The Sweetness of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass

It's summer in San Fancisco, their time of year when the sun comes out and stays out, and when all the festivals are in town. For the first time since I discovered with great city seven years ago, I can actually come and experience what it is to be here in the middle of fair and festival season. And what an initiation last night at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in the city's most beautiful urban gem, Golden Gate Park.

I flew in late on Wednesday night, on a fast, pleasant flight where I was apparently a hero for offering up my seat for a baby. The standards are quite low these days if this is any measure of much beyond good manners (thanks Mum and Dad), but I didn't refuse the free wine and dinner out of the same politeness. The air was warm and almost Toronto-in-July muggy when I came out of the terminal, good omen number two. The third good strike was finding that the first festival was starting on Friday, and that one of my favorites, the legendary John Prine, would be playing an afternoon stage just a half hour's walk from where I am staying.

For those of you unfamiliar with John Prine, he was very accurately introduced as a 'songwriter's songwriter'. He is one of America"s greatest living treasures, the only good thing to come out of my first live- in relationship, which was a disaster in every other way except that I got to listen and love his music. I have only seen him live once before, at a small university hall 5 years or so ago when he seemed old, frail, and likely recovering from some kind of illness. In that, he reminded me of seeing Gordon Lightfoot last year, older, thinner in frame and voice, with some health problems and yet the continuing passion of a storytelling balladeer who can paint such a portrait of his country with simple chords and poignant images. Yesterday,Prine looked fitter than when I last saw him, his tone seemed richer, and it was obvious that the audience appreciated his performance. I was thrilled to stand at the top of the hill, with red-tailed hawks hovering overhead above the trees, the sun starting its descent into the Pacific horizon judt behind us, listening to just a fraction of his amazingly large repertoire. It was such a delight to hear "Hello In There", a minor disappointment to not get "Sam Stone" or "Angel of Montgomery", and just a joy to share the moment with thousands of others who came to savour the music of this under-appreciated talent. I really hope I get the chance to her him again, but will always remember that I did get to enjoy him performing in such a gorgeous setting.

And then there was Robert Plant. Another treasure, from a different time and place, who brought to the stage his love of American roots music with folksy versions of Led Zeppelin classics, with country-bluegrass- bluesy hybrid renditions of Black Dog, Misty Mountain Hop, Thank You, Ramble On, and a phenomenal encore with Gallows Pole plucked by banjo strings. He looked and sounded great, his older voice smartly suited to the less thundering but more intensely powerful sounds of American instruments. He was very generous too, often putting the spotlight on his fellow musicians, praising the genius of their craft, encouraging us to come back tomorrow to see some of them playng with their other bands. I have always sensed from him a deep respect and reverence for the talents of those who share the stage with him, and he paid homage to a lot of artists who inspired him as a young man from the Midlands in the way he spoke between songs last night. His Band of Joy is well named, as they play with energy and a genuine love of music that was contagious in the audience as well as on stage. As he came out to do his encores, the sun had begun to set and one could see the fog rolling in over the horizon of the Pacific just behind us.; the day was now ending, and it was pitch-perfect in every way.