I awoke after sleeping in until mid morning with two things on my mind. One was a strong desire for coffee and the other was the knowledge that later that day I would be attending the musical Nirvana that was the Toronto Urban Roots Festival.
My gracious hosts and I made haste to a delightful little bakery down the street where my thirst for dark coffee was quenched, and eggs and toast where ingested.
Soon after Mr. Harriman and I set out to meet Ms. Moira (hereinafter known as Wolf Totem) on a bridge on Bathurst Street just outside of historic Fort York Garrison Common, the site of our festival.
The following is taken from the festival's website:
"Built in 1793, Fort York National Historic Site is the birthplace of urban Toronto. It is best known as the location where the Battle of York came to its violent climax in 1813 during the War of 1812."
Sorry about that Canada.
I believe, Gentle Reader, that I may have been on the verge of a serious coronary incident as my little heart of hearts went a-thumpitty-thump-thump and a-pittery-pat-pat in a flutter of ecstatic anticipation.
We met Wolf Totem, and her merry band of flask wielding gypsy starlets, and headed for the gates.
Soon I was inside with a frosty beverage in hand, enjoying the sounds and stage presence of a woman I've longed to see in person for a great majority of my adult life.
Jenny Lewis, the goddess herself, and her talented band played a heart-wrenchingly beautiful set that had me swaying more than I would again that day and brought more than a few tears of jubilation to the eyes of my compatriots.
Her set included songs new and old, and even dipped into the Rilo Kiley back catalogue with gems such as the brilliant "Silver Lining." Perhaps my favorite part of her set was when she stripped the band down into a chorus of background singers, arm around arm around a single microphone, and began to strum the opening chords of "Acid Tounge" behind her own.
After, I opted for something completely different and headed for the east stage.
Gogol Bordello wowed the TURF crowd with a wildly engaging stage performance. The "gypsy punks" thrilled spectators with and incrediably energetic stage show that included seemingly inhuman leeps and marches around stage, and repeatingly splashing the gloriously willing crowd with heaping helpings of red wine.
Next it was off to see my own personal Jesus, Jeff Tweedy.
I'm afraid that I cannot, at this time Gentle Reader, put into words how immensely I enjoyed his performance.
I was very lucky to end the evening listening to music I would never have imagined I would see performed live five years ago, Nuetral Milk Hotel. This band left me nearly as flabbergasted as Mr. Tweedy's performance did. It again is hard, Gentle Reader, to put down my appreciation of their generous performance in words. All I can say is,
"I LOVE YOU JESUUSSSS CHRIIIHIHIIIST!"
It all seems like a mystical musical dream to me now Gentle Reader. I'm not even certain if it was really real (though the pictures on my iPhone seem to indicate that it was) or some amazing unconscious delirium.
I'll see you in the cyber salons of the future Gentle Reader.
Courage,
-Z
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