July 7, 1973: Review -- Mariposa Folk Festival

 


After the star-studded 1972 edition and its overwhelming turn-out of fans, the Mariposa Folk Festival made a serious effort this time to rein things in.   

July 7, 1973 

Displaced, Shrunken,

Mariposa ’73 Begins 

TORONTO, July 7 – Woven into the soft, pastoral loveliness of the 13th Mariposa Folk Festival here are two hard facts.

          The first assaults you in big red letters at the ticket booth for the ferry across the harbor to the Toronto Islands:

          “MARIPOSA FESTIVAL SOLD OUT”

          For us journalists, the point is driven deeper by a mimeographed note from public relations director Dick Flohil that comes with the yellow press badge.

          He asks for “restrained” coverage, adding:

          “Mariposa limited its attendance to 6,000 per day this year … Folk music is a hardy flower, but it can sometimes get trampled by large crowds on a small site.”

* * *

AND WHEN they say small, they aren’t kidding. That’s the second reality. Displaced from its old stomping grounds by high lake levels, Mariposa is high, dry and cramped into a fenced off chunk of the far side of the main island.

          Not that there was a huge press of young festivalgoers in the golden sun Friday – the whole 6,000 won’t hit until today.

          It’s simply that there isn’t enough room to keep the seven performing areas from intruding on one another.

          Revered Black bluesman Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup could scarcely introduce his “That’s All Right, Mama” (“This song made a young man named Elvis Presley a millionaire and left me three times as poor”) without being drowned out by noise from not one, but two adjoining sections.

          And the enthusiastic gathering at the “changing role of women” program caught John Prine rasping a song next door loud and clear while they strained to hear songwriter Malvina Reynolds, the gray-haired lady who wrote “Little Boxes.”

* * *

COMPOUNDING THE problem is generally poor sound. Only the more flamboyant performers, such as Prine, cut through.

          The restraint also shows up in the selection of artists. This year’s program seems more determinedly Canadian, ethnic-oriented and anti-star than previously. The native crafts, dances and songs are more to the forefront, the Indians being particularly relevant in the wake of Wounded Knee.

          But the biggest crowds still flock to what stars there are – Prine, Crudup, young white bluesman John Paul Hammond (who blew harp for Crudup with all the awe of a novice), Mrs. Reynolds and Prine’s fellow Chicagoan Steve Goodman, who brought down a “sentimental songs” workshop with Marty Robbins’ gunfighter ballad “Big Iron.”

* * *

PRINE IS clearly the headliner. A hero’s welcome greeted his concert set Friday and, flanked by two bottles of keg draft beer, he played overtime, doing among others, “Dear Abby,” and a new song, “My Grandfather Was a Carpenter.” Goodman fed him a forgotten verse in “Illegal Smile” while the fans sang along.

          On the mainland ferry, an acquaintance from New York City debated whether last year’s flock of uninvited big-namers – Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Gordon Lightfoot, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne – would drop in today or tomorrow.

          We decided it wasn’t too likely. Chances are Mariposa ’73 will be low-key all the way.

* * * * *  

IN THE PHOTO: Only picture of John Prine and Steve Goodman that Blogger will let me attach. Crowd photo from Mariposa '73 is on the Facebook posting. 

* * * * *  

FOOTNOTE: Despite the desire of organizers to turn the heat down, there were still a few notables I didn't mention who warmed up the weekend  – Murray McLauchlan, Utah Phillips, Leon Redbone, Rosalie Sorrels and Jean Redpath. And there were opportunities to discover more artists who we learned to love, such as the Boys of the Lough, Michael Cooney, John Allan Cameron and the duo of John Roberts and Tony Barrand.

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