Though the sky was overcast and grey to begin the day, no rain actually fell on the second annual Gasparilla Music Festival, the weather lightly breezy and coolish earlier in the AM, getting warmer, sunnier and slightly more humid in the afternoon, and dipping back down to a chilly windy 60s as the evening faded to night. Upwards of 9,000 Tampa Bay area folks were drawn in waves throughout the day to Kiley Gardens and Curtis Hixon Waterfront Park along downtown Tampa’s waterfront on Sat., March 9, 2013. Families spread out on blankets and low-slung chairs, kids ran free over the squares of grass and concrete at Kiley and wider expanses at Curtis Hixon, and a general relaxed mood prevailed.
Kiley was put to full use this time around, with ‘Tibbetts' Corner’ encompassing arts and crafts sellers, a Dickel’s Tennessee Whiskey booth that was hopping all day long, a big tented beer garden, and even a brand new ground-level Awesome Stage set up in the far corner, which I’m sad to say I never remembered to hit when someone was actually performing on it. Overall, there were generally more tent-shaded, more beer and alcohol choices scattered all over, and the addition of a bigger cordoned-off VIP area that encompassed about 15 feet of space in front of the Curtis Hixon stage and ran along the Tampa Museum of Art side of the park.
Myself – Leilani Polk – and a few other folks from CL (photographers Phil Bardi, Chris Spires aka Drunkcameraguy, and Daniel Veintimilla, and writers Julie Garisto and Arielle Stevenson) descended upon the event, wandering picturesque grounds slightly yellowed from the drought to take in all the sights and sounds and report back about it here. Our time-stamped accounts follow:
LANDING 1, 2:15 p.m. Much of my day was spent scurrying from stage to stage and bumping into a ridiculous number of music-loving friends, local musicians, and a few surprise faces I didn’t expect to see. We began our musical adventures at Kiley Gardens with The Wholetones, a Naples quartet that really knows how to bring the grits in a live setting with their style of ‘folkcore,’ which pretty much means they aren’t afraid to shred it out on acoustic instruments. Their straightforward roots-newgrassy aesthetic launches into jazz-soaked territories that sometimes have a gypsy/Mos Eisley Cantina appeal, all bouncy, menacing and exotic; or they let loose in Native American-tribal rocking passages ala Mike Patton’s Tomahawk; or they crush in technical arrangements with plenty of fast and furious string thrashing, picking and fret-flying shreds, Taylor Freydberg on resonant lower-toned vocals and acoustic guitar, Dorris matching him on banjo or guitar or jumping onto cello and raging staccato bursts of bow sweeps, while Russ Depa pounds upright bass and drummer/washboard scratcher Mayo Coates hits a sturdy backbeat that diverges into heavy double bass rhythms. They played a set that included tunes off new album The Alamo (self-released last fall) in front of a rather thick crowd of a few hundred who looked on in appreciation and in many cases, sheer amazement. There were some new Wholetones fans made day, and my own respect for the band grew ever higher. —Leilani
2:50 p.m. We made our slow way to eat, meet friends, and check out some of Corey Harris’ brand of rasta blues. I’d seen him back in '05 at the late Java Junction, really dug him, but didn’t recall why exactly until today. Rays of light filtered through the clouds as Harris led his four-piece (which included keysman Chris "Peanut" Whitley and Gordon Jones on soprano, alto, tenor and bari sax) through laid-back country-blues, scorching Delta rocking blues, bouncing and jiving New Orleans-flavored forays, and buoyant Afrobeat and reggae hopping and swaying odes full of brassy sunshine. Harris’ excellent, slide-easy ax work set the mood as much as his stirring soulful vocals that flowed over top of it.
We chomped pulled pork sandwiches and crunchy homemade potato chips from Holy Hog BBQ Food Truck, sitting many yards back from the stage, on the upraised portion of the park’s farther reaches and under the shade cast by an 80’x10’ tent. Our friends had set up a mini-camp that was frequented by multiple family groups and was completed by a tiny half-tent, blankets, and kids scampering and chasing each other around and in front of it, where others had set up their own hang sites. It was a nice, lazy feeling, all of us sitting back, chatting and enjoying the light breeze that, paired with the park’s natural amphitheater shape, carried the made-for-outdoors tunes right over to us. —Leilani
EATS CHECK-IN, 3-3:15 p.m. My feasting started with The Refinery’s Thai Pulled Pork Taco, and the “Indie” grilled cheese with Gouda and pears from the Independent Bar and Café. Next, I was formally introduced to the Ella's Americana Folk Art Café chicken and waffle cone, the handheld waffle cone filled with fried chicken, bacon, ranch dressing and big chunks of apple bacon jam. I dubbed it the greatest festival meal of all time. So far so good, and the music? Plenty fantastic as well. —Arielle
3:30 p.m. I’ve managed to miss the last few Nervous Turkey re-appearances, and certainly haven’t seen the high-octane blues-funk rock trio since frontman Ernie Locke had pacemaker surgery, so I was stoked to find his deep greasy growls, gut bellows and clambering presence still as huge as ever, even if Ernie himself has shed some noticeable pounds. His tube amp harp wailed and moaned, and he brought some boisterous humor to a hard jamming, disco funking version of “Low Rider,” the dance-grooving moments provided by organ ivories ace Mark Cunningham and beat-driver Aaron Fowler. And then Ernie started grumbling, “You better watch your step, ‘cause I’ve been drunk all day!” and shit hit the fan. We exited as it reached its abrupt-banging conclusion. —Leilani
DRINKS CHECK-IN, 3:30 p.m. I was greeted by a familiar face, Francesa Stockert from the Crowbar, at one of the beer tents. She poured me a frothy pint of Cigar City Jai Alai and made me immediately thankful for the absence of typical festival beers. Long live local brews!—Arielle
3:45 p.m. I left Nervous Turkey early to make sure I’d see Lord Huron, an LA act that hit my radar because of this fest. The fivesome’s lovely, gilt-edged folk pop melodies and anthemic driving Springsteenian indie rock is treated with a bright-glowing Afro-flavored buoyancy or expansive pastoral breeziness. They hit the stage late, but were worth the wait, their textured melodies and uplifting sound receiving a positive reception beneath the late afternoon sun. They performed tracks off 2012 full-length debut, Lonesome Dreams, their multi-voice harmonies ethereal, high-soaring chorales in songs like “Ends of the Earth,” or ascending in the sweet-stirring world-flecked calls of “Brother,” its heart-squeezing chorus — “Don’t turn away, don’t tell me that we’re not the same, we faced the fire together, brothers ‘til the end / Don’t run away, our time will come but not today, I’ll stand beside you brother, with you ‘til the end” — seeming to reflect the mood of community and fellowship that I, for one, was feeling at that particular moment. —Leilani
SWEETS CHECK-IN, 4 p.m. Lakeland’s Poor Porker served beignets, three to a brown paper bag, covered in a thicket of powdered sugar, and totally satisfying my sweet tooth. Tribune food writer Jeff Houck and I got “dusted” on beignets.—Arielle
DRINKS CHECK-IN, 5 p.m. The day turned a little warm, so I sipped on some boxed water and crunched refreshing Kona ice before heading down to Best Coast.—Arielle
LANDING, 4:45 p.m. It was my first GMF, and I arrived hungry, thirsty, and excited after spending the morning and midday working on my interview with Maestro Daniel Lipton of the Opera Tampa — who, quite by contrast, was conducting La Boheme at the adjacent Straz Center. We parked a few blocks away, in a remote, nearly empty $2 lot by Royal and Tampa streets, and hoofed it a few blocks to the fest. We had to play chicken crossing Tampa Street by the I-275 off-ramp, which made me wonder about volunteer crossing guards (and if that’s even permissible), and whether GMF organizers could get them to work a couple of hours on crossing duty in exchange for free admission and food coupons. Or they could request more TPD at intersections around the event. A few friends said they played chicken, too, and another told me her group dodged a car running a red light — and they weren’t jaywalking.
The crowd was overwhelming, but in a good way. I’m used to seeing people I know in public places, just not so many at once, from different spheres — as both attendees and volunteers sporting neon-green GMF volunteer shirts. CL visual arts critic Megan Voeller greeted me first as she helped facilitate the line at the main gate. After that, I ran into members of Jobsite Theater at The Refinery booth, and Philanthropic Young Tampa Bay co-founder Ann-Musoke Taylor and Tim Garding, a board member of Tampa Theatre, worked in the beer tent. The whole thing felt like one of those dreams with random people assembled in one place, and popped up unexpectedly. I even saw my next-door neighbor, her friend commenting "Tampa needs more of this.” I looked around and nodded in agreement. I felt the communal vibe. It was like we were a real city for once, with a real bona fide outdoor music festival that appeals to people who listen to all types of music, a range of reputable local and national acts; no fly-by-nights. —Julie
REFRESHER CHECK-IN, 6:30 p.m. We gathered to check out Felice Brothers at Kiley Gardens. Whatever Pops popsicle stand served ice cold treats nearby and I devoured a pineapple-and-veggie popsicle that the girl made sure to inform me had spinach inside. It was really tasty. I quickly ordered a second, this time an Earl Grey lavender lemonade flavor.—Arielle
5:15 p.m. Before Best Coast hit the stage, I started experiencing the random encounters that make music festivals fun, meeting new people, seeing old friends. Jerica Franklin Cooper and Courtney Cooper drove 100 miles from Sebring. CL Political Editor Mitch Perry stood by on the left side of the stage, around 50 feet away. He'd seen Best Coast in California and really enjoyed their show. As the band started, he didn’t appear disappointed. It was the first time I’d seen him dancing, and I really enjoyed that.
Singer Bethany Cosentino’s sounded more resonant without the gauzy effects, and overall, the band churned out more power than I had anticipated, rocking out garage-style like a solid four-piece with just a few off-tempo moments. With a slight rasp, Cosentino’s singing veered toward Janet Joplin — especially during her 'la-di-das.' Cosentino, whom I imagined to be a waify-sweet crunchy hipster girl, was more like a CBGB punk chick circa 1979 in a black top, magenta dotted skirt and black stockings. Likewise, her banter belied initial impressions, as she peppered the show with tongue-in-cheek, deadpan commentary — some of he most amusing moments of the fest. “I thought this was a pirate festival,” she blurted in lieu of a greeting. Cosentino also shared that she was on a “cool” high — like she was on methamphetamines. “That’s because I am,” she said after a pause. Another gem: “I have some shit on my shirt — it’s a tear.”
Soon after Cosentino reacted with surprise to horn sounds that got the crowd laughing. Turns out it was a guy playing a giant conch shell. “I don’t give a fuck. You can play that thing,” Cosentino commented, and invited him onstage, though he didn’t make it before the end of “No One Like You,” He blew his shell again later only to be admonished that the invitation was for one song only.
All in all, it was a solid showing but nothing that took me out of my game plan. Got to hear their hits “Something In The Way," “When I’m With You,” and “Boyfriend.” I was surprised at the number of people in the crowd who knew all the words.—Julie
6:15 p.m. Friend and musician Brian Schanck invited us to go see The Felice Brothers with them and we stayed for a few songs. I was familiar with the band but it had been a while since I listened to them. I was enchanted by their full sound replete with accordion and violin. It was a pleasant counterpoint to the rock n' roll from the show before. I enjoyed a few songs, but either because I didn’t know the words or they show wasn’t compelling enough, my boyfriend and I decided to grab a seat early for Sleepy Vikings. —Julie
6:45 p.m. We skipped around, caught a bit of Best Coast, Felice Brothers and Sleepy Vikings — which packed the mini amphitheatre to max cap, with lines of people waiting to get in and fill the seats of those who filtered out — and ended up at the Curtis Hixon Stage just in time to see Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears, frontman namesake wailing on a cherry red guitar as he ripped through odes off 2011 album Scandalous and howled over his band’s mix of forceful, funky-chugging blues, rock and soul music, all treated to a boost of tight R&B horn power by a three-piece section. It was one of those performances I expected to be good, but was still pleased it turned out to be so damn lively. The dance party had officially started, and it only continued as the sky grew ever darker. —Leilani
7:15 p.m. Just after dark, cool breezes set in, and we dipped into acoustically perfect Amphitheater Stage to see Sleepy Vikings play an acoustic set. The place was packed, and that made me smile. Friends waved hello. The band emerged sounding soothingly mellow but bright with their current lineup, minus NYC grad stuent Ryann Slauson, whom singer Tessa McKenna told the crowd she missed “more than life itself.” Their boy-girl harmonies, complemented by Jensen Kistler’s sparkly guitar, were the perfect soundtrack to a scene prettified by a moonlit Hillsborough River and UT’s minarets. McKenna looked gorgeous with her smart, dark short haircut, black bowler hat a la Boy George, lacy tunic and leggings, her outfit looked like something I wore in high school, ready to go out dancing at the erstwhile teen club Sky Feathers.
The sound cut out during their set and the band took it with good humor. Singer Stephanie Anderson joked that it was like the Super Bowl all over again. The group began to assemble to play the song unplugged, and the juice was restored only to go out a second time. The band began playing unplugged and everyone cheered. It certainly was “A Moment” for Sleepy Vikings fans and the music scene here in general. After, guitarist-vocalist Julian Conner announced that they were going to a play a "super brand new tune." McKenna asked us to clap even if it sucked. Conner added, "We can get honest feedback later." The song “Ironhead” was a touch somber but really good nonetheless. Lyrics like "We'll share a blanket as the wind howls through the gate / You'll be the bright moonlight I'll be the murky lake / And as my bones fuse to cage my heart inside my chest / Your hands will vine inside / I'm sorry, Ironhead.” —Julie
7:45 p.m. I caught the Ozomatli set and shook my tush gringa style to the L.A.-based Latin-flavored tunes, their mish-mash of funk, cumbia, salsa, etc. tends to sound a bit too cluttered for my taste on their recordings, but the band sounds much more effervescent live, booming with horns aplenty and insinuating beats. They played the tune “Paleta,” and the lyrics roughly translated are “suck on your Popsicle.” Stay classy, muchachos. —Julie
DRINKS CHECK-IN, 8 p.m. The Jai Alai and St. Somewhere beers are now tapped out. I settled (and I use this term loosely) for a pint of Cigar City Florida Cracker ale. Crisp and woody, it hit the spot as Dr. Dog took the stage.—Arielle
8:15 p.m. The highlight of my event, and the only show that grabbed me and didn’t let go, was presented by Dr. Dog. It was my fourth time seeing the band live. The only unfortunate part were audience members distracting me from enjoying the Philly boys' set. In what was a triumphant but annoying feat, fans broke the VIP barrier — an area too large and too unprotected, IMHO — and stormed the front area where I stood, with reporter notebook and pen scrunched, elbowed and yammered in ear by uninterested drunk girls. An incident with one particular drunk girl distracted me for the first half of the show, but when “The Breeze” came on, I just let the whole world melt away. Guitarist Scott McMicken’s plaintive lead vocal and singer/bassist Toby Leamon’s backup harmonies, along with the band’s airtight musicianship and catchy, infectious rhythms lured me back. Leaman on lead vocal was a sexy frontman, ladies. He was beyond energetic, oozing charisma with his mic-stand grabs and sweaty, evangelistic delivery. He took swigs from a plastic Fiji water bottle filled with whiskey as he belted tunes from band’s 2012 album Be The Void, which dominated. “Lonesome” got the crowd singing along. When Leaman delivered the recurring line, “What does it take to be lonesome?” the crowd shouted back, “Nothing at all!” —Julie
9 p.m. Scott McMicken dedicated "Jackie Wants a Black Eye" to Ella’s chicken and waffle cone. Well played. —Arielle
9 p.m. I was checking the zesty, party-vibing Latin-fused tunes of Ozomatli when I got a message about meeting one of my idols, Page McConnell, which sent me wheeling towards Curtis Hixon's backstage, where I ended up catching the last half of Dr. Dog’s thrilling, sky-rocketing performance standing directly on the side of said stage. It was my first time ever catching a show from this perspective, and staring out into the crowd of happy faces, many of them shouting along to Dr. Dog’s wailing, tooth-aching choruses, I finally got a taste of what it must feel like to experience that burst of love-filled energy from a big crowd of fans. It was, admittedly, pretty fucking cool and a little bit epic – from where I was standing, anyway. —Leilani
9:30 p.m. Of LA band Dawes, 77 Square writer Rob Thomas said, “I think the Los Angeles roots-rock band, despite their youthful looks, is actually made up of men in their mid 60s who first released all their songs back in the ‘70s.” I couldn’t agree more. Taylor Goldsmith and Wylie Gelber were heartfelt and spot on with their AM Gold-tinged sound, which one of my friends dismissed as “too mainstream.” It was more like universally appealing pop with folky undertones. I was pleased they played the anthemic and uplifiting “When My Time Comes" and left the fest feeling pleased with its Dawes ending. —Julie
SWEETS CHECK-IN, 10 p.m. The elusive Hot Donut Co. cart, near the festival entrance, had a line snaking down into the crowd by the time I made it over. Night has brought a chill to the air and I’d been waiting for a cup of coffee and hot donut all night. As it slowly disappeared into my mouth hole, I felt at peace with all in the world. —Arielle
10 p.m. My patience waiting for Page paid off in spades. Not only did I get treated to the onstage experience, I had the chance to welcome The Meters drummer Zigaboo Modeliste to town after he joined me to watch the latter part of Dr. Dog’s set, and then I got to shake hands with the aforementioned Page McConnell, Phish’s Chairman of the Boards and all-around ivories master, before he hit the stage with Modeliste, bass-slinger George Porter, Jr. and guitarist Leo Nocentelli, filling in the spot most often reserved for Aaron Neville. Then, I jogged to Café Hey, scarfed down a tasty pressed Cuban sandwich to fuel the energetic dancing I expected to be doing, which started promptly when Page and The Meter Men hit the stage and funked the place up with a dirty-skanky jam before opening the set with “Funky Miracle.” Porter’s hard bass thumped and grooved, Nocentelli’s guitar solos squealed, wailed or wah-wahed along as he laid it out easy and most skillfully, and tight rhythmic backing was held in firm place by Modeliste. The setlist included all older Meters material, like 1974’s "Just Kissed My Baby," Page holding Neville’s parts just fine, thank you, and sometime between “Cardova” and “You’ve Got to Change (You’ve Got to Reform),” there was a grimy dissonant instrumental exchange that turned into hard and heavy grinding jam. I shook my groove thang, smiled so much my cheeks hurt, and kept on smiling as I shimmied my way out to the beat of “Funkify Your Life,” bodily tired but mentally energized and supremely satisfied with how the second annual Gasparilla Music Fest had turned out. —Leilani
This article appears in Mar 14-20, 2013.