone’s 100 Greatest Singers of All Time, Staples was the biggest name on the Pickthon lineup, and her show confirmed why. The group started with the rousing a cappella hymn, “Jesus is Mine” and ended over an hour later with “I’ll Take You There” while the audience sang and clapped along. Pokey LaFarge and the South City Three, Breathe Owl Breathe, Vetiver, Fruit Bats, and other starlets watched Staples adoringly like I, in the past, have watched them. Between songs she shared her experience working with the Pendarvis family, “[They] have adopted me!”, she exclaimed, and accepted a Pickathon-branded bottle of wine from Mr. and Mrs. Pendarvis themselves despite, she said, this being Pickathon’s 13th year: “What took you so long to call us?” she joked. The otherwise sparsely populated press area in front of the stage was now packed with smiling faces. There was no sense of exclusivity, only community. All the underlying philosophies of this music festival–respect, responsibility, and love of music--climaxed at once, and I was overwhelmed with joy. Maybe it was the gospel numbers delivered by some of the world’s most talented R&B musicians, maybe it was Mavis Staples herself–a force of nature with positive energy powerful enough to gain the trust of thousands of onlookers with a single, guttural laugh. The conviction in her eyes while singing “March Up Freedom’s Highway” --“I’m still on the highway and I’ll be there until Dr. King’s dream has been realized”--and “This is My Country”–“Too many people have died for me to go second class, this is my country”--was enough to start a revolution. Sixty-one years of consistently performing gospel music and working for civil rights will grant you that kind of influence.
Even with six other bands still scheduled to play afterward, I wanted to finish on that note; the end, beautiful friends, the end of a perfect weekend. Until next year…
