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The Curious Case of Newport Music Festival: Sobriety, National Public Radio and Falafels

Ft. Adams State Park

Let me just put it out there: I’m not a festival enthusiast. Don’t get me wrong—I love live music, but there’s something about thousands of people in a small place without showers and the camping-without-nature experience that just doesn’t do it for me. Call me a sissy if you want to, but I’d rather wake up and not find that my $20 Walmart sleeping bag is soaked in either sweat or rain.

After interning with Relix for a summer and being utterly foreign to American music festivals (literally—I’m from Sweden), they have become synonymous with a mishmash of tents in assorted colors on a field that by Sunday morning has turned into sludge the color of burnt umber. But wait, there’s more: the 4 am drum circles; the people that bring their kids yet stand before sunrise with glazed eyes looking utterly confused or the man that runs around in a tie-dye silk cape who’s even more nonplussed. Don’t get me wrong: I am not judging anyone’s lifestyle here. I wish I could enjoy it more. But take the smell of chicken kebobs that char on grills in the morning, the bouquet of stale beer coming from red plastic cups scattered on the camping grounds, the looks in the eyes of people that are still drunk from the night before but forced out of tents that the sun has turned into 10 am saunas—these are things that itch like mental poison ivy.

With Newport Folk Festival, it was a different story. The contrast appeared right after crossing the Newport Bridge and entering the town with the car windows rolled down. A gentle ocean wind smelling brushed against my forehead as a shy but friendly greeting. There was no green pasture that would turn into mud and look like a big, miserable plate of oatmeal. No, Newport’s milieu was the antithesis of most festivals’—set in a coastal town that could belong in the provincial areas of the Mediterranean or even Sweden’s West Coast archipelagos. Its narrow streets were lined with little stores. The wood houses were painted in pastel yellows and pale greens and plants in pots stood next to the doors. There were seafood restaurants and placards that read “lobster” on every corner and the fences that lined the dock were merely black chains that slacked between their posts.

The festival area, set in Fort Adams’ State Park at the mouth of the harbor, was also atypical. One of the three stages was placed within the stronghold’s stonewalls. The other two were set against its outer side and the whole locality was surrounded by water with sail boats that had anchored for the shows. Also, the Newport Bridge and a blue, cloudless sky made for a background that could be a poster in a teenage girl’s bedroom (save for some inspirational quote in pink serif font suspended high next to the sun). In short, Newport Folk Festival was kind to the eyes and nose, not to mention ears.

The crowd was different, too. There was the occasional old bearded guy in a tie-dye t-shirt, whole families that went together (with parents that didn’t dose and then leave their kids unattended), lots of 20-somethings that looked as if coming straight from an Urban Outfitters photo shoot, hippie teenagers with dreadlocks and couples in their 30s. And people appeared—believe it or not— sober. Well, that might be a stretch on Saturday afternoon, but at least no one’s face was melting. People were alert and there to see music.

When it comes to the acts, I can find no better way of describing the lineup’s quality than the fact that I didn’t visit the main stage until Sunday’s closer Levon Helm. The smaller stages, with about a hundred or so chairs put in front of them, made shows intimate with artists such as A.A. Bondy, Dawes, Punch Brothers, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros and Yim Yames.

When The Felice Brothers delivered the best gig of the fest, people clustered from wall to wall to catch a glimpse of Ian singing his Catskills-heart out. Although it wouldn’t make quite as epic of a story as their 2008 Newport gig when the power went out and the brothers played acoustic standing barefoot in the mud with pant legs rolled up, this year’s show ended on a high note as the singer tossed his guitar after ending with Townes Van Zandt’s “Two Hands”. The six-string landed on the drum set and got stuck after a couple of well-aimed kicks.

Another interesting act was What Cheer? Brigade, a local ensemble of various cymbals, drums and horns that welcomed festival goers as they entered through the gates. The band could be seen and heard in various places, jamming out and dancing their way through every corner of Fort Adams.

Newport Folk Festival 2010 turned out to be a pleasant experience. Around 7 pm when my patience with filth, overindulgence and hula-hoops usually drains, it was time to go take a shower and then hit town for dinner. The beer tasted way better sitting on the waterfront looking out at the ocean than grabbed from a Styrofoam cooler sitting outside a tent on a dusty road with people selling their illegal drugs and cigarettes. While the locality was fantastic, what impressed most about Newport Folk was the focus on music and—hallelujah!— NPR taped every show for listening on its website. And by the way, the falafels at Newport were better than at any other festival.