Woodstick Kee to Bala Bala, Ontario July 13, 2001 Woodstick is a little festival I hadn't heard a breath about before I arrived in Toronto. It was actually my very first night in Toronto where I met up with the event's promoters at a house party I inadvertently ended up at. The line-up consisted of a couple popular Canadian rock bands and a few independent bands I had no prior knowledge of. A week later, I was hitching a ride with Nigel, one of the band's bassists up to Bala. It was a longer trek than I anticipated, especially with stopoffs to pick up equipment and other band members. We got into Bala in the early evening, and I have to say it wasn't what I expected, even though I'm not really sure what I was expecting. Bala is a pretty small place by the looks of it. I assume there was a bit more of a town somewhere farther along the road from where the Kee was right on the lake, but in the immediate area, there was a heritage hotel, two pizza places (same chain), a gas station, a clothing store, and a coffee shop. Off in the distance was the Bala water tower, these towers being a staple in every Ontario city it seems. The Kee itself was tucked in beside the coffee shop/ticket office, and was essentially a converted house-barn. Painted colonial-white and boasting some lovely detailing on roof overhangs and lanterns, with a large deck jutting out over a dock and the waters of Bala Bay, it seemed an unlikely concert venue. But the unique atmosphere has made the Kee a well-loved showplace, housing some pretty large acts over the years. Random members of the six bands were wandering around outside the building, waiting for their turn for soundcheck. With the doors opening two hours away, not even one band had checked yet. Out back on the deck, wiry Warner Music rocker j. englishman was fiddling with his pedal board; unmistakable members of See Spot Run were sitting about amongst the band vans and cars that packed the driveway; the guys from Cleavage took a brief dunk in the chilly lake (on a fairly cool and overcast day) before killing time on the side lawn tossing a football around. I meandered into the building to take a look around. Inside, the room was large, cavernous, a peaked roof in the centre, all the beamwork exposed, with a second level balcony circling the three sides of the building opposite the stage. The floor was recessed by three steps, and the raised area around it contained tables and chairs, a snack bar at the back, and the booze bar at the side, decorated like an old shack. The stage itself was enormous, and a good six feet tall, with a slight overhang at the front. Anticipating a large crowd, I began getting concerned about being shoved underneath that overhang. But that could be dealt with later… Shortly after englishman's soundcheck, I joined the band in an overpriced, underfilling meal of a single pizza slice, and then headed back to the Kee with them to prepare for the show. What was missing from outside the venue was a throng of excited people, waiting to get into the show. A couple of sponsor vehicles had pulled up and parked on the front lawn, but there seemed to be far more people walking around with VIP wristbands than there were regular spectators. Everyone was a bit on edge about this, but agreed that it was quite early, and perhaps more people would show up for the headliners. So, grab a beer, settle in, and wait for the show to start. The first band up was Rubberman, who had played on the side stage two weeks earlier at EDGEfest. While this is a band that certainly doesn't blow me away, they are quite competent, and put on a classically rock-like show, complete with making faces at the crowd and a singer who has no problems leaping off the stage to run around on the floor and sing to people for a while. I learned later that Rubberman is an IndieBlast alumni, and that, in fact, two other bands playing the show that day are also IndieBlast artists. For those who aren't aware, IndieBlast is a five-year-old Toronto-based company, partnered with the Bhurr Records label, who do a killer job of promoting new Canadian talent. They host monthly independent shows at affiliated clubs in a number of cities across the country, and put together websites and EPK's for bands, as well as release a yearly compilation CD featuring twenty or so current artists. They also have a wealth of knowledge and connections to get bands on their feet, hooked up with music festivals, opening slots for major concerts (the Molson Amphitheatre in Toronto has given them a stage area to have bands play before and between sets on the mainstage, for acts such as Bon Jovi, Barenaked Ladies, Simon and Garfunkel….), and a 'schooling' program about the business end of things. Rubberman is the first band to 'graduate' from IndieBlast and get signed onto a major label. They really did an exceptional job considering the absolute lack of people in the place. It didn't look like it was filling up with stragglers either. Next up was Cleavage, which I think is really quite a wonderful band name. These guys seemed to be the most exuberant bunch of guys in the place, and they weren't hard to miss. Certainly the prettiest collection of faces all night long, the boys were all lithe, pierced, tattooed, make-up'd and stylish. Not over the top in any of these regards, mind you. They played a loud and barreling breed of rock, and in the centre of the floor, a collection of the band's wives and girlfriends clustered to dance and sing. It's sad to say that at this point, there were still so few people in the place. Despite this, I really enjoyed what the band put forth, and would like to be able to see them in a situation that's a little bit more in their favor. They had a fair bit of attitude on stage, and had one of the better uses of the space they had up there all night. At this point, myself and the other photographers and videographers had stage access to shoot, and I have to say that I was a bit displeased with how some of them ran back and forth on the stage to take their imagery. Zygote, one of the other IndieBlast artists on the night, were up next. These kids get extra points for the interesting array of instruments they used. In addition to a standard drummer, they had an extra percussionist who beat away on bongoes, congas, chimes, and other various tricks and toys. Otherwise, they are fairly unassuming. Again, not a bad band, but neither can they claim anything decidedly unique in their music, nor can they fall back on a really exciting performance or characteristic looks. This is, in my opinion, *just another independent rock band.* Still playing to a mostly-empty room, SoHo Kitchen now took the stage. Another band affiliated with IndieBlast, it also contains Michael Bandack as a singer, who was part of the promotional team of Woodstick. This guy is an incredible vocalist, fronts an extremely talented band, and can make one hell of a burrito from scratch. Their music, while still easily-accessible rock, has a certain unique strength to it that really makes it feel more sincere than most contemporary music of a similar ilk. All night long, j englishman was dashing about madly as a last-minute stage manager. He seemed to be enjoying his power running the show, but at the same time, was almost impossible to talk to and sort of irritated all night. He did manage to have things running rather smoothly though. The set changes were fluid and swift, and everyone seemed to be well-informed as to what was going on. But still, despite the evening charging on without any technical glitches or time difficulties, the lack of anything resembling an enthusiastic crowd was taking its obvious toll on the artists and the promoters. Most of those in attendance were scattered around the outside of the floor, sitting on the stairs and watching with seemingly minimal interest, or else gathered up by the bar on the side, swilling bevvies and chatting with whomever was around. There was also a fairly large crew on the back balcony at all times, where there was a second, outdoor bar, and ample space to sit around and blab in a friendly, outdoor atmosphere, with the music leaking through walls as a soundtrack. It was now time for englishman to turn over his managerial duties in favor of a guitar at this point. Him and his four-member band, a completely different group of people from the last time I saw him play, came onto the stage somewhat silently. It was not hard to tell that englishman was fairly on edge about the lacklustre crowd, and he attempted to rile them up in true englishman-y fashion by more or less challenging them. At one point he stopped playing, stood back and said he wouldn't keep going til everyone got off their asses and onto the floor. It didn't really happen, and when it became apparent it absolutely wouldn't, he came forward again, said "Well, fuck you then!" and continued playing. Even though he was obviously miffed at the situation, it seemed to fuel him into a fiery performance. While one of the smallest guys you will ever meet, he can put forth an enormous energy and has one of the strongest voices in contemporary rock. For all his downfalls, no one can deny that he is a good performer and that he loves being in the spotlight. His band members this time around were also a great bunch. In particular, he had a bassist and a guitarist with him that could really rip it up. At the end of it all, the crowd politely clapped. This must hurt. Finishing off the night was See Spot Run. They had been absent from the building (or at least really good at hiding out) all night, and now sauntered onto the stage to begin what was ultimately the most cohesive set of the show. I can never claim to have been an enormous fan of them, but their skill as musicians and their experience as a more popular Canadian band showed immensely. They know what they're doing on stage. Their vocalist is awfully pretty, his black hair spiked as though a frightened porcupine were sitting curled up on his head. He dons tastefully-applied eyeliner and shimmering duds, and has a way of strutting around the stage with a pleasant and friendly look on his face. He makes contact with the crowd, even if they are completely unresponsive, and gives the impression that he's really having a lot of fun playing his music, even to so few people. Then there's Randy Bowen, the band's enthusiastic guitarist. A quirky little man, he has a completely bald head, wears thick black glasses, and colorful shirts that invariably match his bright socks, sandwiching a pair of shorts. And this guy will toss his hands around in the air and make such absurd faces - he's a joy to watch. Live, the music isn't much more interesting than it is on record, but they play it in such a way that you can't help but start shuffling around a little bit. If these guys could step up the fun music they're playing just another notch or two, they could be on top of the world. The sparse audience dispersed quickly after SSR left the stage. I joined in with the bar crowd, waiting to see what was going on with rides. Following the show was the giant, three-day kegger party at a cabin owned by one of the promoters . It was marketed in such a way as to really be an integral part of the Woodstick festival itself. There was an admission charge to come to it in addition to the Woodstick ticket price, and it was expected that there would be significantly more people at this than at the concert. After saying goodbyes to some people who weren't heading to the cabin and being outfitted with a poorly-photocopied map, I jumped back into the car with Nigel-the-bassist to head on over to the kegger. Being dark at this point, and quite in the middle of nowhere, we really had no idea where we were going. The roads we were led down seemed to be getting foggier, darker and narrower quite quickly. When we found the final road we were supposed to turn onto, we came across a house that had all the lights on and a lot of cars out front. We pulled in and asked a bizarre old fellow in his car if we were in the right spot. He just glared at us and told us we must be mistaken. We got out of there fast and kept on driving, and soon realized the old guy in the car was following us. Keep in mind we are on a single-lane road in the middle of a forest. We haven't passed another dwelling since the one where we talked to this guy. We're getting a little freaked out, and then he pulls out and passes us. Some relief - we keep driving. We just simply could not find the place until we were on the way back from where we had come from and ran into a few other cars all headed to the party. Together, we found the place, and it was already hopping. A large lot, and a gorgeous wood cabin tucked right in the little notch where a creek flows into a lake. In front of the cabin, a small and growing city of tents was set up, along with a bonfire and a keg stacked with plastic cups. Inside, people were splayed out all over cots, chairs, floors, anything they could find to settle into. It was a cozy and warm atmosphere, much different from the actual show. In a circle of chairs around a central table, a couple guys produced guitars and began a jam session and singalong of U2 and Stone Temple Pilots songs. (I spent most of the evening (when I wasn't outside getting beer) lying on a cot with six other people and watching what was going on. Even though the mass of the party crowd wasn't expected to show up until the following evening, Nigel and I left the cabin a bit begrudgingly at about eight in the morning. The full day was packed with ups and downs, and was generally good and friendly, despite the lousy concert turnout. The promoters, while obviously a bit upset by the outcome, remained in high spirits and were courteous hosts for all those who did attend. The music was good quality and well-executed, the venue was completely unique, and the experience was one I would never pass up.

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