Starwood Festival 2009: Part Two

Thursday:
Waking up a little earlier than usual, I wander up to The Blue Lady Café for some food and am entertained by a gentleman and his guitar playing covers of The Dead, Simon & Garfunkel, Dylan, and other ’60s classics. Feeling social and relaxed I have a good hot tub conversation with a member of The Asylum Street Spankers who is on vacation (and is also one of the now adults who I’ve watched grow up over successive years of attending the festival.)

Some of the best parts of Starwood have little to do with the organized festival at all. Sitting and laughing with friends. Meeting new people. Going for walks in the woods. Shopping at the various vendors booths, including a local vendor providing homemade maple syrup and cotton candy spun from maple sugar, a musical instrument tent, numerous rock, gem, and bead collections, and two different purveyors of mead, a delicious honey wine. I take advantage of many of these things today. As I walk I notice what seems like a decline in the number and variety of vendors, a pattern that has been playing out over the last several years. Perhaps the change in venue will breathe some new life into vending in the future.

The first official musical event of the evening is the Bardic Stage, an open mic night hosted by Kenny Klein. With eight slots, four being occupied by Kenny and his friends, there is still a good bit of diversity. Festival attendees tend to be a creative lot. Large parts of the performances drift in the windows of the bath house as I enjoy jumping from the pool to the hot tub.

Witch Disco, featuring members of the former Einstein’s Secret Orchestra, play the main set tonight. In addition to typical rock back instrumentation, an electric violin and Theramin add to the well-described “psychedelic-tribal-space-trance-rock.” They’re high energy and trippy. As it involves many of the same people, the band creates a great segue into the Rumble in the Jungle. For a number of years, the Rumble was an unscheduled but well attended and well loved party full of jungle and other party music and includes the crowning of a king and queen. Due to its popularity and in honor of its late founder, the Rumble is now an official annual activity. I stop in on my way past. I’m not much for parties so I watch in amusement as people have fun and wander on.

Walking along the candle lit road, I accidentally stumble upon an unscheduled performance by Kari Tauring and her Volva Stav at the Didge dome. A fire in the middle illuminates the area where they perform, if that would even be the correct word. First is the fact that the form itself is from the Norse staff carriers and is very shamanistic. Then there is the fact that Kari and her partner Drew, ordinarily a duo, pull a random person from the crowd and the three of them rhythmically pound staffs on the ground in cross rhythms while Kari vocalizes in words not English and tells stories. Her manner is warm and open both on stage and off, which is confirmed as we connect the next day over a discussion of the spiritual roots of the music. I am disappointed that I missed her workshop today.

Kari Tauring/Volva Stav

As often happens later in the week, the energy builds, making those doorways between worlds swing open. Thursday’s Roundhouse drumming eludes attempts to limit with words. Antler clicks, vocal swishes and flourishes, primal pounding and dancing, both dancers and drummers swirling and weaving into and around. At one point I open my eyes from a particularly deep trance and notice that the fire tenders (with the red suspenders, honored and respected by the festival community for their service) have balanced various sticks on the burning logs such that the effect is of a ground based, otherworldly mobile. As the drums fall into a deep West African rhythm, I fall back into a deep trance and continue dancing till dawn. Bliss. Breakfast. Bed. In that order.

Friday:
Waking up in the late morning, I engage in my morning ritual, hurrying slightly because I’d like to catch Harvey Pekar’s workshop on how he got into comics. Not in such a hurry that I failed to notice that I was showering next to Raquy in the large, open shower area, I complement her amazing drumming. How often do you get to talk to a musician you like when you are both wet and naked?

I realize it’s later than I thought and that I wouldn’t be able to make it to Harvey’s workshop when I pass him on the road. I say hello and we have a brief conversation but he seems distracted and so I continue on. I am, however, able to make it to Sikiru’s workshop on the language of the drums, which was originally created by Babatunde Olatunji. It’s easy to see why he’s considered a master watching and listening to him. He’s also friendly, open and approachable and we have a brief but interesting conversation on spirituality and drumming.

In what has become an annual tradition, I put on my metaphorical bib and sit down to a lobster dinner at Phil’s Grill. Lobster? You say. While camping? The lobster is expertly prepared and, while messy and a little expensive, is worth it. While I eat, I catch the first half hour of Ivan Stang’s annual rant, which is always incredibly funny and worth the time. For those unfamiliar with him, Stang is the co-founder of the Church of the Subgenius (though Bob Dobbs is the true founder) and author of numerous Subgenius books over the last 30 years. He is also an annual fixture at Starwood, representing the weird branch of the countercultural stream.

The Church of the SubGenius

Unfortunately I have to leave before the rant is over but for good reason, my shift at the radio station is starting. Evolving in the last decade, the radio station has gone from a portable CD player and transmitter in a tent to a permanent building with professional sound equipment. Music on the radio station ranges from rock to weird and pagan to hippie and is dependent on the tastes of the person on shift. I had developed a conscious hip-hop show and burned it to CD at home, so all I did was pause periodically to make announcements and stand outside the booth visiting with passersby. Though hip-hop runs counter to the tastes of some, others complemented me for providing that type of musical variety on the radio.

Alex Bevan and his acoustic guitar were starting as my shift was ending but I had some things to do before Raquy and the Cavemen’s concert. When they did take the stage, they drove the crowd wild. Concerts toward the end of the week tend to be better attended and this was no exception. Playing with middle-eastern flair, many in the crowd, including myself can not keep from dancing. Some in the audience practice belly dancing moves while others sit and watch. All eyes are on Raquy and her flying fingers as both musicians and audience have a great time.

Alex Bevan
Raquy and the Cavemen

Wandering around after the concert, I’m drawn by the lights of a dome housing about eight to ten large Alex Grey paintings. The lighting accentuates the trippy, spiritual paintings, brought by a group of regular attendees that are involved with Grey’s Chapel of Sacred Mirrors, and make them seem to move. I heard that Grey himself was in attendance but I didn’t see him. Instead I talk with the maker of the dome who was planning a very unofficial flesh hook suspension ceremony later that night amongst the psychedelic paintings. Wandering some more, I catch some of the fire show, which has evolved from actual fireworks to a lot of fire spinning with more limited fireworks, but it’s crowded and cold and not what is capturing my attention so I leave.

Absolutely fascinated by their impromptu concert at the Didge dome I make sure that I am at the Pufferdome (a large inflatable radar dome) by Midnight to catch Volva Songs again. The acoustics in the enclosed dome provide a different element than the outdoor acoustics from last night. The rich tones of her partner’s dulcimer, absent the night before, and Kari’s shamanic Norse vocals, echo, distort, and engulf. There aren’t more than twenty people in the audience, but everyone is still and entranced. Tonight is Raquy’s turn for an impromptu didg dome concert along with a Middle Eastern drum circle, which I miss but hear was incredible. Drums. Dancing. Dawn.

Saturday:
A few brief pockets of rain punctuate the day but don’t seem to dampen spirits, though some are worried that it will continue raining through the night’s bonfire. Not a lot on the schedule catches my attention today, so tomorrow being the end of the festival, I spend a lot of time visiting with people that I likely won’t see for another year. Phil’s fancy dinner tonight is steak and salmon but I blew my money the night before on lobster so I eat much cheaper with friends at a potluck.

Perhaps the biggest coup of the festival was their ability to book the newly reformed Rainforest Band led by Merle Saunder’s son Tony. When I say newly, I mean it. This was their first gig as the reformed band and Tony publicly credits one of the founders of Starwood, Jeff Rosenbaum, for getting them back together and states that all of the profits from their CD sales are going to the Rainforest Action Network. Earlier in the day, Tony led a workshop talking about playing with his dad and Jerry Garcia. The stories were funny and enlightening and gave a different, more personal perspective of the two musical icons.

On stage, The Rainforest Band’s instrumentation consists of a djembe, steel and kit drums, several keyboards, electric bass and guitar, and percussion. Tony talks about needing to distinguish himself with a different instrument than his father, and his electric bass solo (along with the other musician’s solos) is face meltingly incredible. Joking that his vocalist is prettier than his dad, a female soul singer with a great set of pipes provides a good portion of the vocals during the several hour show and gives a new twist to the songs that come entirely from the Merle/Grateful Dead catalog including “Sugaree,” “China Cat Sunflower” and “After Midnight.” As it was getting close to being after midnight, the band stops and the grand procession from the stage to the lighting of the bonfire begins.

Rainforest Band

With much ceremony, the annual bonfire is lit, the drums start, and people make large circles around the larger fire, which contains more wood than a two story house and is so large that there an audio deaf spot on the other side of the fire where the drums cannot be heard. People are in their finest costumes and puppets and flowers made by Waking Dream circle around the fire. As the night rages on and the drums continue people continue dancing and drumming any partying. The party moves back to the Roundhouse as it turns blue and light in the sky. Traditionally Sunday morning finds a culmination of high weirdness including unofficial performance art called “Sunday Mass” and a piñata. A little more low key than usual, I sit and watch people blissing out, strung out from much less sleep than my body is used to (there is always so much going on at Starwood that sleep tends to be low on the priority list).

Sunday:
As morning threatens to slip into afternoon, my still sleepless mind considers all of the conversations, connections and cross-pollinization I’ve witnessed over the past week. Denial of the end finally gives way to acceptance, aided by the insistence of my ride. Camp packed, goodbyes said, I meditatively walk the labyrinth on the grounds to the decorated tree in the center while I wait for the car to be loaded. As we pull onto the road towards one home and away from another, a tear of gratitude and sadness tracks my cheek as I consider the 355 days separating me from Starwood 30.

Afterward:
Though not exclusively a music festival, I largely focused on the musical aspect of Starwood for obvious reasons (this being largely a music oriented site.) One thing I did not mention in the review were the daily official lunchtime concerts and other official musical events in the Pufferdome, largely because I did not make it to them. Despite the lack of exclusivity, music is a core aspect of the week and is omnipresent in a variety of forms and formats.

It is, at its heart, a pagan festival, a place where pagans of varying stripes can gather to share ideas, play, laugh, and learn. This aspect is represented in the wide variety of pagan oriented workshops and the fact that names like Isaac Bonewits and Oberon Zell, both highly influential in the neo-pagan movement, as well as other top published pagan authors are regular fixtures. It is not however a necessity to subscribe to any particular set of beliefs to attend or feel comfortable, as everyone is friendly and accepting. It is also every bit as countercultural as other popular festivals (though perhaps less ostentatious,) lest we forget that Starwood has hosted such cultural icons as Paul Krassner, Timothy Leary, Terrence McKenna, and this year’s Harvey Pekar and is a regular home to Ivan Stang and his Subgenii.

The best thing about the festival is that it is numerous festivals rolled into one, which makes for a highly individuated experience regardless of a person’s interests. It opens doors for people and everyone I speak to afterwards says that they got precisely what they needed for both fun and growth. And this is exactly why Starwood remains culturally relevant in this age that has witnessed an explosion of festivals of all types. A festival like Starwood (and those who know say there is no other festival like Starwood) fills a need not only for the pagan community but also for the larger diaspora of those that know that deep spirituality and deep fun don’t have to be mutually exclusive. Many people return year after year, decade after decade, from as far away as Alaska and Thailand for the same reason. While being a hedonistic party on one hand, the average attendee tends to be deeply spiritual and highly educated and/or creative. I have met brilliant artists, musicians, and philosophers in people ranging from piano tuners to molecular biologists. People come to Starwood open and friendly and without masks. How often do you find that in the larger world?

While there are things that could be improved, many, such as a partial rate for those not staying the whole time, are coming as Starwood finds its new home. At 30, the organizers have learned from both their successes and mistakes in this labor of love and, despite the big changes in store for the festival over the coming years, it is a festival that has and will continue to evolve. A festival that will continue to meet a need for many year after year.

Starwood Mention in Modern Drummer Magazine

Free Download of 2.5 Hours of Roundhouse Drumming

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