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Folklife: A giant, aromatic commercial for cosmically carby food booths, with some music crammed into the interstices. Or am I cynical? I was doing pretty well. I'd accepted a couple of Hal's rather yummy asian calimari rings(breaded), and the odd nibble of his alligator on a stick (equally breaded, tastes like chicken) so that I could hold my head high the next time I'm in Minnesota, but I'd resisted the blandishments of Pennsylvania Dutch funnel cakes, red beans and rice, beignets, roasted corn on the cob, even strawberry shortcakes, each surmounted by its very own miniature model of Mont Blanc in whipped cream; the fried this and the frittered that (each item rolled in flour before and doused in powdered sugar after) quite well. Especially considering how fabulous everything smelled. Then we finally managed to raise Mary Kay in person on her phone. She was having a sit down by one of the stages, in the beer garden. The *beer* garden. Right. Might as well lie back and accept the inevitable.
At the beergarden we found Mary Kay and Jordin had glommed some other fannish acquaintances, and so we sat around drinking beer an discussing fanzines and conventions and other fans not present, and film and tatoos, inspired by the flames on the girl with the Betty Page haircut. We decided that Mary Kay's black-on-black Hawaiian shirt (yes, she went back and bought it) was the perfect kernel for a Goth Hawaiian outfit, and amused ourselves speculating on what that might look like. Dogs in tow where everywhere, which made me vaguely sorry we'd decided to leave Sarah home.
The rock-n-reel group -- Coventry, by name -- were technically adequate, and had a good selection of songs, but the soprano who fronted them just didn't have the power and the grit in her voice that their orchestrations really wanted. Sort-of all right for a poor man's Maddy Prior, but only sort-of. "Carlow" in particular wants to be belted out when it's done as a rock arrangement, and she couldn't. I'd had enough beer to sing along to "Saucy Sailor," though and thought I acquitted myself well. After them came the four-member Saturnalia Trio, self-styled purveyors of "post-medieval progressive folk", and their opener rocked nicely, thanks to underlying structure laid down by their two drummers, one Celtic, the other African (hmm, where have I seen that combination before), but by then the group was breaking up to wander off to the four corners, and so we didn't hear more of them.
On the whole I came away comparatively unfleeced, having resisted tie-dye, jewelry, and even music cds from the groups at the festival, but resisting temptation did make it seem that much sillier that we resorted to taking the monorail downtown to find an ATM machine that still had any cash in it.
At the beergarden we found Mary Kay and Jordin had glommed some other fannish acquaintances, and so we sat around drinking beer an discussing fanzines and conventions and other fans not present, and film and tatoos, inspired by the flames on the girl with the Betty Page haircut. We decided that Mary Kay's black-on-black Hawaiian shirt (yes, she went back and bought it) was the perfect kernel for a Goth Hawaiian outfit, and amused ourselves speculating on what that might look like. Dogs in tow where everywhere, which made me vaguely sorry we'd decided to leave Sarah home.
The rock-n-reel group -- Coventry, by name -- were technically adequate, and had a good selection of songs, but the soprano who fronted them just didn't have the power and the grit in her voice that their orchestrations really wanted. Sort-of all right for a poor man's Maddy Prior, but only sort-of. "Carlow" in particular wants to be belted out when it's done as a rock arrangement, and she couldn't. I'd had enough beer to sing along to "Saucy Sailor," though and thought I acquitted myself well. After them came the four-member Saturnalia Trio, self-styled purveyors of "post-medieval progressive folk", and their opener rocked nicely, thanks to underlying structure laid down by their two drummers, one Celtic, the other African (hmm, where have I seen that combination before), but by then the group was breaking up to wander off to the four corners, and so we didn't hear more of them.
On the whole I came away comparatively unfleeced, having resisted tie-dye, jewelry, and even music cds from the groups at the festival, but resisting temptation did make it seem that much sillier that we resorted to taking the monorail downtown to find an ATM machine that still had any cash in it.
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