We're into April, we've survived the first quarter of 2009 and, for me, there's no ignoring the fact that it's exactly four weeks to the start of the Rhythm and Roots Festival.
Stage One of the preparations is done. The winter has been spent listening to and booking the performers. It's now on to the hard part, putting all the various managers requirements together and, more importantly, making sure the audience turn up on the weekend.
I can't help thinking that this is the perfect festival for the current recession. For the last 11 years we've had songs, in the words of The Wynntown Marshals, about “love, loss, heartbreak, natural disasters and the broken ride we call life”. For anyone who hasn't sampled the atmosphere yet, the amazing thing is this is delivered in a way that will leave a smile on your face and send you home feeling better about the world for a while.
So, this year when Rev Peyton’s Big Damn Band sings, “Build my endurance, build my endurance, can't afford the health insurance,” we will know exactly what they mean, but that won't stop us singing along.
I'm always wary of the various requests from management companies. This year has been fairly quiet, with no strange or outlandish demands. The band that demanded six pairs of fresh black socks after every show last year never even opened the package, so I'm not taking any of those type of requests seriously this year. After all, there is a recession going on.
One of our biggest acts this year is American singer Jim White. I enquired if there was anything specifically he needed. I got this reply: “I'm pretty sure from memory he carries all his backline. He buys an old amp, then sells it at the last show along with his clothes.”
What! He sells his clothes? This needed further investigation, so I checked his own website and sure enough, here's what he had to say on a recent Australian tour:
“It's Jim White writing here. I wanted to thank everyone in Australia and New Zealand who participated in the "Shirt Off My Back" campaign there. I sold five used, smelly western shirts, many of which I wore at the very show I later sold them at, for a total of $125.00 which I've just donated to Doctors Without Borders. During these hard times you can bet that charities are getting hit hard, so it's important for us to find new ways to continue funding them. Generating revenue from shirts that I bought at flea markets, wore a few times, then passed on to like-minded (and sized ) fans is one way to keep those who are on the side of the angels in business.”
Memo to local charity shops: Put aside any check western shirts that come in over the next few weeks, size medium to large. I've a customer for you on the way.
I met Jim White in Canada last summer and asked him if he was interested in coming over to Kilkenny. He said, “Sure, I hope to spend more time in Ireland next year.”
As well as coming to Kilkenny he's returning to Dublin with an exhibition in the summer. “ I'm working on assembling material for a show of my found art assemblages that will be appearing in a swanky art gallery in Dublin. I have been squirrelling away weird objects that I dug out of dumpsters and found at yard sales and off beat places for years and now finally have a place to show it. If I can just figure out where I put that letter I have from a preacher to a porn star, pleading with her to come to the Lord. It reads like Summerset Maugham's 'Rain.'”
Jim will be accompanied by the lovely Fiona McBain, who appeared at the festival with Ollabelle previously, and Pat Hargon.
These are people with real lives that also happen to be very talented musicians. After the tour Pat will go back home.
“My wife, daughter, and I live on a hog farm in rural Nebraska. Idylls abound. In the orchard, I grow cherry, apple, apricot, and mulberry trees. In the garden grow vegetables. Further back, 100 pigs shriek like a stadium full of electro-convulsive shock recipients.
“I commute 45 minutes away from our pastoral home to teach at a school for teenagers with emotional imbalances. Objects I have had thrown at me: pine cones, desks, padlocks, fire extinguishers. Places I have been bitten: the forearm, mainly. I love them nonetheless, my troubled teens. God be with them. Let them eat grammar. Let them make better decisions in life. Let my condescension and chastisement irritate them into becoming better people. This is my prayer.”
I'm writing this on Saturday morning in our office in Rollercoaster Records on Kieran Street. Mary Coughlan is twittering on (I'm probably not allowed use the word, bullsh***ting ) about the great job she's been doing.
She's spoiling the good feeling, it's time to listen to a bit of Jim White instead as he continues his search for what he calls ‘the gold tooth in God’s crooked smile’. I don't think he'll find it in Mary Coughlan's mouth.
