|  Experience
the iconic, intoxicating and life affirming Woodford
Folk Festival with Lisette Kaleveld
“Mud and puddles! Mud and puddles!” was
one four year old’s gleeful review of the 2007
Woodford Folk Festival. It’s laconic but true,
and the Woodford’s not the first music festival
to make mythology out of mud.
At Woodford you can jump the chai coloured puddles
all the way from your season camping site to the festival
village. Of course it sounds easy, but my first festival
experience made me realise how much hard work a good
time can be. It didn’t help that my initial “weatherproof
footwear” solution was rubber thongs. Yes, clearly
I’m a novice.
After the crunchy gravel walkways quickly disintegrated
into sludge, mud splattered all the way up my calves
and thighs, and even my hair. After being so thoroughly
spray painted with the tattoo of a rookie, I recognised
its mark on others at the beginning of their relationship
with Woodford.
Maybe one day I’ll be one of those who can party
in sensible footwear (or, for the best of both worlds,
in rainbow gumboots). But for 2007-08, I’ll leave
this honour to the more experienced. And there are thought
to be many loyal festival goers who have been coming
for most of its 22 years.
Since its first days in Maleny, the festival has been
growing continuously and spectacularly. According to
festival general manager Amanda Jackes, 128,000 people
attended this year. “The first four days (before
the weather got very bad) were well up,” she says.
“It was a seven per cent increase on last year.”
In 1994, the Queensland Folk Federation bought 500
acres of farmland as a home for the festival. Now the
event can accommodate more people and host a greater
variety of activities. It began as a music festival,
but today it’s also an arts, poetry, circus, debate,
comedy and children’s festival.
For six days and six nights, Woodford’s peaceful
fields are painted tent top colours. Ad hoc campsites
seem to crawl up every slope and over every horizon,
at times uncomfortably close together. Grey and blue
are the primary colours, the colours of camping stores.
Add to the palette the rise of a red tipi, and prayer
flags, sarongs and streamers fluttering against the
rain like morale boosters for the festival foot soldiers.
The beat of an African pressure drum, a stray guitar
chord and incense swirls rise from tents. A festival
begins not in lightness, but in tension. Low clouds
silent over tightened tarps. All is still but for the
ringing of tent pegs being hammered into trenches.
Tomorrow the season campers will meet the fresh faces
of the day visitors. But tonight, as rain beats on a
tent fly like fingers pattering drum skin, we all share
one thing: commitment.
The first morning begins early with a deep breath.
There are tai chi, chi gung and yoga classes on offer.
Bodies variously patterned with wrinkles, tattoos and
suntans spread out on the wet grass to welcome the day
with a collective inhale.
Facing sunrise, we brace for the day ahead. With more
than 2800 performers, 500 acts and up to 20 performance
spaces, it’s a daunting program for overachievers.
On the first day I went into battle with the mind blowing
program of activity, zigzagging from tent to tent to
catch the best of the talented artists like witty wordsmith
Mal Webb and the haunting Spanish dance ensemble Arte
Kanela.
No regrets, but I soon learnt the necessity of missing
most of the not-to-be-missed performances. Until you
are completely comfortable with the fact that you won’t
attend many breathtaking, top name performances –
like Sarah Blasko, The Cat Empire, Babylon Circus or
Blue King Brown – then you just can’t relax.
So, on the second day, I joined my sister and four
year old nephew and decided to just go see. My nephew
had finally tired of splashing through puddles. He preferred
instead to look skywards through a jigsaw of umbrellas,
at stilt walkers and unicyclists somehow managing a
safe passage through the crowds.
The delicious organic doughnuts were all the proof
we needed that everything here must be good for you.
We explored the world of Dutch pancakes, Tibetan prayer
wheels and Himalayan momos while navigating a site plan
where all paths lead back to the Chai Tent – a
candlelit giant cubby house for adults. It’s where
schoolies meet their wise elders. It’s where time
passes too quickly, or you have the all night conversation
you’ll never forget. At night, hundreds of young
people lie around on cushions, or tread the path between
the tent and the herbal high stall and back again.
For most of its history, the image of the Woodford
Folk Festival has been of hippy hedonism at large, and
for those people – if they really do exist - who
still somehow can’t get over 1969. But despite
its leaning toward bohemian dress and the “peace
and music” ethos, the Woodford is very much about
here and now.
These days a Woodford child seems less counter culture
than hyper culture. They’re not angry or anti,
just enthusiastically immersed in play. In this village,
with its feel good spirit of harmony, young people have
a safe place to party.
And the program itself keeps the festival fresh. This
year’s highlights included French band Babylon
Circus, a high energy, all action gypsy ska outfit.
Taikoz, a group of Australo-Japanese drummers, had hearts
beating with electrifying taiko rhythms. Aussie bands
Toothfaeries and Doch had festivalgoers leaping, while
The Siberian Circus team put on astounding aerial shows.
By the fourth day the mud starts to smell faintly
rotten but the carnival atmosphere is even more vibrant.
Mud gets gluggier and anyone still in thongs will find
they create a suction that can flick coin sized mud
balls onto fellow folk. But fear not the rage of strangers,
this is Woodford and mud can’t hurt us now.
They say a culture is contagious. The Woodford culture
and atmosphere is truly infectious. Despite the density
of people and the challenging weather, there’s
an undeniable lack of agitation in the crowd. Maybe
it’s a credit to the entrance staff (the jovial
army of volunteers) who set the tone with a warm greeting
and a wide grin. Or perhaps, in the spirit of all festivals
past, people just know to arrive with a child’s
unbreakable enthusiasm and a sturdy pair of gumboots.
It’s everything you need.
Photo courtesy: The Woodward Folk Festival
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