farm
Interview: An Afternoon with Gregory Alan Isakov
Gregory Alan Isakov on the Woods Stage at Pickathon 2014
(Photos: Lauren Jahoda)
In anticipation of his upcoming showcase at AmericanaFest, we interviewed Gregory Alan Isakov about everything from stealing lines from himself, his harmonica mic and his vow to never watch a video of himself to his Colorado farm and his degree in horticulture. We were even able to discuss two of many GAI favorites — “All Shades of Blue” and “If I Go, I’m Goin.” To top it off…well you’ll have to wait and see, but all I’ll say is that there was no shortage of singing during our Thursday afternoon conversation.
During our interview, I told Greg that I felt his trademark is without a doubt his use of the harmonica mic for some of his vocals. The truth is that there is a quality to Greg’s music which projects far greater than that marvelous vintage tone coming from his harmonica mic. Rather, his trademark lies in his ability to access an ultra-private and intimate place, one of which we, like Greg, can say “I’ve only experienced by myself.” There is relevance to every listener in every GAI song, making it a shared and peaceful endeavor; three to five minutes of unrestrained communication. As Greg told me, “It seems almost impossible, but it’s totally amazing when it happens.”
Greg takes the stage at Third Man Records at 9 PM this Thursday, during this year’s AmericanaFest in Nashville, Tennessee. His showcase will be one OF his last US shows before his extensive European tour this fall, and thus this performance is an opportunity that should rise to the very top of everyone’s AmericanaFest schedule.
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Lauren Jahoda: You have 3 full-length albums so far and that’s a lot to choose from when making your set list for a show. How do you choose which songs you’re going to play for a particular venue? Does it vary? Do you pull from one album more than another?
Gregory Alan Isakov: My manager would probably want me to push a certain record but I never do that. I walk into the room for sound check and I usually scribble a little set list right before we go on, once I see the room, because there’s always this balance between what I’m really feeling and what we can get away with in a space. Lately, we have been so lucky being able to get away with songs that might be really slow or really quiet. But sometimes, you can’t get away with those and you sort of have to play the room, and that’s a whole craft in itself – choosing the right music for that evening or room. I usually never stick to a set list much, but I definitely pay attention to how I open the show a lot, and I try to do that as intimately as possible.
LJ: It’s nice to hear that because you generally assume the artist is going to play the most recent material, from the most recent album. I was at Pickathon and I saw both your performances, which were full of the old stuff too, which I love.
GAI: Oh, yea. Thank you. It never feels tired. Playing live is such an amazing thing because every time we do, it feels new, especially when there’s a group of people that you are playing with all the time, because you feel like you can be present with them.
LJ: Every performance has it’s own fingerprint. They’re never the same.
GAI: Never the same.
LJ: Seeing you play so many times over the past several years, I’ve noticed that you often remind the audience at the beginning of the performance that the guys up there on stage with you are your closest friends.
GAI: Yeah. When I started writing songs, I just played by myself wherever, and then I noticed that the people that were my friends, who I was just around, I ended up playing music with, while we we’re all living in the same building, which is how I met my band. It just felt regular as opposed to seeking out these great players from Nashville or wherever. It’s was way more important to me I think and I just got weird-lucky because they’re amazing and we’ve all kind of grown a lot together playing. So I think about that when I’m writing.
LJ: I love to hear you say that. It’s very comforting as a spectator because I feel the performance I’m getting on stage is the same performance you guys are creating in your living room. It’s an insider look.
GAI: Yeah. It does feel that way. That’s important me. That’s cool. I’ve never heard that before. That’s cool.
LJ: This may sound a bit gushy — I think Steve Varney is just about the best banjo player I’ve ever heard.
GAI: Isn’t he? And he would laugh at you so hard because he’s just like “I’m just fakin’ it.” He was just a guitar player and he’s just a killer, killer musician. He’s got such great taste.
LJ: He’s really amazing and seems so versatile.
GAI: He totally is. He’s amazing.
LJ: When you guys did Serialbox Presents, I saw the video you did for “Saint Valentine,” but then you also recorded “Big Black Car.” You have to scroll to the very bottom of the screen to find it, but I have to tell you, I probably listened to it about 100 times in a row because the banjo in it is just so haunting.
GAI: I never watch those. We worked so hard on that arrangement with the banjo because I play banjo on all our recordings and I think it took Steve awhile to figure out how…because at first, I was like no, no you’re too good, can we put a pencil in your hand? And then he took my aesthetic of banjo and did his own thing, which I really love.
LJ: So you never watched the video for SerialBox?
GAI: (laughs) No, I haven’t. I don’t really watch videos of myself ever.
LJ: Why is that?
GAI: I think I tried that a couple of years ago and I remember feeling… the next time I was on stage I felt really self-conscious and said I’m never going to watch myself again (laughs).
LJ: Well that’s commitment, I have to say.
GAI: I live on a farm and I don’t have Internet, which is actually a blessing. If I have to do work or whatever, I have to go to the coffee shop. It’s just one of those things– the last thing I need is more about myself (laughs).
LJ: Are you based in Colorado? Is that where your farm is?
GAI: Yeah.
LJ: Do you plan on going back to Nederland to record your next album?
GAI: Oh yeah. I’m actually writing now. Jamie, our engineer and producer, he also does sound for us when we tour, he lives here on the farm as well, in a trailer, and right now we’re building a studio here in the barn and so our goal is to record here, but we’ll definitely be going back up to the mountain house to do mixing.
LJ: You were born in Johannesburg, South Africa. How long were you there?
GAI: I was there ‘til I was almost 7. So I definitely have a very distinct memory of before and after. I’ve been back there once since I left with my family, and we still have some family there but a lot of us moved all over the world during the apartheid, so we have family in Australia and Canada and all over the place.
LJ: Is that where some of your album art aesthetic comes from?
GAI: I’ve never thought about it.
LJ: I get this 1920s/1930s Wright Brothers feeling to it, myself.
GAI: Yeah, I don’t know where…It’s funny, all the stuff that we’re drawn to. The aesthetic is so interesting. I was just having this conversation with a friend of mine. We were talking about music and how in Colorado there’s a big bluegrass scene and bluegrass has always had a sports vibe to me (laughs). Like how fast can you play!! (laughs) And then you’ll hear a song that holds one chord and it will keel you over and how little playing fast matters, ya know. Most of it is just a sense of aesthetic really, how important that is. I don’t know where it comes from. It’s so weird the stuff that we like. I don’t know why we like what we like.
LJ: It’s so prominent too, which is even funnier. I was looking at your albums and they kind of all have it in their own way. I love it, I think it fits really well even though we might not know what it is.
GAI: Yeah, totally.
LJ: Your brother — I remembering you saying at a show that he writes songs with you. What’s that like? What’s the process?
GAI: It’s awesome. He’s just like this weirdo-genius kid. He used to live with me in the summers and then go back to Pennsylvania to work. He teaches piano and writes scores for documentary films. But he’ll like break out a mandolin and just sing. We wrote a song called “Second Chances” together and so he has that like…you know, on the mandolin one day and he’s just playing it and… (sings) “If weren’t for second chances, we’d all be alone,” you know, on the mandolin, and I was like, I didn’t even know you played the mandolin! (laughs). So then I was like, hold on and I ran outside, and I wrote the verses…I ran in the garden and wrote the verses, came back in and we finished that song real fast. But a lot of times, he’ll have these seeds that I think are just brilliant that he might not even pay any attention to. He’s just amazing.
LJ: Yeah. Sometimes you need someone to pick it up for you and it works out really well. That must be an awesome experience.
GAI: Yea, it’s really cool. I’m really close with my brothers. I have two brothers and we’re best friends. It’s awesome.
LJ: That’s funny. I’m one of three girls so I know what it’s like.
GAI: Really?
LJ: Are you the middle child?
GAI: I am, yeah.
LJ: I am also.
GAI: Oohh, that’s awesome! I got lucky that way.
LJ: It is kind of a cool role.
LJ: I really like the female vocal in That Moon Song. Who is that?
GAI: She sings back up on This Empty Northern Hemisphere. Her name is Brandi Carlisle. She’s amazing and she’s a really good friend of mine. Her voice fucking belongs in a museum or something. She’s amazing. She’s such an inspiring artist to me. Her energy and her musicality is mind-blowing to me.
LJ: The two of you together on that song – it’s enchanting.
GAI: Yea, she’s got it, and those were one-takes. I just saw her play actually. I was on a long camping trip in my van. I saw her play for the Portland Symphony. It was so awesome.
LJ: Let’s talk about your sound from the two microphones you use while performing — I consider that your signature. How did it come about?
GAI: I love camping in the wilderness and for me music was never a plan as a career. I was in horticulture school. I loved the wilderness. I loved camping and so I would go on long camping trips and I’d play at coffee shops to pay for gas. I’d do one show in Bozeman for 15 people and try to sell 10 CDs and then do Missoula 5 days later (laughs). I’d end up playing these gigs at bars and you’d get 9 PM to midnight or 1 AM, so 3 1/2 hour shows…that’s a lot of music. I’d have to learn a couple of covers but a lot of them are original and I used to play through a harmonica mic and then I just started singing through it just to give myself a break during a 3 ½ hr show. Then I got really into the sound of it. Within a year after that, I started writing for that microphone. Kind of like this subconscious voice I had that seemed to really work. And that mic is a piece of crap. I’ve re-soldered it so many times. They’re really cheap harmonica mics. It’s not going through anything, it’s just going through the house which is great. And Jamie has a love/hate relationship with it because it feeds back a lot so…(laughs)
LJ: I love it. It’s definitely your trademark.
GAI: Yeah. That’s cool. It sort of just happened because I was tired of hearing myself for the 3 ½ hours (laughs).
LJ: About your degree in horticulture — I view gardening and horticulture as a very emotional and sentimental activity that is often passed down from generation to generation. How did you get into it?
GAI: I dropped out of high school and I ended up moving to the city with my drummer, in Philly, and I realized oh man, I can’t live in the city ever. I ended up kind of falling into this really dark place for quite a long time, and a friend of mine said “Hey, I’m going to hike some of the Appalachian trail, do you want to come?” And I didn’t know anything about hiking and camping, and we went to K-Mart or something and I bought a bag and the first 10 days I had canned food. I didn’t know anything about backpacking and we were out there for a long time, and I don’t know, I just woke up to the scent of the natural world and plants in general where I just felt this really strong connection to plants. And my granny, my grandmother was a gardener and I grew up gardening a little bit. But it never had that kind of profound effect on me and even then I didn’t know why I was so drawn to working with plants. I still don’t get it. The weirdo new-age hippy part of my brain it goes “Cool. Well, maybe the earth needs more of those and they made you like it,” you know? (laughs). It’s a weird thing to love but, it’s a huge part of my life.
LJ: You were in the right place at the right time. You sort of needed to be in that moment to be grabbed by something else.
GAI: Yeah. I think when I first had my first vegetable garden around that time. I thought man, I’ve never even tasted food before. I don’t think I’ve ever really known what food was actually like until I was picking it out of the garden.
LJ: I know what you mean.
GAI: It was a cool feeling.
LJ: I met a friend at Pickathon. Apparently he’s a mutual friend of ours. His name is Asher. He said you used to play at a place called The Gryphon Café. Was that a pivotal place in your career?
GAI: Oh yeah. I love Asher. He’s a really old friend of mine from back in those days. Gryphon was an old school coffeehouse that you would picture in the 60s at that time. You could smoke upstairs. There were all these shows every night and all the little vagrant kids would hang out there all the time. We would always cut high school and hang out there all day. It was that place.
LJ: This is a personal question, but I have to ask it. Who do you write about?
GAI: I don’t think it’s a specific person. I’m not in a relationship or married or anything like that. The characters that make it in to the songs are a mixture of people that are either from my past or that I meet here and there. A song about a town might be maybe about really three or four different places. For me, songwriting is never quite that literal. Even when I go for that, when I try, and say like “I’m going to write a story song like Springsteen” or something, that’s a hard thing for me to do for some reason and it never feels like the songs write themselves that way, in my experience and yeah, there are definitely pieces of people in all the songs I write.
LJ: Can I ask you about “All Shades of Blue”? How did you come up with that? That’s a favorite of mine.
GAI: Oh, really, I love that song too. Actually, I was just fishing in Colorado, here in Lyons, with my dear friend Annie and we were working…and my friend Johann, a friend in Austin, we’re super nerdy together — we write a lot of songs together, and we were fishing and I had just come up with …(sings) “when the wine stop workin’ and you’re all run out and all of your high hopes have all headed south…” and then he would be like…“and the songs left the stable…” — and it’s funny, because he’s like, that’s something you would write (laughs) and so we just started swapping these lines and that song just kind of wrote itself and is like, really strong.
LJ: That makes sense because before the song officially came out, I watched a video of you performing it and the lyrics were different than what’s on the album, slightly.
GAI: Oh, yeah, I know. This is a problem that I have. (laughs) This happens to me all time. Which, I don’t think people were as worried about before YouTube or whatever. But, a really huge way for me to finish songs is for me is to play them live. Last night, we booked a secret show, just last minute at a bar. So we played for a couple of hours at this little bar here, just for about 20 or 30 people that were there and I was just playing new songs just to see how they were gonna happen, and I remember that’s how I used to write a lot…just kind of in that moment of that pressure, of like okay just finish…your kind of like pleading the song to finish itself. It’s a really good tool for me to finish songs because I have a lot of starts and sometimes they don’t finish themselves unless I put ’em on the spot. I think that song kind of found its words later after playing it out a bunch and figuring out what sang well. And then another problem that I have is that I’ll steal lines from myself all the time. I’ll finish a song and then later thing this is where that “cut down the cottonwoods” line should go, and then I’ll write something else for that other tune (laughs). I do it all the time. It’s a problem (laughs). I steal lines from myself all the time.
LJ: I think that’s the best case scenario.
GAI: (laughs) Yeah.
LJ: Another song that stays with me a lot is “If I Go, I’m Goin”.
GAI: Oh yeah, that’s another song I wrote with Johann. You should check out his music. It’s really cool. He goes under J. Wagner. He’s from Austin and he’s such a solid songwriter. He’s kind of like a Steinbeck with his songwriting. He just has that about him and we write together a lot. He’ll say “We can’t use the words ghost or moon!” (laughs). We’ll walk around town and spend like $9 on coffee or whatever, because we’re going after that one line and it could take all day (laughs). That’s really fun. “If I Go” we wrote on a long trip down to Kerrville, TX and Johann goes down there and we just kind of meet up and hang out for a few weeks and I had my truck and we just kinda sat in the back of the truck and then we’re working on the verses and chorus and we’re up to this part where it’s …(sings) “I will go, if you ask me to…” and then this guy John, our friend John Eliot, just walks by and he’s like ..”I’ll stay if you dare!” And we’re like “alright!” (laughs). He’s another great musician, and then he just disappears into the…and he’s just gone (laughs). That whole song was a co-write. All 3 of us. And then John came in at the end and sort of helped us a little bit more with it. That song happened pretty fast. We were trying to write a song, we after writing a story song about a woman, or about a guy who lost his wife and he was living in that house where she had died and he kinda goes crazy.
LJ: That’s amazing to me because I think about what it feels like listening to that song. It feels like such a lonely, personal, haunting, intimate song, and yet you wrote it collaboratively.
GAI: It’s amazing to me too. I know. I never would have thought working with other people, other writers, that you could actually access that place where I’ve only experienced by myself. It seems almost impossible, but it’s totally amazing when it happens.
LJ: It’s an amazing song. Would you mind singing something for me now, that you’ve already released or maybe something you haven’t released?
GAI: Yeah sure. Ah, let’s see, I can play you the morning…this morning’s song.
LJ: It’s called “This Morning”?
GAI: Oh, no…it’s this one I worked on this morning (laughs).
LJ: (laughs) maybe you should name it This Morning!
GAI: Alright, let’s do This Morning Song….
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At this point GAI took out his headphones, picked up his guitar and began to sing and play what even he was now calling “This Morning Song,” i.e. the song which was so new, it was otherwise yet to be titled.
As I listened, I reflected on how effortless and enjoyable our time talking on the phone had been, and it occurred to me that, it just simply makes sense that Gregory is as genuine and engaging in conversation as he is when speaking through his music. When you are genuine, it can be no other way. And now, his newest song, which quite possibly no one else had ever heard him play, was dancing around the room I was in– as passionately delivered and as stunning as any of the performances I’d enjoyed in venues packed with full audiences. But this time it was just me, “on the phone with Greg,” having a private live concert of the song he had just created in the morning hours before our call. I don’t hesitate to gush. The experience was surreal, and I marveled at his ability to instantaneously transition from thoroughly engaging light-hearted conversation, to full-on, deeply-passionate immersion into his craft. I thought “pure genius, at the flick of a switch.” But it’s not that at all. The genius and genuineness are ever present. Always at the ready. Inherent. I’d heard it before, and I am even more certain of it now.
If you’ve heard his music, then you know what it’s like too. When you hear a GAI song, it only takes a moment to know that it’s a GAI song, and with every album, he gives us something new within the frame work of that familiar magic. There’s a strikingly unusual chord in the new song. One I’d not heard him use before. It resurfaced briefly within the progression of each verse, and each time it came back around I could hear the master working, assimilating it into the familiar magic of his sound, even transforming the chord itself into “a GAI chord” — hauntingly beautiful.
I don’t know if “This Morning Song” will ever officially be the title for the new song or when his next album might be released, but I do know that this artist continues to bring us great music at it’s genuine best.
Again, don’t forget to catch Greg’s performance at Third Man Records during AmericanaFest, Thursday (9/18) at 9 PM.
Magic Is Real: Pickathon 2014
By: Asher Alexander
I love Pickathon. That’s probably the biggest understatement I could possibly write. In truth, there aren’t adequate words in English, or any other language, that can describe my affection for and connection to the magic that transpires on Pendarvis Farm each year on the first full weekend of August. There is also no amount too large of flowery praise and superlatives I could heap upon this festival that would ever in a million years even come close to hyperbole. I know it sounds fantastic, but Pickathon is very special, it’s more than a festival. From the line-up, which is always so diverse and exciting that you look forward to the artists you’ve never heard before as much as the groups you already know and love, to a setting that always seems to produce true musical transcendence at a higher level than anywhere else I’ve ever experienced live music. And finally, to the amazing friends, with whom I get to share some of the best times I’ve ever had — Pickathon is absolutely one of a kind.
One of the many features that sets Pickathon apart from every other festival is the camping. When most folks picture camping at a festival, images of harsh sun-bleached fields covered with tents and vehicles packed in like sardines, full of wasted teenagers making all manner of noise at all hours of the night, usually comes to mind. Every year at Pickathon campers turn beautiful acres of shaded, hilly woods into a tent filled Brigadoon for just a weekend. Don’t get me wrong, my friends and I, and many other folks, stay up late and party each night, but the camping area remains the most chill and respectful festival camping situation I’ve ever seen. When the music is over at Pickathon, people aren’t herded out of the concert fields and back to their tents. The farm is pretty much turned over to everyone and the entirety of the festival grounds are ours to roam and play in all night long.
Some of my all time favorite Pickathon moments have happened out amongst the trees, tents and revelers after the music has officially ended. Three years ago I threw an impromptu pizza party at 3 or 4 AM for all my friends and everyone who still gathered in the field by the main stage. Last year Marco Benevento played a surprise set at the Pumphouse that began around 2 AM and ended sometime just before sunrise. So many memorable late nights/early mornings have been spent singing old John Prine songs and having generally the best time ever while sitting under the breathing fabric ceiling by the main stage or at a campsite deep in the woods. Last year my good friend Gregg and I insisted on serenading everyone who was still assembled at the Brew Crew Camp at about 8 AM Monday morning with “Goodnight Irene.” It was finally time to turn in and to our shock, none of the remaining pickers knew the tune — isn’t “Goodnight Irene” the first song everybody learns?
This year, there was certainly no shortage of late night/early morning magic. Personally, my late nights at Pickathon usually follow the same formula each year: 2-4-6-8. That is, I stay up until about 2 AM on Thursday, 4 AM on Friday, 6 AM on Saturday and 8 AM on Sunday. This isn’t intentional, but it always seems to work out that way. I head to the farm early on Thursday to get a good spot for my VW camper van. The same spot along the tree line where I’ve camped for the last 3 years. The trees keep my van shaded until about 10:30 AM, so no matter how late I stay up, I’m always able to get some sleep. My van has become essential to my Pickathon experience. I love camping and I love festivals, but I’m way too old and too much of a light sleeper to get any quality rest in a tent. And I’m not the only one. The car camping area is always full of VW’s. So much so that it looks like it could be a Westy cruise-in. I think we should all have van club jackets covered in patches for all the rallies or festivals we’ve been to.
Another pretty obvious reason for going in early on Thursday–who wouldn’t want to tack another day of fun onto what is always the highlight of the year and annual “Best Weekend Ever.” This year I saw more folks out early on Thursday than I’d ever seen. I spent Thursday night chillin’ with my good friends from Brew Dr. Kombucha. They are one of the vendors at the festival and over the years they’ve become some of my favorite members of my Pickathon family. Not only do they make a killer beverage but they are some of the greatest all around dudes ever. It’s an honor and a privilege to get to hang out with them each year. They always have a large group camp site that’s a perfect place to chill late night, stop by while traveling from the Woods stage to the main stage or if I need a place to beat the heat during the day between sets.
Friday night’s post music adventures were mellow by necessity. I’m 35. I probably haven’t been in a mosh pit in 20 years. But when Diarrhea Planet whipped the occupants of the Galaxy Barn into a frenzy, my friends and I made sure we were right in the thick of it. It was absolutely bonkers! After leaving the sauna of the Barn, dripping with sweat and the sweat of everyone else inside we were exhausted and needed quite a while to cool down, even in the 2 AM air. All the late night called for after that was some easy strolling through the gently lit paths of the woods. My friend Angela and I just moseyed from jam session to jam session. People were picking on the hay bales by the Woods Stage, in their campsites and in one case right in the middle of a path deep in the woods. Someone (or possibly a bear) in a tent no more than a foot away from the players and assembled listeners obliviously kept time with the music, with possibly the loudest snoring I’ve ever heard. They certainly didn’t need the comforts of a camper van to get a good night’s sleep.
The last set in the Galaxy Barn each night usually sets the tone for the rest of the evening. Saturday night’s Marco Benevento fueled dance party was no exception. After years of hearing me preach about the wonders of Pickathon, a bunch of old friends of mine finally came out for the day. Possibly just to shut me up. But after seeing them all bouncing around the Barn as Marco played a cockeyed, spaced out version of “Jump Into the Fire” by Harry Nilsson, I was sure that they “got it” and had their very first taste of Pickathon late night fun. Afterwards we all went to relax at my van. It’s not just a place to sleep, but also makes a pretty good mobile living room. Once all of those day trippers headed home, my fellow weekend warriors and I knew what the next stop on the evenings journey needed to be: The Pumphouse.
The Pumphouse is Pickathon’s best-worst kept secret. A small structure, big enough for a band to play inside, nestled in a clearing encircled by christmas lights and outfitted with some comfy couches and usually a keg or 2. It’s not on any maps and what goes on there isn’t advertised. You just have to know someone who knows where it is or have the good fortune to stumble upon it yourself. During the day, bands play special sessions for KEXP Live & Breathing. You usually need a backstage wristband to get in. But at night the rules get a little looser and it becomes the hub of Pickathon late night activity.
Once we arrived at the Pumphouse Saturday night things were already in full swing. There was plenty of music being made. A fellow and I traded sad country songs by Gram Parsons, Townes and George Jones, but I have an awful memory and all the lyrics to every song I’ve ever known are just a jumble in my brain. It turned out that neither of us could remember more than a verse or two and the choruses of the tunes we wanted to sing. I ran into plenty of friends and made plenty of new ones. Whiskey was consumed. There was a lot of talk about what everyone had seen that day and who they were excited to see next. It was a fantastic party. It just happened to be in the middle of the woods.
The night grew longer and we could see the morning light come creeping through the trees. A group of friends and I resolved to stroll back to camp. While everyone else was distracted by some pickers on the path, I grabbed a gal that I had been hanging out with that evening and said “Follow me. You’re gonna want to see this!” I lead us down a path to the edge of the trees. Once we broke through the tree line we were treated to the most beautiful sunrise I think either of us had ever seen. We laid down at the top of the hill by the main stage and watched the dim morning rays, growing brighter and stronger by the minute, all filtered through the crisscross patterns of the fabric diamonds that hung in the sky. It was Sunday morning. So, to complete the picture perfect scene, I dialed up “Sunday Morning” by The Velvet Underground on my phone (what did people do before Spotify?!). As we listened to Lou Reed’s mellow baritone and marveled at the unfolding dawn we knew we were witnessing a special moment of Pickathon magic.
I always think that Saturday nights shenanigans might be hard to top. But one of the things I’ve learned is to never doubt Pickathon’s ability to raise its own bar. Sunday being the final night, everybody always steps their game up, eager to wring the last drops of fun out of an already epic weekend. Sunday night at the Pumphouse was probably the ultimate highlight, at least for everyone who was there. For me, the scene truly symbolized what Pickathon is all about. Mac Demarco and the guys in his band were leading everyone in a late night sing along of 90’s radio jams like Michael Jackson’s “Man In The Mirror,” Weezer’s “Sweater Song” and “Waterfalls” by T.L.C. And it really felt like everyone. There was Shakey Graves, his drummer, the guys from Parquet Courts, the gals from Warpaint, and everyone, and me. All hanging out together, singing together, laughing together. The lines between performer, volunteer and attendee were completely blurred. I think that’s one of the main thing that the folks behind Pickathon are going for. The scene Sunday night at the Pumphouse was proof that they’re succeeding probably beyond their wildest dreams.
As Sunday night melted into Monday morning we finally parted ways with the last few folks gathered at the Pumphouse. It was time to head back to camp, then back to sleep and finally, sadly back to the real world. But Pickathon wasn’t quite done with us yet. We made one last visit to Brew Camp, where there is always a raging Sunday night party. We stopped to chat with some of the last few stragglers who were still awake at a time when many folks were just waking up. Then at 7:30 in the morning something happened that sounds so fantastical I might not believe it were I not there myself or anywhere other than Pickathon. Sherry Pendarvis, owner of the farm, founder of the feast, came riding by on a white horse thanking everybody for coming. Now I am positive that sort of thing doesn’t happen at any other festival.
You don’t have to stay up socializing and reveling all night like I do to have a good time at Pickathon. I know plenty of folks who turn in when the music ends each night and still have the best weekend ever. There is no right or wrong way to experience Pickathon. As long as you’re there with an open heart and mind, the music, community, vibe and spirit will eventually burrow it’s way deep in your soul and there’s a pretty good chance you’ll learn what my friends and I know–I know magic is real because I’ve been to Pickathon.
(Photography by Asher Alexander)
Requited Love: Pickathon 2014
By: Lauren Jahoda
The praise I have for Pickathon is boundless and can only be exceeded by the experience they have given me as a festival-goer. Pickathon prevails among its fellow festivals by lifting the distinction between owner, performer, volunteer and patron and designing an event that guarantees each of their attendees an equally rewarding experience. While I was at the merch table, buying my two-year-old niece a Pickathon-stamped tee (so that she could spread the word of Pickathon all the way to the parks and playgrounds of the East coast), I met a Portlander, originally from Pennsylvania. As he and I relished in our discussion of our favorite performances “so far”, and the anticipation of the acts to come, he expressed one of the best descriptions of the festival that I had the pleasure of hearing:
“You know the feeling of putting 100% effort into something, only to receive half or even just a quarter of that back? Well, with Pickathon, the return is exponential.”
I first began to realize that I was in for an uncommon festival experience when I was one of only five people on the school bus shuttled from the Clackamas Town Center to Pickathon on Happy Valley’s Pendarvis Farm. I am aware that many camp and some drive, and while this may not be the most profound clue, my past festival-going experiences usually entail the competitive “If we want to get a good spot…!” mentality and the anxiety-ridden strategizing in order to avoid swarming crowds and long lines. We arrived at the farm and the easiness carried through every step of the way. Registration/Check-in, no line. Entrance, no-line. It was all very inviting. In fact, I had so much freedom that I found I needed a little direction once I passed through the yellow fabric gates. It’s very obvious that this freedom to wander is not only allowed, it’s highly encouraged. Unsure of which direction to head, I wandered to the right towards the Pendarvis house, as I noticed several women gathered at the right corner of the porch harmonizing, with the pluck of a banjo here and there, as if to be practicing for an upcoming performance. I listened and captured a couple of photos of the home and the red tractor that sits out front, labeled “Pendarvis Farm”—the lettering, since having ventured all the way from New York, confirmed a personal accomplishment—I had officially made it.
Here, the confines of designated press areas, audience areas, backstage-only areas, staff-only areas and artists trailers just aren’t necessary. After drifting as far right as possible, I turned around and headed left. I eventually greeted a pair of volunteers at the first checkpoint and asked for some recommendations on where to head first. One of the young women rose without hesitation and led me to the nearest large board map (no print-outs to reduce waste) and spent at least 10 minutes looking over and discussing some of the history of the festival grounds with me.
The festival began in 1999 as a rather small gathering at Horning’s Hideout in Portland, which after seven years, became unsuitable in size for the audience they were attracting. They then moved to the present festival grounds of Pendarvis Farm, situated on 80-acres and privately-owned by Scott and Sherry Pendarvis, who for a long time had been hosting local festival jams for incoming musicians and the surrounding community. Without even having met the pair, it’s obvious that the rare and ultra-positive spirit of Pickathon is largely due to Scott and Sherry’s involvement. Just prior to Robbie Fulk’s performance in the Lucky Barn, I noticed a laminated message posted to the porch side of the building. The notice contained rules, guidelines and humble advice about time spent while on the farm, directly from the owners themselves, along with their cell phone numbers, should you need to reach them.
“’People have always described [the farm] as having a cyclone of creative energy swirling around it,’ Sherry says. ‘It sounds very hippie and woo-woo, but that’s what people have said so many times. But I know that when I first moved here that I was feeling this sense of history.’ She continues, ‘I try to think of the farm as a canvas for possibility.’” (Hillary Saunders, Paste Magazine).
The festival contains 6 stages: Mountain View, Fir Meadows, Galaxy Barn, Woods, Starlight, Lucky Barn (formerly the Workshop Barn) and the Tree Line Stage. Each has its own ambience and flavor, and is as extraordinary as the next. With 6 stages and 50+ performers, each as attractive as the others, Pickathon designs a schedule during which each artist performs twice throughout the weekend. Rather than having to leave half way through The Sadies to catch the last ten minutes of Nickel Creek, you can remain seated (or standing) and make less sacrifices when ranking your must-see bands, with a better chance to discover someone new. To top it off however, if you do have the opportunity and availability to see the same band twice, you most definitely should, because you will experience two very different performances–each on a different stage. The Blind Pilot you get on the Mountain View Stage will be a completely different adventure than the Blind Pilot you get on the Woods Stage.
The first stage I visited (once I figured out how to get there upon my arrival on Friday morning), was the Woods Stage. Photographs I had previously seen of this stage alone, are what prompted my discovery and following of Pickathon several years ago. I headed straight for the woods, while frequently catching overwhelming views of everything along the way, and fighting the urge to interrupt my mission to meet the idyllic woods before all else; this inaugural mission was necessary, as for me, it marked the point of transition from being a remote spectator, viewing the picturesque scene on the screen of my laptop miles away in NY, to a traveler, just steps away from the oh-so tangible forest that lied ahead of me. It was incredibly hot that day, but as I entered the woods I instantly cooled under the shade amidst the aromatic soil and lush foliage. I felt calmed by the ethereal atmosphere of the woods, the multicolored fabric balloons propelled in the air and the comfort of walking in an enormous shared living space.
For those of you who were fans of Fern Gully as a kid, the Pickathon woods are as close as it gets. So much so that, before, during and after the festival, the Pickathon team marked all their media with the hashtag “#notadream,” assuring their audience that as magical and unbelievable as it may be, Pickathon was and is, in fact, wonderfully real.
Over the next several days, I will be posting reviews and photos of some of my favorite performances at the festival, and the tales of a Pickathon camper. Until then, please enjoy our photos from the weekend and be prepared to fall in love over and over again.
(Photography by Lauren Jahoda)
Homegrown: The Restoration Farm’s ‘Tin House Music’
By: Lauren Jahoda
The Restoration Farm, founded in 2007 by Daniel Holmes and Caroline Fanning, is a seven-acre farm situated on the grounds of Long Island’s one-of-a-kind Old Bethpage Village Restoration. The Restoration Farm’s mission is to provide the surrounding community with fresh, sustainable and herbicide/pesticide/synthetic fertilizer-free produce. This summer, the Farm has expanded its community offerings with the inception of “Tin House Music” Concert Series. Tin House’s first concert took place on May 4 with alternative folk band, Miles to Dayton, and continues on the first Sunday of each month until their final show of the season on September 7th. All shows begin at 2 PM with an open-mic hour. Last Sunday’s show featured the Long Island Bluegrass Quartet and brought in incredible local talent, including Bill Scorzari and Tin House’s own MC.
Tin House nourishes our community, offering a combination of homegrown food and sound within the bounds of a down-to-earth and organic backdrop. Come down to the final September 7th show to sample the harvest and harmonies. Check out the calendar and get your tickets here:
http://www.restorationfarm.com/music.html
(Photos by Megan Jahoda)
HEARTSTRINGS MAGAZINE 