Last weekend, I went to Pickin’ in the Pines for the first time.
Since its launch in 2006, the music festival has grown from humble roots to be voted “Flagstaff’s Best Event.” Now attracting world class acts, Operations Director Teresa Wayne reports the festival “has grown each year, which has enabled us to bring in bigger headliners, broaden the genre and attract a more diverse audience.” This year, headliners included legendary traditionalists of the Del McCoury Band, banjo virtuoso Béla Fleck, as well as more progressive genre-crossing acts like The Infamous Stringdusters and Della Mae.
I’ve been to many festivals and have come to expect the beleaguering of crowds and authorities implicit with large parties. Immediately, it was clear that Pickin’ was a different, more familial affair.
When I arrived at Fort Tuthill Friday morning, a lazy river of sun hats, coolers, cowboy boots and tie-dye flowed from campground to amphitheater. Stepping in, I swept into slow procession down a ponderosa pathway. Apprehensive reverence shined in the joyful voices of the colorful pilgrims.
Passing an enthusiastic volunteer, cockatoo on one arm, the other pumping air, the crystal-laden woman chanted, “Day one! Day one!” in an ecstatic, priestly greeting.
At the gates, we faced a moderate, respectful security check. In the bowl of the Pepsi Amphitheater, the mass of sun hats, coolers, cowboy boots and tie-dye pooled like a lake upon lawn chairs and blankets.
On the northern bank, vendors sold barbecue, beer and hand-stitched clothing. On the southern bank lay a stage graced by pines and broadleaves, a string band and a gold-mint banner that read “13th Annual Pickin’ in the Pines Bluegrass and Acoustic Music Festival.” In between was a calm, smiling sea.
Sobered by the sun, I looked for shade. A stone’s throw away, a ponderosa grove invited me. Sitting near the back fence, I noticed about a dozen people dotting the hillside just beyond the boundary. The concert could be easily enjoyed through wide gaps in the steel slats.
The presence of these off-venue squatters surprised me. Usually, boldly taking up such a position would come with harassment by security. But these folks were relaxed and comfortable, no harassment in sight.
Curious, I took a small survey of the handful behind the barrier. Thanks to some candid testimony, I learned about half of the hill-sitters had bought tickets and the half had not. All preferred to sit outside the fence because, as county parkland, it allowed dogs and other freedoms not permissible inside the gates. For some, it afforded a free show.
Collectively, these hill-sitters indicated an organizational laissez-faire attitude that, in my experience, was refreshing in a world full of over-managed events. Elsewhere, ticketless audiences likely would have been mercilessly removed. At Pickin’ in the Pines, they were part of the neighborhood.
This was a small detail, but it struck me as indicative of something more, something that made this festival unique in its benign conviviality. These were the underprivileged others of the event, and they were remarkably well respected. I went in search of the conditions conducting such friendliness.
First, I found Volunteer Coordinator Anthony Hessel, who shed light on the festival’s attitude towards the ticketless.
“This is a festival that brings in top talents across the country, and there are costs to that, which is why tickets get so expensive,” he explained. “But they also understand that everyone cannot afford the costs of seeing such high-profile musicians, so they do their best to alleviate those costs.”
Alleviation comes in part through volunteer opportunities.
“We have over 200 volunteers. They get three-day access for free,” continued Hessel. “And, children 15 and under can come in for free if their parents have a ticket.”
To Hessel, the goodwill extends naturally, even to those on the other side of the fence.
“People sitting on the outside,” he articulated, “that’s fine, they can do that, as long as they’re not causing trouble.”
Volunteer Director Anna Good attributed the friendly atmosphere to the pastimes of bluegrass fans.
“The community here is fantastic,” Good said. “The term is pickers. They love to jam out with each other. There’s music around every camp, constantly.”
Hessel added his take on the subculture, calling it “wholesome … like a really relaxed Woodstock … not a place where you’ll see people fighting or getting belligerent drunk.”
That night, I decided to explore the campground ethos myself. I didn’t make it. Instead, the sound of raucous laughter pulled me into a barn dance, hosted by the Nashville-based, old-timey Hogslop String Band. The four-piece led by Gabriel Kelley called dance moves from the stage, while the whirling crowd guffawed through do-si-dos, kicks and slides.
Later, I got the chance to speak to Kelley directly. He divulged Hogslop’s mission to “carry on the tradition of everyone drinking, partying and dancing ... having a lot of energy and having a good time.”
I left the barn dance invigorated from spinning and skipping in camaraderie with men and women of every age, color and creed.
On Saturday, I arrived later in the afternoon. Distinct from Friday’s sleepy, sun-drenched morning, the festival was coolly alive. The Del McCoury Band chorused with suave and professional polish to a mix of hula-hoopers, two-steppers and swing-dancers. Once again, people gathered beyond the fence, soaking in the scene, undisturbed.
Backstage, I petitioned Del McCoury for his opinion on the character of Pickin’ in the Pines.
“For one thing,” he drawled, “you got a great audience, great people.” Asked how the audience compares to other festivals, McCoury responded, “Every festival has its quirks, but as a whole they’re all the same, they’re all just great music lovers.”
Andy Falco, guitar player for The Infamous Stringdusters, thought the number of people in the audience played a role.
“Festivals of this size,” he evaluated of Pickin’, “are sitting in that sweet spot where it's not overwhelming with tens of thousands of people, but there’s still a critical mass to make it really exciting.”
Dudley Connell, of cult-favorites The Seldom Scene, reiterated Falco’s assessment. “To me, this is an optimal size. It’s just a good vibe, the people who work the backstage area, the sound people, the management ... this is perfect.”
With these statements in mind, I returned to the crowd to feel it out. Indeed, as the all-woman powerhouse Della Mae shook the bowl with a resounding cover of “Whipping Post,” there was no shortage of energy to drive the dancing. Yet, as soon as I was a bit worn, I could step off the dance floor and reclaim open air easily; a far cry from the constant congestion of festivals like Coachella or Telluride.
Perhaps Falco and Connell hit the nail on the head. Maybe Pickin’s festival-wide sense of ease was derived from its smaller, yet ample, attendance.
I thought back to the steady growth of the festival first described by Teresa Wayne. If Pickin’s size is the key to its pleasantry, growth may not be good.
Catching up with Talent Director and Treasurer Linda Mack, I asked about Pickin’s rate of growth.
“This [Saturday] is the biggest day we’ve had in the history of the festival,” admitted Mack. “Camping sold out the soonest it ever has and we even increased our camping capacity.” When asked if she foresaw future growth of the festival, Mack wasn’t concerned. “We can’t really go beyond the capacity that the venue allows. I guess the goal would be to sell out sooner.”
Saturday night, I finally made my way to the sold-out campground. I quickly understood why it was such a celebrated scene.
Music came from every direction. Anywhere a fire was lit, a small string band circled. Fiddles, banjos and guitars jangled like myriad birdsong in the woods. Entering one circle, I was encouraged to grab a guitar and join the jam. In a moment, I had ridden bliss to four in the morning.
Sunday was reflective. I watched Della Mae and The Infamous Stringdusters once more and ruminated on the festival. I couldn’t get over the ticketless hill-sitters. The character of a culture is best seen in the way it treats its lowest class. Their welcome told me everything. At Pickin’, togetherness was law.
A few of Dudley Connell’s words came back to me.
“There’s some magic here,” he had told me.
Basking in the glow of gospel and harmony, I believed. Between the music, the people and the population size, Pickin’ in the Pines happened upon a formula that manages to be both soothing and stimulating, permissive and safe.
Yet, this magic is predicated on kindness and respect. Should you wish to visit Pickin’ in the Pines, come with the intention to support, not exploit, this gracious gathering.
