Review: Woodford Folk Festival

Herein lies the allure of the Woodford Folk Festival.

It’s a place where a stack of people with a raft of different social and ethnic backgrounds come together to share the good things; a satisfying chai tea, outlandish dance moves, street theatre and some damn fine music. It is the festival where you don’t bother checking the line-up or fastidiously adhere to the glossy program.

For some eager bees this party starts on Christmas night. Plenty of revellers rock up to secure camp spots closest to the venue. The other suckers end up so far away from the festival they need a separate post code. Those guys catch the shuttle bus that, ever so conveniently, roams the camp grounds and parking lots taking people to the gates.

For my plus one, a Woodford virgin, those gates were like the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland. Once we were in all sorts of shenanigans broke loose. An impromptu circus permeates the fringes of the festival with street performers, stilt walkers and others providing constant entertainment.

The interactive nature of Woodford pulls you in. There is little room for spectators here. We duck into a tent with a Tibetan man crooning some beautiful ballad and he’s directing the crowd to sing with him. We all join in and I’ve gotta say we sound pretty good. It was a beautiful little sing-a-long, incredibly wholesome. In fact, probably too wholesome.

Enter the Mongolian rockers. These guys were spanking hot! The six-piece certainly took the tempo of the afternoon from laid-back to let-your-hair-down and let’s-paint-the-town-burgundy. The low, gruff voices and heavy electric guitar roused the audience into a fever. Impressive, given the sun hadn’t even set.

After a rousing encore we stumbled through the stilt-walking street performers, past the art galleries and weaving workshops to find the African drummers. They were shirtless, of course. Once again spectating was not an option and most of the audience gathered on the sand just below the stage to stamp their feet in hearty approval of the flamboyant and boisterous sounds.

The band’s energetic bashing of their drums captivated a happy audience. The cheeky smiles and stage charisma didn’t go astray.

Xavier Rudd was the one big-ticket show I had to see. I’ve been following this guy since I saw him at the Sawtell RSL about eight years ago. Between now and then I’ve caught Xavier’s eclectic sound many times, but the shows rarely touch me as that one did. Woodford 2011 is perhaps an exception. His sound is strong and he uses his plethora of instruments, including a mouth organ, foot drum, didgeridoo and lap slide guitar, with finesse and passion. He was on fire, pumping out old classics such as Food in the Belly and Gift the Trees alongside newer stuff from his forthcoming album, Spirit Bird. His little son, who must be about eight, dances with childlike exuberance alongside the stage. It’s a show that has real heart. The greenie message in the music is so well placed in the forest-capped amphitheatre at Woodford where the trees surround you and nature really is a core theme, rather than just lip service. Xavier launched into a powerful tirade against the environmental degradation associated with coal seam gas extraction. The irony of the message, that a prominent CSG company controversially sponsored the festival, gave extra meaning. It was a stunning and powerful show.

Food at this festival is a pretty big issue for me. As a Libran, decisions about food don’t come as easily as, say, whether to accept a cold beer on a Friday arvo. So, when nearly all of my favourite cuisines are represented at the one time, and I have only one night, it is especially tough. Nevertheless I acted like any good hobbit should and had Brazilian for onesies, Turkish for second dinner and then a spot of Malaysian to top it off. Elegant sufficiency was definitely achieved.

Now, time to boogie.

This is where Woodford really comes into its own. It doesn’t die early. It was just after midnight when we stumbled upon Sydney band, The Bakery, and we were in the mood to get down. The 11-piece band was decked entirely in Flinstones-esp, tiger print outfits and had personality to match. It was wild on the dance floor as these guys pumped out some serious beats. The brass section ensured there was a nice jazz and funk feel while the drums and guitars rocked out. I had not heard of these guys pre-Woodford, but trusting that the program is good is a huge part of this festival. It rarely disappoints.