Terrapin Hill Harvest Festival: Sunday
Words & Photos By Rex Thomson
The day started with bright skies and tired bones and tortured moans from the just awakening campgrounds, as the late night festivities and the weekend as a whole had taken a toll on all in attendance. I rose early, and made my way to the Chapel stage alone, in deathly fear of missing my absolute favorite rap duo, MC Sparkplug.
I had run into them the night before, during the Dark Star set, and was happy to have a few moments to rage with my favorite titanic twosome. It seems that that raging affected a brain cell or two in Tony’ head and they were a mite late to the start of their own set. Luckily, the next act, The Barry Mando Project was suffering from the same fate, as one of their members was running behind as well, giving Sparkplug a chance to get their set in. Bobbing and weaving in the old school way, Tony brags and boasts in a larger than life persona, while his partner Lanie retorts and supports, ground his silliness with an earthy languid style and a sweet sexiness that gives the duo a balance and fun most acts lack. A favorite of all in attendance, especially the children, two of which were invited onstage to help provide a bit of visual style, their lyrics were as always playful and profound. Closing the set with a rousing and completely unexpected medley of Disney classics “Hakuna matata” and “Under the Sea” Mc Sparkplug left the stage smiling and sent, giving their all in the short slot.
The Barry Mando Project kicked off immediately thereafter, and brought a jazzy energy that I had been desperate for, and took the whole day to a place far funkier than any other all fest long. Great stuff, these guys have a real future. With only to acts remaining, I took a last walk of the grounds, saying goodbyes to al the friends and family in attendance. Living as close as I do to the farm, and knowing everyone in attendance practically made this a long affair, and a bittersweet one. Though the partings were sad, that sadness was alleviated slightly by the sure knowledge that we would be back again come the next year.
Louisville natives and rock/bluegrass/jam ensemble The Vessel showed a new depth of sound and a serious jump in musicianship since the last I saw them, which was both invigorating and thrilling, since they were already a fine act to begin with. A sax and some funkier drumming added to their range,
and their stinged strummers seemed to relish their roles as the frontline of the sonic scapes being sculpted. Uplifting and inspiring upwards spinning jams, and a nice funky bottom, The Vessel hit the spot. I retired to the back of the hill to catch a little of Ekoostic Hookah, but, in fairness to them, while their set was not reaching me on any level, I was wied out and forty five minutes from both my bed and the return of one of my few remaining television obsessions. I manage to find Mr.Moody, the talent booker and all around organizational head for the fest. When he asked how I thought they had done this year, he listened to my massive praise and one or two nit pickings with an earnest ear, giving all the impression that not only were my words being noted, they would be considered and acted on! Not due to my status as a writer (Cause really, who cares?!) but because I was a fan and family, and that was important to him. The Cashels and Moody are about caring for their guests, and giving of themselves. This whole weekend is a celebration of the cycle of life, the harvesting of the food (Or Love) grown throughout the year. Properly tended, the crops yielded from loving tending will nourish the bodies of the tribe in the long cold months ahead, while the soul is fed by the diet of love and music provided on the stages and in the field and rolling vistas of Terrapin. Come next year and see why I call this place home!
www.terrapinhillfarm.com
Rex-A-Vision
The day started with bright skies and tired bones and tortured moans from the just awakening campgrounds, as the late night festivities and the weekend as a whole had taken a toll on all in attendance. I rose early, and made my way to the Chapel stage alone, in deathly fear of missing my absolute favorite rap duo, MC Sparkplug.
I had run into them the night before, during the Dark Star set, and was happy to have a few moments to rage with my favorite titanic twosome. It seems that that raging affected a brain cell or two in Tony’ head and they were a mite late to the start of their own set. Luckily, the next act, The Barry Mando Project was suffering from the same fate, as one of their members was running behind as well, giving Sparkplug a chance to get their set in. Bobbing and weaving in the old school way, Tony brags and boasts in a larger than life persona, while his partner Lanie retorts and supports, ground his silliness with an earthy languid style and a sweet sexiness that gives the duo a balance and fun most acts lack. A favorite of all in attendance, especially the children, two of which were invited onstage to help provide a bit of visual style, their lyrics were as always playful and profound. Closing the set with a rousing and completely unexpected medley of Disney classics “Hakuna matata” and “Under the Sea” Mc Sparkplug left the stage smiling and sent, giving their all in the short slot.
The Barry Mando Project kicked off immediately thereafter, and brought a jazzy energy that I had been desperate for, and took the whole day to a place far funkier than any other all fest long. Great stuff, these guys have a real future. With only to acts remaining, I took a last walk of the grounds, saying goodbyes to al the friends and family in attendance. Living as close as I do to the farm, and knowing everyone in attendance practically made this a long affair, and a bittersweet one. Though the partings were sad, that sadness was alleviated slightly by the sure knowledge that we would be back again come the next year.
Louisville natives and rock/bluegrass/jam ensemble The Vessel showed a new depth of sound and a serious jump in musicianship since the last I saw them, which was both invigorating and thrilling, since they were already a fine act to begin with. A sax and some funkier drumming added to their range,
and their stinged strummers seemed to relish their roles as the frontline of the sonic scapes being sculpted. Uplifting and inspiring upwards spinning jams, and a nice funky bottom, The Vessel hit the spot. I retired to the back of the hill to catch a little of Ekoostic Hookah, but, in fairness to them, while their set was not reaching me on any level, I was wied out and forty five minutes from both my bed and the return of one of my few remaining television obsessions. I manage to find Mr.Moody, the talent booker and all around organizational head for the fest. When he asked how I thought they had done this year, he listened to my massive praise and one or two nit pickings with an earnest ear, giving all the impression that not only were my words being noted, they would be considered and acted on! Not due to my status as a writer (Cause really, who cares?!) but because I was a fan and family, and that was important to him. The Cashels and Moody are about caring for their guests, and giving of themselves. This whole weekend is a celebration of the cycle of life, the harvesting of the food (Or Love) grown throughout the year. Properly tended, the crops yielded from loving tending will nourish the bodies of the tribe in the long cold months ahead, while the soul is fed by the diet of love and music provided on the stages and in the field and rolling vistas of Terrapin. Come next year and see why I call this place home!
www.terrapinhillfarm.com
Rex-A-Vision
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