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On July 6th, 2008 I biked down to the Ottawa Bluesfest for a scorching hot and very long Saturday. The ride was nice, LeBreton Flats is cool…blahblahblah let’s get to the music, because there was lots of it:
My first tromp of the grounds delivered me to That 1 Guy playing at the Roots Stage. That 1 Guy was a curious solo act that was somehow sort of tearing up the neo-hippie festival scene at the time utilizing a pile of sequencers and a virtual junkyard of hardware, most notable of which was a homemade electronic musical shtick…err…stick that made the most peculiarly attractive noises. Culling outrageous sounds from a myriad of tools including saws, metal tubes and all the bells and whistles one couldn’t imagine, That 1 Guy wowed an already mystified crowd with his bucksaw-bending version of Over The Rainbow and closed his out set with a Black Sabbath-influenced metal tirade that morphed into a campy jazz vamp. It was novelty, sure, but entertaining, unique, and (frankly) musical enough for the guy to carve a legitimate career out of a gig that one would expect to see play out on tourist-rich street corners.
After a brief respite in a patch of shade I went to check out Montreal-based Francophone rockers Les Breastfeeders. I didn’t get closer than deux cents metres when I realized these hommes weren’t for me so I headed over to the River Stage for a little political Aussie rock courtesy of Harper. I checked him out for a while hoping that the air breezing off the river might cool things down a bit but there was no wind and no relief, only quality music and blazing heat. I continued melting.
For a little changeup I ducked out and decided to give Infected Mushrooms a listen. I wasn’t expecting much given the utter unimaginative moniker they came up with for themselves, but my mind was open-ish. The band started with a wailing Malmsteen-esque technical wall of sound that soon degenerated into an aggressive BPM-oriented pulse that kept the sweaty crowd moving. The wash of wumpwumpwump couldn’t hold my attention so I opted for my favourite mainstay, the Blacksheep Stage. There I found some friends with a bit of shade to share and a guy named Chuck Prophet onstage playing lively straight-up rock and roll that was the right fit for a sunny festival semi-siesta.
I kept my eye on the schedule and made a point of getting to the main stage in time for Snoop Dogg (or was it Snoop Lion? Or even Lionn? You know, the Paris Hilton dude but with weed). Taking the stage to the music of Mozart’s Requiem the new Huggy Bear motherf***ed his way from one crowd pleaser to another, not that anyone knew any of the songs. He had a really good band backing up what was mostly Snoops R-rated version of Simon Says; “Get those motherf***ing hands up in the air…” “Everybody light that s*** and pass it to your brother…” And all the while Snooperman kept asking the crowd incriminating questions about our collective drug habits. “Do y’all smoke that crazy Northern Lights up here?” “I just know y’all got some in your pocket!” “Pull that s*** out and let’s see what you got, motherf***ers!” It was like being stopped at the border, but way more fun.
Either he just makes it look easy or he really wasn’t doing much of anything at all up there, I can’t really say but it was certainly entertaining, no question about that. Something he did do was smoke about a thousand joints on stage in a steady, endless stream, and when Captain Bling bid us mother***ers a good night you just knew that he and his ho’s were going straight to his dressing room where he was going to be hotboxing the trailer for the rest of the night.
I, on the other hand, found a good spot from which to watch Primus deliver one of the best sets of not just this day but the entire eleven-day festival. The trio was just so incredibly exciting and unique, delivering a haunted and twisted set of Hallowe’en rock, led by just the best and most creative bass player you’re going to find. It’s amazing how well studied Les Claypool clearly is on the bass, yet he betrays no discernible influence whatsoever. It’s like he emanates nobody while channeling everyone. Overall it was a simply spectacular set that had the crowd surfers out in full force. Their name was mud.
To close the evening I faced a major festival decision. I decided on an in-and-out approach that saw me first drop by the River Stage for what would prove to be my only time seeing Johnny Winter (1944-2014). I was quite surprised that he was sitting down for his set but it didn’t matter, he was great. I would have loved to have stayed for his entire set but I stuck with my decision and cut out to see The Wailers after just a couple of songs.
When I think back I can’t remember another time when the relatively small Roots Stage had such an enormous crowd. There must have been 6,000 people there to see The Wailers, no kidding. It was all I could do to get within sporadic viewing range before I decided to bail on the classic reggae and hear what Widespread Panic had to offer on the main stage.
I had never seen WP before and I remain unfortunately unconvertible as a fan, but I and perhaps about 1,200 others were treated to a jammin’ good show, no question about that. Never mind that Widespread and The Wailers were both obviously on the wrong stages, Panic’s newest member Jimmy Herring was on fire and his stellar guitar playing brought the energy level of the band to several peaks that approached the ephemeral. Herring is such a fine musician he can’t help but add some fire to whatever outfit he’s with, and Widespread was clearly no exception.
Phew, told you it was big day of music! What was that…ten different acts? And all of it amid a crushing heatwave that only a very steady stream of Molson’s could abate. Thank goodness I didn’t drink hi-test IPA beers back then; I might not have been able to ride home!
Todd Man Out 