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Music for All Y’all

Bluegrass rules at seventh annual Camperfest

by Paige M. Travis

In 1997, East Tennessee wasn’t quite the bluegrass mecca it is today, in large part because Camperfest hadn’t yet been invented.

WDVX was on the air, broadcasting its ‘grass-heavy blend of tunes from a small camper parked in the Fox Inn Campground in Norris. The first several music festivals, dubbed Camperfest, were held in the camper’s front yard, a stage established on one side with a grassy slope leading toward the camping and picnic area where impromptu jam sessions would commence during, between and after the main sets.

After four years of growing pains, realized in an increasing number of local, regional and national performers of bluegrass, folk and country persuasions—as well as a bigger audience to accommodate—C-fest was relocated to the Dumplin Valley Festival site in Sevier County. A mile away from Smokies Baseball Stadium, Dumplin Valley is a farm, complete with silos and—most importantly—a covered stage that holds up to 500 people in all kinds of weather.

“It’s a way more workable situation,” says Tony Lawson, the station’s general manager. With a permanent stage, dressing rooms for musical acts, and plenty of parking and camping facilities, Dumplin Valley has allowed Camperfest to become a three-day event with up to 25 performing acts. This year those three days are Thursday, Saturday and Sunday to accommodate the It Came From Kentucky bluegrass concert on Friday night at Smokies Stadium (see spotlight). On Saturday the station will be shooting footage for its Tennessee Saturday Night program that airs three times a month on local public television station WKOP. The clips should turn up on the show sometime in June, Lawson says.

The radio signal no longer originates in that cute white camper with the two-tone orange racing stripe; broadcasting duties shifted to a brick-and-mortar location in Andersonville in 2003. But the longtime emblem of the little-station-that-could will host the on-air broadcast of the festival.

A deepening appreciation for the bluegrass arts along with the no-profit station that brings it to area ears has built Camperfest into the major event it’s become. It’s a fundraiser for WDVX as well as a continuation of the station’s mission.

“We work with a lot of bands who want to work for the radio station to help us out because it’s like a reciprocal thing,” Lawson says. “It’s a celebration for this kind of music. We help the artists, and they help out the station.”

In 1997, East Tennessee wasn’t quite the bluegrass mecca it is today, in large part because Camperfest hadn’t yet been invented.

Lizza Connor
A one-woman show

At 25, Lizza Connor is at a crossroads in her life and career. Her debut record Runaway received a number of accolades from the press and the fans she’s captivated through a few jaunts across the Southeast. But fans and blurb-happy journalists don’t pay a woman’s bills. At the beginning of 2004, Connor was weaning herself off her day job as a writer/editor to become a full-time musician. In her online journal, she wrote that her New Year’s resolution was to “wholeheartedly embrace the unstable nature of my present state.” She laughs when the words are read back to her.

“It’s a daily process,” she says, acknowledging the ever-changing state of acceptance and panic. At a previous time she was working fulltime, finishing up the CD, playing gigs. Doing everything on her own led to exhaustion. She knew something had to give if she was going to keep her sanity and pursue her musical aspirations. Her Nashville network of friends and colleagues started echoing a notion that could have been construed as a dare: they’d take her seriously when they saw proof of her full-time commitment to music. Connor knew her devotion should go to the next level.

“I knew it was time for me. In order to be the best musician I can be, I need to practice eight hours a day,” she says.

When Connor was growing up in Florida, the blacksmith who took care of her family’s horses was also a songwriter. Dennis Dunn became her mentor and stressed that, to find success, she’d need to develop all her skills—to sing, write and play guitar.

“He wrote beautiful songs, and he was such a great role model. He’d always say, ‘Lizza, you can’t depend on anybody. You have to learn how to be a one-woman show.’”

Ten years later, she’s found out exactly what that means. At times she’s been overwhelmed by the countless responsibilities that fall into the lap of a “self-contained” musician. “I thought I had to do everything all at once—be my own publicist, plus gigging and writing,” she says. To keep from panicking, she’s internalized some more advice: “My friends who have been in the biz have said, ‘With every job you’re planning for your future. But you can’t think too far ahead because you’ll burn out.’ Now, I really have to step back and do what I can on a daily basis.”

Her Saturday slot at Camperfest is a vote of confidence from one of her earliest fans, Tony Lawson. The WDVX founder received her CD via his friend, an art professor at Carson Newman College, where Connor was a student. Lawson played her songs on the air, invited her to perform live in the studio and served as a musical tutor.

“He gave me my first copies of Lucinda Williams and Fred Eaglesmith,” she says, two songwriters whose capacities for storytelling have certainly influenced Connor’s visually evocative and emotional lyrics.

Multi-instrumentalist Dave Scott will join her onstage, accompanying her on mandolin, dobro, hammered dulcimer—whatever Scott sees fit to pull out of his bag of tricks. Connor counts herself lucky that her friend had a few days free; he’s a “road warrior” who’s usually playing backup for multiple bands.

Although she’s flanked on all sides by numerous bluegrass bands at the festival, she’s not afraid of fitting in or gaining the attention of the crowd.

“I love festivals,” she says. “It’s way relaxed, and everybody’s there hanging out and listening to the music and having a good time.”

At the Sewannee Spring Fest in Florida, Connor was both a player and audience member. People lounged in chairs, blankets and hammocks across the lawn among giant live oaks. She watched as Guy Clark, Doc Watson and other artists took the stage and played to a rapt audience. She felt encouraged that these men, these legends, still only needed good stories and a guitar to keep a crowd’s attention.

With the second half of 2004 ahead of her, Connor is looking at some publishing deals and further touring in the Southeast. Music City, she says, has treated her well.

“In Nashville it’s very easy to be a pessimist because there’s so much competition and so many great people who don’t make it. And it’s such a town of dreams it’s easy to remain hopeful. You never know who’s going to walk into a room.”

Sarah Pirkle
Tips from a Camperfest pro

Sarah Pirkle and Jeff Barbra have been playing Camperfest since the festival’s inauguration. In addition to being a fiddler, Pirkle also serves as the festival’s stage manager, which allows her to meet ‘n’ greet all the artists. But, she points out, everyone else at Camperfest also gets a fair shot to ogle or shake hands with a star.

“The general public usually gets to meet them because the bands walk around and watch the show and visit,” she says.

Having been a part of so many Camperfests, Pirkle has a unique perspective on the festival. She says the best part of the event is “hangin’ with the folks in the audience. It’s one great big party with many different kinds of people, including, but not limited to: pickers, bikers, kids, grandparents, teetotalers, drinkers, my Mom and Dad, teenagers, ladies with big hair, men with big hair, former local music legends, luthiers—that’s instrument makers—artists, preachers, deejays, and on and on.”

Sometimes Pirkle and Barbra have chosen to stay overnight in the campground. Pickin’ parties and impromptu potlucks can spring up among campers, making the middle of the night some of the best parts of the festival, she reports.

While rain isn’t always the most welcome guest at an outdoor fest, the covered stage area can hold up to 500 people. One of Pirkle’s favorite moments happened during inclement weather at last year’s ‘Fest.

“It came a big one right in the middle of Darrell Scott’s set. He just worked with the storm, used it basically as background for songs. It was a truly magical moment in live music history,” she says, adding, “And I have seen a few of those in my time.”

Her advice to those who fear they’ll melt in a mere drizzle? “Just bring a rain jacket and an umbrella and you’ll be fine. If you can’t handle getting a little wet, then you aren’t dedicated enough and you should stay home and do your nails or some such.”

King Wilkie
Doing things the old way

Reid Burgess and Ted Olney fell in love with bluegrass at a festival in Ohio. After hours of fast-and-furious picking and high lonesome harmonies, their systems were vulnerable to the bug that catches more than its share of young musicians. Burgess already owned a mandolin—“I didn’t really know how to play anything on it,” he recollects—but after this festival, he returned to it with a renewed fervor. “I had a Bill Monroe CD I listed to in my car for about a year.”

In a clear case of musical immersion leading to relocation, Burgess and Pitney packed it up for Charlottesville, Va. From there they recruited other band members from outlying regions. The six-member band, dubbed King Wilkie after bluegrass innovator Monroe’s favorite horse, set to perfecting their approach.

“I got interested in music because I was looking for something real,” he says, admitting that it’s “an illusion that anything old seems real.” But listeners—be they musicians or not—are drawn to what seems familiar, a new twist on an old tune.

“New bands like the White Stripes or the Strokes are popular because it seems like a back-to-basics thing that they’re doing,” he says. “I think people are looking for something different.”

Styles come back around. Some might argue that the recent popularity of bluegrass is a fad, as likely to change suddenly as the current predominance of hip-hop on the pop charts. Burgess argues that musicians play—and listeners seek out—the sounds that strike an emotional chord. This rule governs the covers they choose, like “Blue Yodel #4” by Jimmie Rodgers and the traditional “Little Birdie” on their debut disc on Rebel Records, Broke.

“Those are just songs that spoke to us,” he says, stressing the importance of also making those songs their own. The playing of bluegrass is a technical challenge, but Burgess doesn’t want to be a carbon copy of his idols.

“We don’t like going up there and playing Stanley Brothers songs, as musical tourism,” he says. “The goal is to try to get inside the song whether we wrote it or not.”

King Wilkie’s brand of bluegrass has a clean, open sound most reminiscent in tone and production of the Del McCoury band’s recent recordings. Burgess’ songwriting contributions are “It’s Been a Long Time” and “Goodbye So Long,” which has the lonesome, heartbreaking tone of the best Hank Williams. His tunes, along with Pitney’s four, fit so well alongside those 40 years their senior that it’s hard to tell which are classics and which are brand new. These young men, who range in age from 21 to 26, have done their homework.

“When we were starting out, we were really studying the stuff,” Burgess says. Learning about the history of your music is important “at least as a starting point,” he says, particularly if you’re already coming from another tradition, like rock or jazz.

At the height of promoting Broke, which was released in April, the band is looking forward to a summer full of festivals. “I don’t think we’re going to be home all summer,” he laments. The saving graces: appreciative audiences and their air-conditioned van.