I was finally at the Newport Jazz Festival. It was everything I’d imagined and more.

It will take me some time to get the booming of teeth-jarring bass out of my ears, the baking of the sun unhindered by humidity too high to allow sweat to do anything but focus ultraviolet rays, the smell of suntan lotion, the squish of water-soaked earth near the misters, or the absolutely amazing view of the seascape in all directions.

I am in no hurry to do so.

Day One

The first day was mostly spent learning what not to do on the second or third days. For those brand new: bring chairs. You will also want something in the order of shade, if you can manage it, as it will be at a premium. Water is everywhere. A place to stand out of the sun’s merciless punishment which is the payment for those who get there early enough to park and leave late enough to hear the headliners will be precious before long. But more than anything you will need to sit down at some point, unless you aren’t there for very long, or unless you happen to be a tree.

I also recommend going with a small group, if possible: say, four or five. This will allow you to see some shows with someone you know, see some shows by yourself, and to keep in touch with each other throughout.

Day One was probably characterized the most by the appearance of what I am referring to as the Polka Dot Cult Band. If you know who I mean, no more need be said. If you don’t, you can look it up: I am certain the Internet will be delighted to tell you what I’m talking about. I call them a cult band because, and this was new to me, they and their fans have developed hand symbols as  identification for followers of the group. Which is fine by me, as long as they don’t buy a compound in Waco or try to mix up a few gallons of kool aid in Jonestown.

I was in the front row to see this band: not because I was a particular fan, but because I was very interested in how they used their loop (and, I discovered, other) pedals. I was unsurprised to discover that I’m very much a nerd that way: I am at least as interested in the the band’s technical aspects and even the stagehands’ changeover procedure as I am the music itself. 

PS: The Newport Jazz Festival has their changeover procedures down.

There’s something truly magical about this stage. It’s unlike any other, and it’s no exaggeration to say I’ve been on thousands of them. The videos do it no justice. You can see what it looks like well enough, of course, but there’s a gravitas that’s missing from the videos when you see them, no matter how amazing the performances are.

It wasn’t until near the end of the day that it hit us: we were here, at one of the Meccas of jazz music, and one of the Meccas of live music festivals. This is the festival where Billie Holiday, Brubeck, Blakey, Ella, Ellington, Herbie, Jaco, and Zappa played. This is the stage where Stevie Ray, Ray Charles, B. B. King, Dr. John, Tito, and Maceo played. The history and legacy of this event, of this institution, and of this soil took a while to hit us.  Once it all did, it shot up through the earth like roots running in reverse, and its tendrils grabbed our brains and held us in place, just for a moment, to remind us of all that’s been here before and all that the future has to offer.

Day Two

One of the first bands of the day is making people around me move. One couple in particular, I notice, is dancing in the exact same way as my heart. Their movement makes me overjoyed that I still get to breathe on this planet, and to hear this music, mixed to expert if not genius level. As I listen, I realize that this is what technology is for: to amplify love and joy and life, not to replace it with commerce, greed, or fear. 

Even as I type these words, I realize I could be saying them five, fifteen, fifty, or one hundred fifty years ago just as truly as today. The battle never ends, it seems, and so we must never stop putting love and joy first. People over profit, always.

I watch a pair of seagulls do their Seagull Thing of landing on a hot grill and snatching food from it. Then again, I have to wonder what the birds are thinking about this bone-rattling wall of sound that  covers everything in a half-mile radius. I suppose if I were a bird being subjected to this, I’d be rattled enough to play hopscotch on a pierogi-frying grill too.

There is a feeling of camaraderie here on Day Two, a feeling that (other than the Polka Dot Cult Followers) we’re pretty much all here for the same thing. I think one contributing factor might be because alcohol can only be consumed in specific places. It’s still there, but people aren’t just walking around like it’s Mardi Gras, stumbling into each other and spilling beer (or worse) everywhere. Even vaping and smoking, while certainly prevalent, is encouraged to be out of the way, and for the most part it is.

I believe that‘s one of the many things that’s remarkable about this event: that to some small extent, at least, it’s self-policing. People are generally accommodating. It’s very well organized, of course, which is crucial. That said, speaking as not only a security practitioner but as an organizer of many medium-to-large-scale events, I can tell you there are events where people are trying to get along, and events where people are trying to get over on each other. Mercifully, not to mention miraculously, this festival seems to be the former.

I can’t shake the idea that this all works because, again, there’s a spirit of non-capitalism here: a sense that the music does the talking. Indeed, most MCs introduce the bands as briefly as possible, saying exactly that: “I’m going to shut up and let the music do the talking”. This Festival seems to live on the border of two worlds: one world of large scale event management, and one world where magic is there for the discovery.

Speaking of magic: I notice that the delay in the image on the main screen is just enough that near the back of the viewing area, it’s almost in sync, due to the time it takes for the sound to travel back that far. I can’t believe that’s intentional, but if it is, that’s some almost conspiracy-theory-level physics and sound/video engineering. I’m almost sure it’s coincidental, but only almost, and in that margin of uncertainty resides magic.

I forgot to mention: there’s a very good age diversity here. Racial diversity, perhaps not so much – it could be worse, but it could be much better.  It is New England, after all. 

By complete coincidence, I spend the last song of the day standing next to the same two people that started the day dancing next to me. My Apollonian appreciation of this event balances their most Dionysian expression. It’s a good way of reminding me that we’re all connected, one way other another, and that we all travel through cycles. 

This is a good cycle. Let’s keep it in motion.

Day Three

Looking out over the landscape, you’d be forgiven for thinking the final day is starting more quietly than the first two. Don’t believe it. All three stages kicked off with fire. One of them was made up entirely of local musicians, which (being local) I truly appreciated.

Again I run into the people that were dancing next to me yesterday. It’s a large venue, but thankfully small enough to see people a few times throughout the event. This large-but-small phenomenon reinforces the idea that we’re all at the same party. It would be so easy to devolve this into a naked money grab. It is a testament to the organizers and staff and the Newport Jazz Foundation that it does not.

An older white couple are dancing like they’re both having the same life-threatening epileptic seizure, clearly having more fun than they know how to manage. A group of twenty somethings play hackysack in the corner. A young middle aged black woman moves from her beach blanket near the dance area and gets up and shows the rest of the area how it’s done, returning to her blanket from time to time but otherwise commanding this corner of the dance area. This festival – this place – knows what it is, and is showing itself to the people who are here for the first time, and is welcoming back the people who are returning.

A bandleader talks about the end of the world, and says “The real end of the world will be characterized by the end of sensing. When these things happen and we feel nothing about it.” Heed these words.

Definitely, this is the day that we wish we’d prepared better against the sun and heat. I got a chance to sit in a tent, watching the next band set up, soundcheck, and play. It could have been an elementary school drum and xylophone corps for all I cared at that point, but it turned out to be an intriguing jazz collective from LA. Airplane seats have more room, you understand, but by that point I couldn’t have cared any less. And yet, perhaps that’s another part of the plan: to cram strangers together in the name of a shared love and have them emerge friends. It worked, but there has to be a better way.

Speaking of crowds, an event like this helps me realize what it must be like for people with stage fright or social anxiety. I don’t do well in crowds, myself. The primal urge to run away from them woke up every now and then, but when it did, I was able to recognize the need to balance discomfort with discovery. I wonder if everyone with a similar affliction copes by using some variant of that theme?

Flea got on stage. I didn’t know what to expect, but it was very impressive. Also: Flea plays trumpet? 

He went on a monologue in the middle of his set that contained something along these lines: “Build a bridge [to understand and reach each other]. That’s where the courage is. Everything besides love is cowardice. It’s easy to be angry. Peace and love take courage and bravery. Shine your light. Shine your truth.” It seems he was quoting someone, possibly himself, because he ended his speech with “I forget all the fucking words, but it doesn’t matter. You know what I’m talking about.”

The festival ended with Herbie Hancock, about which I could write as much as I have on everything else put together. I can say this much: it was almost as much fun watching the crowd, dancing in the rain, as the band itself. This final scene is actually a good way to sum up the entire weekend as a testament not only to the crowd, but to everything and everyone that brought us all together on this increasingly soggy patch of seaside grass. 

I am inexpressibly grateful to have been a part of this magic and brilliance. May the soul of this festival, and of music itself, continue to spread out over a sick and broken planet, and may it heal us all.