National Folk Festival is for hearing new music, making new friends

The National Folk Festival started in Melbourne in 1967 and has morphed and changed over the years. In the early '90s it made its way to the ACT. With more well-known names like Billie Bragg and The Waifs, it also boasted heaps of bands and singer songwriters I'd never heard of, so I was really keen to learn what the folk was going on.

I arrived Friday afternoon and the rain was pouring down. I was amused to see a stack of fiddle cases being protected under the beer table as people greeted each other and gathered. Some of them told me they hadn't seen each other since before COVID, and despite the muddy boots, everyone was happy to be there.

Everyone seems to know each other, and everyone had an instrument.

For Nashville-based troubadour Steve Poltz, folk music is when you play real instruments and sit around a campfire. For fiddle player Brittany Haas and her sister Natalie, it's like what Louis Armstrong once said: "All music is folk music. I ain't never heard a horse sing a song."

The pair were excited to debut as a duo for their Australian tour, playing all new music. Alongside leading workshops, they had several performances together.

In late May will officially release their first album HAAS. It was recorded in Nashville (Brittany's home) just before Christmas. Natalie lives in Spain and they're originally from California.

"This tour was the impetus for getting it done," Brittany says of the album.

The sisters were also excited to catch up with Australian musicians like fiddlers Chris Stone and Newcastle-based fiddler Naomi Jones.

"It's a festival I've been coming to for many years, since I was a young kid. You find a community here, pals from all over the place all come here and spend all night in the session lounge playing tunes," Jones says.

Jones plays in a Newcastle band Tanj with stand-up bass player Tim Merrikin. He, too, was at the festival, along with a handful of Newcastle musos. Neither Jones or Merrikin were officially playing, but they had plans to get up for a few impromptu sets.

Steve Poltz started of my Folkie experience, and he dazzled his audience with his songs and storytelling.

I'd known about him since I fell in love with Jewel as a teenager; he co-wrote songs with the pop star, two decades ago. He had long white hair and a strong California accent. Despite his age, there was something undeniably child-like and charming about the way he played the crowd.

Saturday offered bright skies, a sunny chilly morning. I started off with comedians Glover and Sorrensen whose improvisations were spectacular in that you almost believe they were just winging it, to then find yourself gasping for breath as you laughed and shook your head. They happily picked on a range of identities including vegans, Morris Dancers, GPS voices with American accents and even Bindi and Steve Irwin.

After their show I enjoyed a drink with them at one of the many Bentspoke Beer tents. It seemed a bit early for booze after having just waited ages for a coffee, but whatever, time does funny things inside a folk festival.

A great thing about this folk festival is the beautiful random gamble you take when you go for a wander around the place. Approach one crowd and you might see a street performer putting their entire body through a tennis racquet. Pop into a random tent and you might find yourself in the middle of Austral's Throwdown Hoedown. The song is correctly titled as the Budawang venue came to life; everyone got up to boogie.

I felt a little bit like an outsider with my lack of music knowledge, but that is not to say that people weren't friendly. From the volunteers on Saturday night who patiently told eager patrons over and over again that the venue was absolutely full, to the hospitality staff who made coffee after coffee for desperate customers with limited options, the place had true comraderie. It was for families, for the queer community, for political activists and, I learnt as I eavesdropped while waiting to get into Billy Bragg, a place for many public servants. Not too surprising.

I had no ukulele nor fiddle, but I was asked to do some Irish dancing with a very fit man in his early 70s. He pushed me harder than anyone has in a long time, a cheerful smile on his face. Sweaty and out of breath, I was dizzy from all the spins. It was a good time. I listened to some lovely, random poetry and recited my own to a small but attentive crowd.

There wasn't an act I didn't enjoy. I loved seeing familiar faces like Gleny Rae Virus, Rhythm Hunters and The Waifs. Billy Bragg blew me away although I'd love to press him on some of his very vocal opinions he talks proudly about between songs.

"The power of music is not to change the world, but to show you that the world can be changed," he said during the show.

I loved Pitjantjatjara artist Frank Yamma singing in English and his native language getting the crowd clapping to the beat. I loved Melbourne sister duo Charm of Finches with their gentle catchy familial harmonies.

My last show was the Haas sisters, on Sunday afternoon, my second attempt as their Saturday night the tent was at capacity. This was a packed tent as well. The pair played together beautifully and naturally, feeding off each other's cues and surprisingly bringing me to tears; I can't exactly explain why. They also introduced renowned Melbourne-based double bass player Hollie Downes to perform and sweeten the gig. I'm so glad I finally got to see them.

I felt honoured to make some new friends and have people welcome me so warmly. As I headed for the light rail on Sunday evening at dusk, a parade of glowing performers, puppeteers musicians, activists and families marched gleefully past me, frolicking and stumbling to the next tent, the next gig, on their way to find another friend, to grab another beer or to play another song.