Photo by Madeline Harvey.
Saturday morning starts with a sweaty rise from inside my tent. The high desert sun shines on the faded yellow east side of my tent, turning the inside into a greenhouse and my sleeping bag into a flannel oven. I unceremoniously unzip the door and let the sun hit my face while a cool breeze chills the sweat beads on my forehead and the bridge of my nose. I squint as I lace my boots, analyzing the degree of my hangover. Gathering water for some oatmeal, I steal a swig and wipe my mouth. The water soon boils and I add four packs of instant Quaker Oats. It slowly thickens and I adjust my seat, ready to let the hot cereal gently wake me up. I consider the day’s possibilities.
Photo by Madeline Harvey.
Saturday afternoon’s festivities include a fierce (friendly) sandlot baseball game between Los Yonke Gallos de Marfa and the Austin Texas Playboys, an annual shootout between the two cities. While your correspondents were not in attendance, we learn that Annie Clark (St. Vincent) sang the National Anthem before the big game. Instead, we take the afternoon to explore the quieter regions of the desert beyond city limits. Forty miles outside Marfa lies the trendy Prada Marfa installation that only in September had been deemed an art museum, a clever loophole sourced by the supporting nonprofit, The Ballroom Marfa Foundation, which prevented Texas from continuing on with its ruling that it is an illegal form of roadside advertisement. While the installation is a point to see (delight in the underweared buffoon below), the landscape, which is an integral part of the experience, speaks loudly with rolling hills and tough mountains cascading in a gradient of tones along the horizon. Mountain range beyond range rise up in a pale semblance of the range before it, symbolizing a temporal marker that these ancient land formations so stoically represent. These are the same plains generations of wild folk looked upon. Where once a dirt path meandered, asphalt now sprawls. Across the road from the train tracks now lies a contemporary piece of art, struggling to survive against the all-powerful Texas Department of Transportation. There to see it all are the mountains on the horizon.
Photo by Madeline Harvey.
We get back into town, secure a Frito pie from Boyz2Men Taco Truck, and wash it down with the King of Beers before the final night of music starts. Meshell Ndegeocello, the American soul/R&B singer/bassist sits on a chair on stage with acoustic guitarist Chris Bruce as support. He plays with command that matches Ndegeocello’s own progressive perspective on rhythm and the bass guitar as more than just a rhythm instrument. A tone equally punchy and heavy, Ndgegeocello feels the pulse and feeds it to the audience who is denied an encore that we vehemently demand. With vocals that call to mind Sade, fellow PPI writer/photographer Madeline Harvey describes the singer’s acoustic soul music as “peaceful.” True, the set and her demeanor exude peacefulness though consciousness and awareness of both personal and social emotion.
Robert Ellis is next and continues a trend for the weekend of exquisite musicians. Ellis’ band plays his hits and some new ones, despite an inebriated audience member at the front of the stage requesting he play Dylan covers. “Do you even know what show you’re at?” asks Ellis. The man’s face is empty. Though I have seen Ellis before, this time I watch as the band approaches country music from a highly technical point-of-view. If one can understand what the Police did as a ska band, one might be able to understand what Ellis’ band does to country music. Progressive country? Elements of jazz heavily tone the overarching country aesthetic, resulting in a sometimes confusing musical journey that leaves me trying to figure out how all those chords came from a country shuffle.
Photo by Madeline Harvey.
Half of Deer Tick’s band plays as rhythm section for Ellis and they stay on as John McCauley takes center stage as the headliner for the evening and weekend. The band incites a furor of intensity, driven by McCauley’s unique vocals, and even does a “La Bamba” cover in its encore. McCauley seems a bit subdued, perhaps this is not unique, but something more common now that he has openly discussed a new Zen phase in his life following the epitomic rock and roll lifestyle he once championed.
Photo by Madeline Harvey.
The music comes to a close and we make one last walk back to camp, beers in koozies in hands, emptying their last ounces into upturned mouths. I drift off to bed one final time with images of guitar licks and drum rolls dancing in my head. I wake to chatter and an electric piano warming up. Jazzy male vocals start singing as folks get in line for the pancake breakfast. A variety of fruits and a bloody mary bar complete the buffet of freshly prepared foods. When the jazzy male vocalist takes a break, Mr. Kweller gets back behind the microphone and does a Sunday morning reprise of “Penny on the Train Tracks.” He finishes amongst sleepy applause and walks back over to his partner Lizzy and picks up his small blonde son. We pack our rental and hit the road with furthest-West Texas to our backs. The ride is sleepy and quiet. A repose in reverence for the weekend, yer two correspondents assemble the past three days into some sort of semblance of comprehension. Alas, the thinking is too much and we let the road do the talking.
Photo by Madeline Harvey.
The Trans-Pecos Festival of Music + Love is a gathering of similar-minded folk who admire the culture of freedom and the freedom of the desert. Without pressure and with ample organization and resources, the isolation is the only hardship (besides obvious monetary costs) though it simultaneously serves to emphasize the magic that resides in Texas’ little whistle-stop town of Marfa.
Select any of the photos below to open in slideshow viewer. All photos © Madeline Harvey & Pop Press International.
