Festival Blog
Poet Laureate Kris Demeanor's "The Brink"
As part of our launch, Kris Demeanor wrote and performed a re-imagining of the Calgary Folk Festival in a dystopian present day...
The Brink by Kris Demeanor
It’s almost like there’s something wrong
No brooding cloud
The cottonwood fluff is spelling out no warning in its slow motion drift
But it’s as though everyone is that gloomy drunk
Like they were almost in the clear and then the car went into the shop
Like there’s an important party that they have an invitation to and can’t find
Like the family home has been looted and they know it’s someone in the area
The island, so long the refuge, is the brink
In the buskers’ guitar cases are signs: “No thanks”, their strings rabbit snares, their plectrums tiddly winks
Seniors are trading jewellery for scalped tickets
The decible meter reader is employed by Blackwater Security Consulting
Honey Bear turns Honey Badger
There is a quaver in Samantha’s savagery
Corb’s band is told there will be no beer jugs or Jack Daniels on stage, and there isn’t
Cockburn is duped into eating chunks of Amazonian porpoise meat with Sarawakan rosewood chopsticks
The golden tarp is stolen, cut into small squares, and sold to on line collectors as experience
Sexsmith suddenly and inexplicably smiles
KD and Cohen terminate the affair
Berner concedes the high ground to the rich
Kristoffersson lets the bastards get him down
Dar is lost to February
Billy Bryans is gone
Laura Leif still doesn’t move back
Matheson wears that grindstone down, but not before being driven out of town
Blue Rodeo plays the hits
Iron and Wine go electric
Beirut’s gear re-routed to Whitehorse
The Rural Alberta Advantage is shut out due to strategic voting
DFE go full gangster
Butter Chicken sells out, replaced by margarine goose
Tom Waits finally comes, but once here, refuses to leave Inglewood
Loree lets out a mighty roar and the children’s tent is evacuated
CKUA rebrands as CKUBetcha: The All Hits Some of the Time Some Hits all of the Time Happy Medium Channel
Cantos decides keyboards are lame and begin curating only didgeridoos
The mercury plummets, and a wine shortage forces the warming of beer
The temperature hits a swelter, and faulty refrigeration forces the warming of beer
TD and the Ship and Anchor ammalgamate stages to present: Punk Rock Bingo With Stolen PIN Numbers
Your teenaged daughter joins the euphoric crush in front of City in Colour yet still feels profoundly alone and can’t believe he said that
You don’t sit down- I ask you nicely a couple of times, I didn’t say anything about the smoking, but really, we’re just trying to enjoy the music and it’s basically, well, it’s insensitive, I don’t want to have to find security, and no, no, I don’t want to go!
As the nostrils of the bulls snort steam, the island captives forget where they are and why, or realize they’ve never known, and see briefly, that on the brink, desperation jousts with complete madness
Through the tangle of crossing wires there is music from another place, where trouble has consequence and gratitude is total, where dancing is serious
Tweedy’s ulcer disappears
Sampson is strongerthan
Buffy bathes the battlefield in equal parts rage and forgiveness
The rhythm is salve, the melody is salve, the words are salve, and between them there is some small salvation
