Iron & Wine ::: Photo by Brandrew Dice Clay

[ Editors Note: A local musician offered to write up his trip the No Depression festival on Saturday, and we accepted his offer. For now he and his photographer are using nom de plumes. -josh ]

By Sebastian Rootwell

It was a sunny and sticky Saturday afternoon at Marymoor Park for the brand-spanking debut of the No Depression Festival. Named after a current blog online music community and recently defunct magazine, the festival seems like a genius plan to spark some life into the now fourteen year old enterprise, what with the blossoming alt-country scene in Seattle. The crowd tends to be thirty-something and composed, a plastic cup of micro-brew affixed firmly in hand. We step over babies, blankets, and beers on our way to a spot front and center of the stage, where we would spend a majority of the next seven hours.

I arrive at 2PM with my partner in crime Brandrew Dice Clay. We missed out on Zee Avi’s set but arrive just in time for the No Depression All Star Revue, which is like a fantasy country rock team, put together by coach Don Slack. Mr. Slack is music director at KEXP, host of Swingin’ Doors, and an ubiquitous feature on the local music scene; a man whose tastes are bedded in a exhaustively deep knowledge of anything country and honky-tonk. Each song featured a different vocalist, ranging from the wounded, stark warble of Zoe Muth to the high-octane jug-thumping twang of the Maldives. The star of the set had to be Star Anna, pride of Ellensburg, Washington, and her rendition of “Joy” by Lucinda Williams. Note to whoever took the joy away from Star Anna: please, please give it back. She is quite incensed over the whole matter, and I fear for your life, and in fact, everyone’s life.

Jessica Lea Mayfield from Kent, Ohio was next to take the stage. I had heard her described as a hybrid between the alt-country and hipster scenes, and judging from their look and sound, I wouldn‘t disagree. She starts strong with the single “Kiss Me Again,” a song with lovely and detached ‘ahh ahh ahh ahhs’ in the chorus and outstanding guitar work by Jessica’s brother David, who gets both bass and guitars sounds as well as a formidable, mood-setting wash of reverb and feedback. But overall, her relentless apathy and clichéd lyrics suck the life from the stage. This is especially apparent when she plays a couple of songs alone, exposing some uncomplicated little ditties delivered with no particular charisma. We retreat to the shade.

Coming to the rescue was Nashville’s Justin Townes Earle, who’s got the kind of pedigree you can hardly shake a stick at. A no.2 pencil wrapped in a stone gray suit, a greaser’s hair and sunglasses, JTE’s swagger and style was pervasive from the moment he sauntered to the middle of the stage. Smiles abound as he absolutely rips through the set of honky-tonk tunes, keeping the energy piqued with his finger-picking, sing-along choruses and sly banter. Here is a born performer, an entertainer, a seducer, a story-teller. He is joined on stage by Cory Younts, mouth-harper extraordinaire, and their chemistry is unforced and fun, a beautiful thing to watch. A high point comes near the end of the set, when JTE remarks that his thumbnail is being held on by super glue. He recalls a phone-call with festival staff, where they asked whether he needed anything for the show. “Guitar strings, and, uh….super glue,” he says, grinning. And to us, winking, “That’s a good one, eh?”

Seattle’s own Jesse Sykes and The Sweet Hereafter follow the southern raucousness that was JTE, and the shift in atmosphere is nothing short of a sea change. Where JTE got hips shaking and toes tapping, Sykes’ music is dark and creeping - almost plodding - completely drenching the crowd in melancholy. Sykes herself is a beautiful and captivating presence, and together with the minimalist, haunting guitar work of Phil Wandscher, the sound is bleak and unique. I had a hard time, however, falling under any particular spell. Something about music so slow and sad when the sun is a million degrees and two inches from your head perhaps. To the shade again.

Next up is Patterson Hood, whose distinctive, friendly voice is the also fronts the Drive-by Truckers. On stage with him are the Screwtopians, which includes Will Johnson of Centro-matic, who played guitar, sang backup, and even fronted one tune. Patterson Hood as a lead-man is jovial and warm: he’s a large man with a kind smile, a happy demeanor and an arsenal of utilitarian rock tunes. But ultimately it was good not great; at no point did Mr. Hood reach out and shake me with any particular emotion. Halfway through the songs he plowed through a lengthy monologue detailing a year spent in Athens, Georgia that outlined the formation of the Truckers and the impetus for his current solo project. It was a rather dull timeline depicting a man who graduated high school, drank a lot, wrote music and got older. In the same way I don’t necessarily want to be drinking buddies with my President, I don’t want to be drinking buddies with my festival rockers, and I’m not sure Patterson Hood’s ambition matched the scale of the setting. To the shade again, which thankfully, had crept over most of the park.

We unfortunately had to leave Marymoor early and regrettably miss Gillian Welch, but not before we caught Iron and Wine’s set, which oddly enough, was nearly a year to the day since they played the same exact venue for Sub Pop’s twenty year anniversary festival. Once again Iron and Wine was just one man and a beard and a guitar. Sam Beam immediately broke down the fourth wall by recalling the aforementioned show, sarcastically implying that he was about to recreate the same exact setlist. Just a couple lines into his opener, a Postal Service cover of “Such Great Heights”, he flubbed the lyrics. Laughing, he stopped playing, remarked that he had flubbed the same exact line last time as well. This set the tone for how Mr. Beam handles himself throughout: humble and gracious, self-conscious and genuine. This evening he makes a few mistakes, including an unfortunate goof during the emotional peak of “The Trapeze Swinger,” but recovers each time in a confident, easy-going manner; his mistakes are easily forgiven. A highlight comes after his performance of “Fever Dream,” from Our Endless Numbered Days. He sings the song falsetto, different from the recorded version, and he cutely asks the crowd if we recognize the song afterward. Of course we do, and someone yells out as much. He addresses the person specifically, seeming quite honestly shocked and flattered. His modesty is authentic and totally endearing, and his music is all ‘babies and angels and lion manes’ and quite appropriate for the heat-stricken, half-buzzed late afternoon feeling. Iron and Wine one, late-afternoon weariness zero.

Me and Brandrew float back to our car, over the dead flattened grass, Sam Beam’s hypnotic drawl fading back into the distance. Sorry to be missing out on Gillian Welch, but completely charged on a day of sunscreen and music. Even if we weren’t captivated the entire time, we were always entertained, and the overall buzz of the crowd and the energy on stage easily trumps the cynic in both of us. We zip across SR 520 back towards civilization, ominous clouds gathering on the horizon, and even some flashes of lightning, so rare for Seattle. A stunning debut for the No Depression Fetival, and without a doubt, deserving of a sequel.

Justin Townes Earl ::: Photo by Brandrew Dice Clay

Sera Cahoone ::: Photo by Brandrew Dice Clay

Jesse Sykes ::: Photo by Brandrew Dice Clay

The Dexter Street Stompers doing some Busking ::: Photo by Brandrew Dice Clay