I arrived early to the Blue Cardinal Café, the official early-morning open mic, in the hopes I would be luckier than I was yesterday and snag a slot. I didn’t realize how many people were really at the festival and how tough this would be. While I was trying out new guitar riffs inspired by some of the day’s performances, two photographers walked in looking exhausted. They started telling one of the organizers that they needed pictures of the open mic, but couldn’t wait around for it to start at midnight . So they looked around the room at the three musicians hanging out and asked if we would get up on stage and do a song each so they could take pictures with the lights and the backdrop.
They didn’t even bother to turn the amplification on, but they made us plug in our guitars and sing into the microphones just the same, to make it look legit. I waited another three hours that morning and never got to play, but somewhere there are pictures of me singing my muted heart out to an audience that the camera conveniently doesn’t show.
The rain stopped, but plunged the temperatures into fall weather. They started bringing blankets to those waiting, but by 3 a.m. it was bitter cold. Tomy Wright, the publicity guy from the Susquehanna Music and Arts Festival, sat cuddled up with me, sharing a votive candle for warmth. Don Bridges, of the Songwriter’s Association of Washington, sat shivering in shorts and a T-shirt to my right until he finally broke down and got a sleeping bag out of his car. He wriggled into it, and sat right back down on the chair.
When I got back to the campsite, someone had a bonfire going and a tight circle of musicians were playing around it. I got a blanket out of my car and went over to join them. I didn’t take an instrument, and hadn’t intended to stay long, but the fire and the company was so good, I wound up there for hours. The country dark had yielded all those shy stars to our eyes, and I remembered nights where I would look up at stars like that and break into tears at the beauty of it, asking God to kill me or freeze me in time there, content. If you stepped back from the fire just a little bit, you could still have its warmth while seeing your breath.
Eventually someone handed me an instrument, and I started playing all the covers that I knew this group would know. When I started “Fire and Rain,” one of the men said something about my being too young to possibly know that, and we all took great delight when he messed up the lyrics to the last verse. And we did eight-part harmony versions of countless classic favorites, with Gary, one of the founders of the NewSong Festival, playing a muted trumpet or a banjo depending on the song. People came and went from the circle, adding their voices and then trading off for new ones. Before I knew it, the sky was light and the thick fog was rising up off the ground. We were punchy and silly and sang, “Here Comes the Sun.” I was made to do one more song, and then I slipped away to bed at 6:30 a.m. , no more need for the lantern at my side.
It was so cold Sunday morning at “The Octagon” open mic that Don Bridges, of SAW fame, had to get his sleeping bag out of his car.
When I woke up at 10 a.m. , the sun was shining, and I heard my name being called to me from somewhere far away. When I turned around, Roger was across the campsite with his grill going.
“Food!” he said, ceremoniously.
“Bathroom!” I said.
When I got to their site, Mitch and Chantal were trying to feed ham to a calico that kept poking around, and Peter was making toast from his tailgate. We traded more stories and talked about how Rob and I should definitely come out to this big re-enactment deal the second-to-last weekend in October. Roger said people come out with their instruments, and there’s always a late-night jam session, and good food. I think the weekend’s open for us. I imagine that even with the very traditional camping accommodations, we could have a really good time. But really, I want an opportunity for Rob to meet this group because I know he will love them as much as I did.
I ate and headed for the main stage. An informal, unamplified sign-up-and-play had been set up on a side stage. David was there, and so was Nikki Rouse, of “Chocolate and Morphine” fame. Eventually, Roger, Mitch and Chantal showed up to hear me play.
While waiting for my slot, I looked over and noticed Chantal whisper something to Roger. Then she, very elegantly, grabbed a nearby recycling bin and walked over behind me to the bail of hay next to me, which was empty. She made silent eye contact with David, who was sitting on the next bail of hay over. Before I knew what was happening, David hit the top of the unoccupied bail of hay, dislodging something and knocking it into the recycling bin with a thud. Chantal ran the bin to the woods and hurled its contents as far as she could before walking back with a satisfied grin. She had done all this without interrupting the person performing on stage three feet in front of us.
Chantal was my spider-rescuer and bug-tamer. Here she’s wrangled a very odd green creature during the open stage on Sunday.
“Do I want to know what that was?” I said, after the musician finished.
“If you didn’t like those little spiders from before, then you would have hated this thing,” said my spider rescuer. And people from a few rows behind started chiming in: “Yeah! It was at least four inches and black and fuzzy and it was laying a huge white egg sack. It was the most disgusting spider I’ve ever seen!”
Eeeeeeewwwwwwwww!
Chantal would tame another bug before the end of the day, an incredibly fuzzy green caterpillar with tufts like black mustaches sticking out of both its front and back. And after the excitement of the insects was over, it was time for me to perform. I decided to do a version of “Molotov Swell” on the fly. I also did a new song that I am in the process of finishing up, my first honest-to-goodness road song. And I finally had a big audience cheer me for the first time since Friday, and that was really all I needed.
I attended one more workshop on how market yourself better and came back with great ideas that I will not share (because we’ve already started using them on you!). I said goodbye to the people I’d met and took down my tent, which was blissfully dry. On the ride home I pulled off to the side of the road for honey-roasted cashews and the obligatory gift of apple butter for my father. I ate many more than I intended to, and by the time I got home, my mouth tasted strongly of sugar.
This lone festival adventure was one of the greatest things I think I have ever done. Though I set the goal for myself of making it through the first round, my disappointment quickly melted and I spent the remaining days of the festival feeling really worthwhile as a person and a musician. Though I only played amplified once, I sold five CDs just from people hearing me in the informal song circles, and I sold my first piece of jewelry. Because I didn’t have rob to hide behind, I had to talk to people, make my own friends, and really present myself. Because I was encountering mostly people who didn’t know me, it let me feel like I could start from scratch, really putting my best foot forward like I always wish I could do here at home. And just as I want people to see the best version of me, this festival challenged what I thought were my unflinchingly non-judgemental, liberal views on music, other musicians and the mixing of genres.
Overall, I didn’t come away feeling like a failure, feeling empty-handed as I worried I might, but feeling like I deserved to be there. I succeeded in so many small ways: I made great friends and had an incredible time. My voice was in some of the best shape it’s been in a long time. And with the things I know now, I am planning on going back next year.