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When the Ottawa Bluesfest first hit my periphery it was always exciting. Heck, one of my first experiences with Bluesfest was seeing Ray Charles in Confederation Park…now, how exciting was that? Plus bands like Little Feat, Jimmy Vaughan, Mahogany Rush, James Brown…then they started going down the rock road with acts like Sting, The Tragically Hip, Blues Traveller, Kool & the Gang and it just got more exciting.
Then there was what I now realize were the peak years, with dream-like lineups including the likes of Bob Dylan, moe., Van Morrison, John Prine, Umphrey’s McGee, Further, Widespread Panic, Ben Harper, Spearhead, Bill Frisell, Chicago, Percy Sledge…I just can’t tell you how excited I was to hear the lineup announcement every year.
But I suppose we got a bit spoiled along the way. Demographics change while my own personal demographic remains exactly the same, and as the 00’s (pronounced: “ooze”) started to wane so did my excitement in the Bluesfest lineups, lineups that had started relying on rap and new country artists that didn’t interest me much at all. And then, finally, my excitement level in Bluesfest announcements basically flatlined, such that I am often forced to muster a modicum of forced excitement wherever I can by scouring the daily schedules for even a hint of something recognizable; an act that will at least raise an eyebrow, if not my pulse rate.
Which brings us to July, 8th, 2017, when I managed to feign enough interest in Molly Hatchet to get me on my bike to head down to the fest for the evening. It’s not like I could name you a single Molly Hatchet song or anything, but I did know that they were a notable Southern rock band back in the day (just a few light years behind bands like The Allman Brothers and Lynyrd Skynyrd), and I do have a penchant for some good old harmony-guitar Southern rock music. So up went my eyebrow (by force) and off I went.
I managed to start the evening seeing Sugaray Rayford, a solid soul/R&B act that was a darn sight better than Molly Hatchet turned out to be. For their part, the standout star (AKA elephant in the room) of Molly Hatchet turned out to be the lead guitarist’s hairstyle, which had clearly evolved from a ’70’s hippie-do to an early ’80’s female grad photo bighair experiment and stopped right there. Actually, I think the guitar player’s hair follicles were the only original member of the band.
And you know, Molly Hatchet didn’t even bring a second guitar player with them to provide the stylistically-required Southern rock harmony guitar lines. I guess there just ain’t enough money in the has-been/barely-was business for such extravagances.
Ah well, I guess a mediocre night of unmustered excitement was still (marginally) better than just sitting around in my backyard*.
*Or was it**?
**(Don’t get me wrong, having the Bluesfest set up camp here in my town for a couple of weeks every summer is still way, way, better than not having it here at all, and they do still occasionally bring in some acts worthy of true excitement. But oh, how I miss those peak years.)
Todd Man Out 