Not a lot to write about tonight besides Folk Fest version 3.
Lafayette Gilchrist and the New Volcanoes doing a tribute to go-go and D.C. Slick, lunch at Croaker's Spot (chicken wing basket with fries and cornbread), Wild Ponies doing a Patsy Cline cover and the heart-wrenching "Truthless."
A guy in the Port-Potty next to me burping big time and then saying "'scuse me" to no one in particular.
Hip-hop artist Supaman in full native American regalia, spouting corny jokes like a comedian in Atlantic City or, worse, a vaudevillian.
The Mayans who came down the pole on ropes (annoying guy behind me as they wound the ropes: "I hope this isn't going to be super-anti-climatic") and the incomparable Debashish Bhattacharya doing a different set than yesterday to a far noisier crowd. A pity.
Not to mention the Holmes Brothers absolutely killing it with effortless blues musicianship and scratchy old vocals, with me dancing all the while they played.
Random hoodies and t-shirts: "Vegan Muscle Team" and "Abs of Ale." I'll leave it to your imagination what the wearers looked like.
Spotted en route: the man about town, the neighbors pushing a stroller, the sax player, the chef and his co-owner.
Best summation of Friday's opening rainy night performances: "It was a private show for the few."
Another year of Folk Fest over, another year of sterling entertainment. A good time was had all three days.
Still, some days 'tis better to under-share. Pity.