![]() The Fest was forced by COVID-19 - and probably the weak ticket sales I was tracking - to go strictly online for a second year in a row, this time with a “pocket-sized” two-day PFF that organizers dubbed “59½ Annual.” (Couldn’t waste a nice round number on the dinky thing.) And that’s when I really panicked. Last summer, the rumblings of financial distress grew louder. While hardly the only local arts organization in the red, PFS has to be the most readily gossiped-about and critiqued by its membership (lately numbering around 850) and the large coterie of 5,400 Fest-attending “friends” who participate in the festival’s unofficial Facebook site, Philly Folk Fest. For reasons demographic, competitive and structural, the Folk Fest - the long-running multi-stage August event in the Philly ’burbs, with a proud history of breaking acts in the broadly defined world of folk music - has been running on empty in recent years: losing money most summers, incurring hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, forcing its nonprofit parent - the Philadelphia Folksong Society (PFS) - to take out loans and sell off assets just to stay afloat. Tambourine Man, to dance beneath a diamond sky with one hand waving free.īut on a very down-and-out side, this 60th get-together feels like it could be a last hurrah of sorts. And, when the tunes get pumping, to align anew with the spirit of Mr. It’s an event I’m anticipating with both elation and a bit of trepidation.įor sure, it’ll be a wonderful chance to reunite with Fest friends, walk the grounds, eat fun food, check out crafts, and take in the likes of Michael Franti & Spearhead, Hiss Golden Messenger, Bettye LaVette, Dom Flemons, Tom Rush and Livingston Taylor on a crystal-clear sound system. Of late, reminiscences like that have been haunting me as the Philadelphia Folk Festival (PFF) gears up for a big 60th-anniversary gathering of the tribes this August 18th to 22nd. And the deep gaze I took into her, ahem, sweet Judy blue eyes that September afternoon? That image is burned into my brain, an unforgettable memory. ![]() But the easy aura of approachability, kindness and concern she exuded would stay with me forever - underscoring what I always liked so much about the down-to-earth folk music scene here. Honestly, I can’t remember anything I might have asked or said beyond, “I love what you did with ‘Turn! Turn! Turn!’” (from her then-new album #3). Then we talked, maybe for 10 minutes, before it was time for her to go. I dropped my guitar case - mostly toted around the grounds to signal I was a bit of a “playa,” too - and sat.
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