Reminding Myself Why I Haven't Gone to Home County in like DECADES!

Went to the Home County Folk Festival last night. That's 'Folk' as in Folk Music for any of you out-of-staters who may be reading this. As for 'Home County'? Your guess is as good as mine. For one thing, correct me if I'm wrong, but London, Ohio is located in Middlesex County. But then again, since this whole Home County Festival was dreamed up by a bunch of hippies in the early 1970s, maybe it has more to do with being in a certain 'county of mind,' if you know what I mean - and been smoking.

It certainly ain't my home county. My home county is that of Essex. And I grew up in the county-seat, which was Windsor, Ont. My family moved here in 1975 because of job-promotion reasons. I was 19 or 20, maybe 21 and chose to come with them because I wanted to go to Grade 13 and finish my high-school educayshiown. Like Jethro Bodine, I'm a slow learner. And my prosects for staying in Windsor were to try and land a job in an auto-related factory or die an early death of drug and alcohol abuse which seemed to be becoming a pattern with most of the people I went to high-school with.
Having never been fond of work and having just read 'The Godfather,' 'Animal Farm' and 'Love Story,' the same year in English class, I chose London.

And for the most part, have never regreted it. I can't stand the way this town is run. Our municipal politicians are such a joke that I usually vote for Ivan for Mayor, and with a few exceptions, the local media covering all this stuff is even more of a joke. And don't even get me started on local AM-radio talk show hosts.

That all said, I truly do like it here. I feel comfortable here. The city itself is just as sprawling mess, but at its core, it's the biggest small town in Canada. For better or worse. It's like Mayberry. Or that small town in that 'Twilight Zone' episode where the guy nods off on his commute train ride home every night and dreams of being in a place called 'Willoughby.'

And even though we moved to Bryon, meaning I went to Saunders for Grade 13 (then, easily the snootiest school in town - "Ohhh, we're so cool - our school is only three years old. And we're all Westmount jocks and bitches. And you hillbillies from Byron don't even live in London." ... I came to like it here. I met Mavis here. I met friends who have been with me for over three decades. I feel like a London native. But in this town, if you happen to be transplanted, that means you have to have lived here a minimum of two decades before you have the right to bitch.

Well, I've paid my dues. And then some. So let's get back to the topic at hand. Cockburn.

Mavis wanted to go see Bruce Coburn at the Folk Festival last night. Even though I took here to see him a quarter-century ago because I really wanted to see his opening act, Jane Siberry who was then the Next Big Thing thanks to 'Mimi on the Beach.' So this time I wasn't too keen on going because I'd seen him before But even though Mavis was going with her friend Aleisha (who has actually seen Bruce twenty times already) apparently my presence was expected.

I didn't kick up too much of a fuss. Because after all, there are a lot worse fates than having to go listen to a Canadian icon for FREE on a Saturday night. Heck, it would be worth it for 'If I Had a Rocket Launcher' alone. And even though I was disappointed that the looming thunderstorm never did show up and I had just poppped 'Pulp Fiction' into the VCR, I didn't struggle when Aleisha showed up to drive us down.

And as we walked through Victoria Park, I was immediately reminded as to WHY I haven't been to this particular summer festival in decades.

... a little background info here. When we moved here in the summer of '75, as a new kid in town (meaning 'no friends,') I heard about the folk festival and took the bus downtown for the opening Friday night. I had recently gone through my lumberjack phase (it just so happens that I was a Junior Forest Ranger, you know. Stationed two hours north of Wawa,) and as far as I was concerned, no one spoke to my heart and soul more than Mr. Neil Young.

So I went to Victoria Park that night with the right attitude. At that time, there were maybe a handful of booths selling crafts and shit on the borders of the park. In fact, the first time me and Mavis went there we bought a couch out of a bus that Layman House had parked at the side of Wellington. As for food venders, it was all local stuff and restaurants. I still remember placing my order at the Smales Pace booth, waiting for it to be made and then the chick working there finally yelling out, "Hey, where's the cat that wants the cobs?"

Corn on the cob in hand, I sat down on the grass in a big area between the walkways and had a good view of the stage. It was just far enough away that you could hear the music if you wanted to - or carry on a conversation without being distracted - if you didn't want to. It was right in the middle of that walkway in front of the seating area to the bandshell and the walkway close to Wellington. Far enough in between that when the cops did their hourly walk-thru, they wouldn't be able to smell any mary-jane or see your wine-skin. It was *that* cool. I was too young to make it to Woodstock but I had been to one of the first "Be-In"s on the Easter weekend in Vancouver a couple of years earlier and I gotta tell ya, Home County was the real deal.

Mavis and I got married a coule of years after that and would go down there on the opening Friday night and then Sunday afternoon with her sister and my new brother-in-law to sit in the same spot and dig the scene. That was good for about five years. And then children came. And it just wasn't fun anymore.

And part of the reason it stopped being fun was because even by the early 1980s, it was becoming apparent that the emphasis was now on Craft booths and expensive fast-food stands. Took my own kids there for a walk-through one Saturday afternoon when they were still pre-schoolers. And just hated it.

Mobs of people from the suburbs and as for the music, it just served as background noise. Certainly 98-per-cent of the people there couldn't care less about the music. They were there because they wanted to go to a Craft show. Or because their wives made them.

Well, truth be told, I originally didn't go there for the music either. I don't really like 'folk' music. Mostly because to get anything out of a song, you actually have to listen to the words. And because most of the performers consider themselves to be such precious f_in' poets, they wouldn't know a good hook, riff or melody if 'El Kabong,' himself banged them over head with his guitar.

But I like Bruce Coburn. He *does* know how to pen a tune that will stick in your head. So I didn't mind going last night.

Only to get there and immediately noticed that where Mavis and I used to sit - in the middle of that green space with a clear view of the bandshell - the view was obstucted by a non-ending string of French-Fry sheds and tented craft booths where women with bad teeth and guys with receeding hairlines and pony-tails sell clocks set in wood.

Particularly galling was the fact that the widest of these tents blocking the view of the stage was the one for "Home County Folk Festival INFORMATION." Nearby was a big aluminum shack selling 'Funnel Cakes' - a franchise operation based out of Toronto. Come to think of it, I didn't notice too many locally-based food vendors. And for sure, any cat hankering for a cob would be out of luck.

Anyhoo, our friend Aleisha wanted to be close so she could see Bruce's face and an hour before show-time we grabbed the very last available spots in the seating area in front of the bandshell.

Five minutes before Bruce is scheduled to step on stage for his 9:35 performance (only in London, Ohio would we advertise the time as '9:35' - because people might get pissed and leave it he isn't on the stage at precisely 9:30,) and right on cue, the assholes show up to STAND in front of the people who had staked out their spots two hours earlier. Now, the only view they had was of the expansive backsides of demin-clad lardassness.

At that point I said 'Screw this shit,' made my apologies to Mavis and Aleisha and excused myself and went to spend the rest of the concert hanging out with my pal Al and his wife Merrilee at 'Lighthouse Dogs,' their hot-dog stand on the north-west corner of the park at Richmond and Central across the road from Joe Kools. Incidently, I can highly recommend their sausages.

I've known Al since moving to this town 35 years ago. Never in that time was I able to talk him into going to Home County. But due to work-committments he was there last night. We smoked, we laughed, we had a pop and he indulged me by pretending that my Rodney Dangerfield impressions were actually good.

I had the time of my life. And afterwards when Mavis and Aleisha joined us after the concert, they said the show was great. Like I said, I've seen Bruce before, and you wouldn't expect anything less than the best from the man. He's a professional. But he didn't do 'If I Had a Rocket-Launcher,' so I don't regret missing him.

... In closing, if this review of the concert is insufficient, here are a few choice lines from the review in the London Free Press written by reporter Jennifer O'Brien. I like Jen. She's one of my favorite writers down there. But she normally covers the education/ethnic/occassionally the police beat. I'm guessing the two-person Entertainment Department of the Freeps must have had the night off.

But here's some of what Jen noted - "The audience filled the bandshell area ... and then spilled out beyond it, even onto the grass behind walls of vendors."

... "Even those who weren't luck enough to see Cockburn were happy." 'This is incredible, it's amazing,' said Jeff Scott, a fan who had come with his wife Sandra from Toronto for the free event. Though the couple had been at the park all afternoon, they ended up catching the show from a bench with a Funnel Cakes vendor between them and the stage. 'I caught glimpses of him through the booth,' he laughed."

Geez, talk about deja view. And THAT'S why I probably won't be going back. Unless they book Andy Kim.