A Final Note

And another bead has been threaded onto the long and colourful necklace of Whare Flat Festivals reaching back into time and always around to find again its Folk beginnings.  

This year we were full to the brink, with glorious artists, with four generations of punters, with concerts, sessions and workshops, with plenty of sunshine (on the last two days), with campers and tents, with song and with instruments. What a great vibe!

So many of you came out, the place was absolutely buzzing.

The Honky-tonk tent was honking, our new stage was put to the test by the sheer weight of talent displayed on it, the hall was heaving with dance workshops. There were musicians playing at all times in all places available. There was a trio of two trombones and a drum kit in the tent next to mine but they were out most of the time. So was I.

A massive thank you must go out to all our volunteers without whom none of this would have happened. Every year they come back, they work hard, they take things in their stride, they miss out on their favourite artist because something has to be done; they smile and sing and party and try and do it all the next day. Quite a few work on the festival throughout the year too. Thank you, you are amazing. (Tahu would probably say that better.)

Hope to see you all next year,
Anna

The Chaps - John Dodd, Hyram Ballard, Anna Bowen and Mike Moroney. Whare Flat Folk Festival 2/1/2018 Final Concert

Song birds and night owls

I really do like the poster for the festival this year, the stars above the manuka, the moon and the morepork, the outline of the tent with its guy ropes.

It recalls happy wanderings in the dark with my violin, back from a session or an evening concert, still mulling the music, when a morepork call alerts me to the quiet of the site, the light of the low moon behind the trees, the Milky Way above, and, looking up with a smile and a little sigh, I stumble over the guy ropes again.

The line-up of violins this year is also quietly exciting; Serbian, Scottish, old time American, I know I will be completely blown away, like last year, at the way each player makes the thing sing out exactly the way it should while all the serious skill this must take is somehow wrapped up in smiles, banter and foot stomping; beguiling nods and winks that make the fiddle playing seem completely effortless. There is little reason why they shouldn’t act and look more like tennis players, grunting at particularly strenuous ornamentations, wearing sweatbands and sport shoes, determined to keep time. But they don’t, they look like they are having a ball.

It’s the shared joy of these musicians, makes me forget the guy ropes every time.