Hardly Strictly, arguably the Bay’s best three-day, free music festival, brings together Bay Area denizens for a weekend-long celebration of San Francisco and good music. With an attendance of upwards of 750,00 people (festival police estimate), over 100 bands, and an exclusion of corporate sponsors, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival promised to live up to expectations.
As a Berkeley dweller, I thought it was a little absurd to make the trek out to Golden Gate Park each day, so I sifted through the lineup and decided to attend the final day of the festival. The band that I wished to see most, the Allah-Las, was on first. Despite the usual efficiency and ease of Bay Area public transportation, I knew I would have to leave significantly early in order to catch the opening song.
After catching the lovely N Muni Metro line, I sat back and began to mentally prepare myself for the day ahead. Just as I was commenting on how much I love the Muni Metro, it stopped. Power left the train. Confused looks crossed passenger’s faces. Of course…It is only when I am in a hurry that Muni fails me. The conductor would tease the passengers, starting the train for a few seconds, moving about five feet, and then stopping again. Although many of the anxious passengers were obviously headed to the Festival as well, no hostile comments were made, only lighthearted jokes and questions of which Hardly Strictly headliner was your favorite. Only in a relaxed city like San Francisco would hurried passengers hold off on complaining to share conversation in a community space.
The train finally made it through the bottleneck and we were on our way to the Sunset district. As soon as we reached my stop, I hurriedly left the train and headed toward the maze that is Golden Gate Park. I am sure there are more efficient ways to enter the park, but I prefer to tromp through the trees and underbrush to find my way to the heart of the park. In this circumstance, the process of weaving my way through the jungle of eucalyptus trees and blackberry bushes was facilitated by the sound of musicians warming up on the not-so-distant stages. Nearing the center of the park, I was able to recognize the chorus of “Tell Me (What’s on Your Mind)”, the Allah-La’s most notable song. Following the music, we finally reached the Towers of Gold stage. The ground was already littered with people, stopping me in my tracks. Nothing provides a better soundtrack to a sunny day in Golden Gate Park quite like the nostalgic, 60’s-esque ensemble of acoustic guitar, maracas, and unadulterated electric guitar of the Allah-Las.
Finding a place to lay down a blanket was a feat in itself. There were already a handful of tie-dyed hippies and drunk moms in cowboy hats dancing around the open spaces near the stage. I managed to catch a good portion of the set, which the Allah-Las closed with my personal favorite, “Long Journey”. After such a bliss inducing set like that, the only thing to do is to search the surrounding area for food. In the true brunch-addicted, San Francisco style, I made my way out of the park and into the Sunset district.
From afar, I spotted it; the long line of hungry patrons waiting around an unsuspecting door boasting that all to familiar clipboard with an endless list of names. This was the place. I didn’t care how long the wait was, or even what kind of food they served, as long as it was brunch. Ninety minutes later, we were seated in what looked like a hobbit house. Smells of freshly baked bread and cinnamon teased my palate. After receiving the menu, I realized that I didn’t even know the name of my new favorite restaurant; Outerlands, located on the cozy corner of Judah and 45th. I lost all sense of time in the ricotta-filled center of a Danish pancake. No longer did I care to race back to the park to see The Devil Makes Three; I was busy devouring a fried-egg, summer squash, open-faced sandwich. San Francisco brunches have a way of commandeering your mind, forcing you to enjoy every second of your organic, locally sourced, overly-priced meal. If you are in the mood for indulgence, make a trip to Outerlands for their Sunday brunch; set to the background of David Bowie tunes and the soothing sound of passing Muni train cars.
With a belly full of some of the finest fare around, it was time to hit the park yet again. Being able to enter and exit without worrying about parking or paying an entry fee makes Hardly Strictly even more enticing. It fits with the San Franciscan way of life; up in the clouds, action on a whim. We managed to catch the last of Billy Bragg’s set. He was playing his rendition of “There is Power in a Union”, followed by a rant about universal healthcare. Typical. Loud applause and shouts followed the Socialist proponent as he left the stage. The organizers of Hardly Strictly ordered the acts so that after a band left one stage, the next could be heard from an adjacent stage, meaning that you did not have to move your elaborate spread of wine and cheese, strategically placed on your colorful Indian tapestry, in order to catch the next act. From our location, we could hear the quintessential mom-jams performed by Chris Isaak. I will admit that I like his music, perhaps because it reminds me of rides home from school in the soccer-van with my mom. Or perhaps it is simply because of Isaak’s haunting voice and pseudo-Rockabilly music style. Once Chris Isaak started to cover Elvis love songs and 50’s rock hits, however, I lost interest. If I wanted to see karaoke quality covers, I would go Downtown.
The festival climaxed with Gogol Bordello playing on the Star Stage. Never before have I seen such a mass of people jammed into one location. A fog of smoke and dust hung above the crowd. Financial District yuppies brushed elbows with families and gutter punks. Every shade of Bay Area dweller was represented. Just as Gogol Bordello was finishing their set, the sun began to sink. The sky lit up in magnificent pinks and oranges, and everyone took notice.
Only in a city like San Francisco would anything like Hardly Strictly happen. My experience was a bit scattered; I was not as focused on the music as most attendees, but I think that is what made it so memorable. Everything I love about the Bay Area, from brunch to middle-aged Asian men dancing crazily to gypsy-punk, was represented at the festival. I urge all who have the ability to do so to attend next year’s much anticipated go-around of Hardly Strictly. As the festival’s name suggests, there is nothing strict about attendance; it’s the perfect opportunity to sit back, relax and enjoy the park, the people, and the music.
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