Eclectic Company: Small Is Tremendous: New Bedford Summerfest

I am flabbergasted to discover that I’ve been writing this column for more than three July 4ths, and no one’s cried “foul” yet. See, I’m marking time by how many New Bedford Summerfests I’ve written about, and holy cow! this is the third time I’m electing to wax lyrical about my favorite folk festival since the millennium. Each July 4th weekend, this gentle jewel of an event in the streets of New Bedford, Massachusetts teeters on the brink of not-gonna-happen, and each year, despite changing of the City’s administration guard, it happens —Alan and Helene Korolenko’s organization is so smooth it seems almost to go of itself; Jamie Kelly and her various crews make production magic, Marilyn and Sheila and Louise stay calm and collected, and other committee chiefs circle their tents with a minimum of fuss, the artists, crafters and food vendors show up at their appointed load-in times, the audience shows up to fill the seats and stand in the fried fish and (yum!) scallops line, and an exceptionally good time is had by all who come from far (overseas and across the country) and near.

This year I took over main stage management duties so I was tethered and so heard mostly the big groups playing the big instruments, and those solo or duo performers with substantial followings, missing at least 6/7ths of the festival’s performances on the other stages, including many artists I’d never before seen. I took a short break to listen to Greenwich Village songwriting hero Mark Johnson, whose “Love Radiates Around” made me hug myself with joy when the Roches sang it 30 years ago. Johnson has moved to songwriter heaven (Austin) and frankly looks and sounds a little worse for wear. But man oh man, can he write! At the musicians and festival staff invitational at the incredible home of the Morrisseys (he’s head of economic development in the City) on Saturday night, Johnson and his pal Cliff Eberhardt (who played my fave tune of his “[Always] Your Face”) with Johnson’s old bandmate, New Bedford Mayor Scott Lang egging them on, traded covers and their own and each other’s songs in a quiet and atmospherically lighted room, my personal favorite way to hear music live, always. Johnson called up song after amazing song, and if he hadn’t been dragged away to prepare for the next day’s shows, would have played the dawn in, without repeating himself.

But thank God I was on that main stage for one of the best collaborations not only of the Summerfest weekend, but of any jam session I could ever hope to hear/see. It was at a workshop featuring three acts —Maura and Pete Kennedy, the husband and wife duo whose energetic and embracing folk, rock, pop, alt.country, and mystical lyrics are at the heart of every Summerfest; Le Vent du Nord, a Québécois trad folk-rock-jazz quartet who speak and sing in French and in a charming, highly French-accented English (keyboardist and hurdy-gurdy man Nicolas Boulerice, violinist and step dancer Olivier Demers, guitarist Simon Beaudry and bassplayer, accordionist and hand percussionist Réjean Brunet); and Zoë Lewis, from Rottingdean, England, who almost defies description (worldbeat vaudeville?!), playing “swing, acoustic funk, Latin jazz and folk” songs of her own devising as well as big band and novelty numbers from the great vocal eras of the 1930s and 1940s, on piano/keyboards, ukelele, harmonica, guitar, penny whistle, mouth trumpet, hand percussion including spoons and eggs, and a voice that’s squeaky kittenish and raucous baritone belting by unexpected turns. The magic happened at the end of the set. I can no longer remember if they started out with a familiar song or one of Zoë’s, like her Mariachi trumpet introed “Gringo!” or her swingy “Eyelashes,” as tricksy and tasty in your mouth as a Noel Coward or Cole Porter lyric (“those ocular fringes give me twinges so my knees go weak”), propelled through an undulating big band rhythm that’s got me dancing sitting down even as I’m typing this to the beat) and that ended with a bright trilling Latin vocalization (“Ay, ay, Ay ya ya ya yai, Ay, ay ay ay ay Eyelashes!”) because I was so enthralled I was almost paralyzed with delight, and couldn’t take down a single note to remember it by. But what happened was this: Zoë played something that struck a literal chord with Le Vent du Nord, and suddenly there was a call and response way better than “Dueling Banjos,” and then the Kennedys leapt in and momma it was hold on to your hat time! Oh, my heart is still pounding hearing it again in memory.

This year I promised myself that I would actually sit myself down at a Sloan Wainwright set, because I’ve missed hearing her warm jazzy-bluesy voice in person for many years, despite our proximity at several Summerfests. Well, I didn’t manage it again this year, so I picked up a copy of her Rediscovery CD at the sales tent, and it’s in my iTunes right now, her covers of Nick Drake (“Time of No Reply”), Phil Ochs (“There But For Fortune”), Neil Young (“After The Gold Rush”) and George Harrison (“All Things Must Pass”) proving once again that new versions respectful of the originals, yet offering a different interpretation, can probe deeper by revoicing. Here, Sloan wields her sultry boom-y bass-y sound to make more of a delicate hush than a wispy-voiced singer does, and in these selections, she finds nuances that I hadn’t heard before.

There were incredible performances and hilarious stories between the songs —Cheryl Wheeler’s “Potatoes” and her canned (cremated) cats on the mantel riffing; QuasiModal String Band featuring Lisa Gutkin (Klezmatics and former Whirlygig fiddle), Matt Greenhill (mandola and guitar, youngest of the Greenhill folk royalty family) and Steve Arkin (banjo, in Bill Monroe’s band as a youngster) making their first public appearance; and Californian singer and guitarist Claudia Russell with her mandolin-playing husband Bruce Kaplan, singing Kyle Johnson’s “Ready to Receive,” my current favorite love song, replaying over and over and over and over in my van from home to Trader Joe's and back —and I didn’t want it to end.