Posted by A few days before New Years Eve 2004 I was contemplating resolutions when I struck upon an idea. Instead of coming up with a New Years Resolution I came up with a New Years Theme: Coming Alive in 2005. The idea was I would spend the year trying to get around to finally doing a bunch of things I had spent my life trying to get around to doing.
One of those things was to go on a bicycle/camping trip, something I had been dreaming about since I received my treasured blue bike as a reward for passing grade one (mom had a bikes for my brother and I set up in the living room when we got home on the last day of school, glowing report cards in hand. I remember being confused as to how she knew I had passed without having yet seen my report card).
Another thing on my list was to visit Newfoundland for the first time, so that summer I combined the two and embarked on a 1,500km solo journey that took me from Port aux Basques up to L’Anse aux Meadows (including a quick dip into Labrador), then across the Rock to St. John’s and Argentia, with a detour up through New World Island, and all of it in street clothes and on a $300 bike complete with a basket hanging from the handlebars.
On August 19th, 2005 I was about three-quarters of the way through my journey when I stopped for the night in Terra Nova National Park. By lucky coincidence I had arrived in time for the first day of the Newman Sound Folk Festival, a small two-day affair that takes place right in the park. I pitched my tent and relaxed with a warm beer before heading down to the fest for the evening.
It’s funny that I almost balked at going in. When I asked how much it cost for admission I thought the girl said $30 dollars. I hummed and hawed and decided what the heck? It turns out it was actually $3. And that would get you in for both nights.
A quick stroll through the woods and I found a lovely little amphitheatre with benches facing a small stage that had a sunset for a backdrop. I took my place halfway back just as things were starting up.
And what a time I had I wants to tells ya! Each act got about fifteen minutes, starting with Jim Bragg. He strummed three or four songs I had never heard before but the crowd of about a hundred and fifty sang right along to every one; every word. Then David Saunders – who works in the park – played a few cover songs and he got a bunch of kids up to play the spoons.
Ralph Paul, all the way from Burin Peninsula took the stage for some accordion numbers accompanied by his tiny Casio keyboard. Old Ralph started off with a rickety “Three Drunken Maidens” and went off from there. While the next act set up, the Kate Hathaway-like hostess did some raffle draws. The prizes included baseball caps, t-shirts and other park shwag but by far the most sought after prizes were the single-use mosquito repellant handi-wipes. I’m not kidding, she drew for two of them and like everyone else in I really, really wanted to win, so monstrous and mean were the mosquitoes.
Four young fellers calling themselves Screeched In played their accordions and bodhráns and whipped the crowd up into a friendly little frenzy. Allyson Gobi (last years’ Gloverton Idol, don’t ya know) said she was going play some Joni Mitchell and Gordon Lightfoot songs. “Not your standard folk fest stuff I guess,” she said in all seriousness. She did a good job (despite having to restart the Lightfoot tune four times), and had to be pretty much dragged off the stage at the end of her fifteen minutes.
The highlight for me was the next act, Nellie and Harry Perry. Now let me say that the music at the festival generally ran the gamut from quaint to pretty darn good, and I’m sure any of them would stand up well at your average campfire jam. I had a great time hearing all the acts and was thrilled to have happened upon such an authentic Newfoundland evening. So to be clear I’m not trying to poke fun at anyone, but I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing out loud throughout Nellie and Harry’s set.
Harry was in his sixties we’ll say, and weighed in at about 290lbs. He sang and played the harmonica and the spoons while his wife Nellie (bearing the same physical description) stood behind him playing the ugly stick, basically a mop adorned with bottle caps that is bounced off the floor and hit with a stick. Though the ugly stick probably didn’t originate in Newfoundland it has become an almost ubiquitous percussive instrument in kitchen parties across the Rock*.
Well, Nellie was to Harry as Linda was to Paul; she had the rhythm of a half-inflated football rolling up a waterslide and she utilized that rhythm to it’s highest potential while Harry somehow managed to ignore her enough to get through their short setlist.
The next fellah up was really good, and his band Gander Six Pack was scheduled to headline the following evening. I left during Krista Arnold’s set. She played two originals, one was basically Helpless by Neil Young while the other was basically lifted off of the Barenaked Ladies’ first cd.
I had to skip the last act to make it to the canteen before it closed for some dinner, famished as I was.
I really enjoyed my evening and it turned out Allyson Gobi was right. Gordon Lightfoot and Joni Mitchell don’t really count as folk music in Newfoundland, because folks in Newfoundland are Newfoundlanders and Newfoundlanders play Newfoundland music.
As I watched the full moon rise behind the stage it occurred to me that I was getting a stationary tour of the best kitchen party on the island that night, and the people knew it. I’m sure almost everyone at the show was local; even the cool kids with their long hair and Nirvana shirts were there, and they weren’t there being cool, they were listening and clapping and singing along like everyone else (except me – aside from the Joni Mitchell I didn’t know the songs). And it couldn’t have gone down in a prettier spot.
Too bad I had to leave in the morning and eat the other half of my $3 ticket.
*When I was a kid one of my dad’s standard joke-threats was “Watch out or I’ll beat you with an ugly stick.” I always imagined he was talking about some magical stick that would make me ugly after I was beaten with it (remember, these were joke-threats; my dad never beat me). After seeing ugly sticks throughout Newfoundland I now see what he meant. Getting whacked with a Newfoundland ugly stick would hurt!
Todd Man Out 