Treefort: Not Just a Festival, But a Rallying Cry
Producing a music festival during a pandemic is a complicated, controversial and even risky affair, particularly when it’s in a deeply conservative place without political leadership requiring consistent safety protocols. But if the event is managed with a laser focus on public health, then it can not only prevent the worst unintended consequences, but shift local culture in a better direction. While only time and data can tell, I believe Boise’s Treefort Music Fest could be a leading example of how to do it right, there and beyond. They elevated the music, the fun and the party while exemplifying harm reduction. I’m excited to offer this glowing review of the event’s production, it’s team, and so many performers, artists and supporters.
The ninth Treefort was supposed to take place in late March of 2020, three months before our own Esthetic Evolution reunion and the week everything started shutting down for COVID. My business partner Ryan and I had regular contact about our showcase with Treefort’s talent buyer, Eric Gilbert, as it all unfolded (as did tons of other artists and managers). It must have been a profoundly difficult decision, but the festival did the right thing and postponed. Like us, they rescheduled twice. We ultimately decided on June, 2022, while they pushed to September, 2021. Supporters and artists were concerned the festival may be postponed a third time, given the delta variant raging in Idaho, and many canceled (including two I booked). But the festival went on. I think this was the right decision for many reasons.
It was clear from the start that Treefort takes COVID seriously. There was near constant communication from the festival over this summer, particularly as conditions around the delta variant got stupidly intense in Idaho. They stopped all pass sales a week before the event and canceled door sales. This, too, was the right thing to do. They required all attendees to provide proof of vaccination or a negative COVID test, and that they wear masks. They offered rapid testing and vaccinations on site in a location distinct from the box office. They communicated all of this in simple, clear, positive harm reduction messaging via email, on social media and in an array of signage all around downtown Boise. They did it so well that I honestly felt safer at the festival than elsewhere in the city.
I’ve avoided most indoor events prior to this (and will this winter), but I did attend two massive shows (Phish and Tame Impala) at the Gorge in recent weeks. It’s an open air venue, so going unmasked may feel permissible, but it still had 1000s of people packed tightly into the pit. I estimate I was in the 10-20% of people wearing masks at both events. At the Treefort mainstage, I estimate 75-90% of people wore masks (many even while drinking). This held throughout Saturday night, when it was the most packed, the alcohol and substances had kicked in, and people wanted to party. My guess is the lowest percentage in masks I saw was still over 50%, at the later night shows. Those numbers are scarier, but still better than I’m hearing reported anywhere else. Treefort did it right. And all of their staff, volunteers, many bands and Boise icon Doug Martsch modeled it throughout the week.
The biggest complaints I heard at the festival were from a touring hardcore band by the artist check-in, dissing how onerous all the COVID protocols were, and from a local DJ complaining on Facebook that he had to get his first test for the event and asking where to go. While Boise’s Ada County hasn’t done as good a job as others, testing is free and common, and Treefort had rapid testing at all check-in sites. Conversations with many folks lead me to believe lots of people who had never been tested before did for Treefort. I’m also delighted to report that not only did they offer vaccines in line for the event, but that the folks at the COVID tent on Sunday said that 76 people had volunteered themselves for their first shot while in line. This is a big win for harm reduction.
I also want to give props to the Idaho Safety Crew, and to Treefort for allowing them to set up alongside other nonprofits. They are a new, formalized harm reduction organization using curriculum and trainings developed by DanceSafe (bonus, they spotted my sweet DanceSafe hat before I even noticed them). They offered water, earplugs and sanctuary on their public-facing banner. Inside, they provided hugs, warm words and drug-related harm reduction essentials. This includes Narcan for opioid overdoses, Fentanyl testing kits, those sweet DanceSafe drug fliers, and literature on consent and planned parenthood. It is huge to have something like this in Idaho, where drug policy, healthcare, gender politics and so much more often feel out of the stone age. It’s a big risk (for them and Treefort). I applaud it, and we’ll certainly work with them at the rescheduled Esthetic Evolution.
This is probably where most readers say “but what about the music, man?” The thing is that it’s impossible to separate the two right now. I encountered many gorgeous and evocative sets. As always, the best were the artists that connected most deeply with the crowd and where the collective effervescence of the audience, rockstar stage presence, and the frisson from those just so right sounds aligned perfectly. But there was also the palpable sense of the human urge to congregate, and for artists to channel what they love for who they love. This was most notable in bands who have taken COVID seriously for the last 18 months, but yearned to connect. Rituals of Mine and my new favorite Treefort discovery, Prism Bitch, stand out for me. But it imbued the whole festival. The sets felt so liberating and energetic… but also… safe.
The Idaho Safety Crew at their booth
Fentanyl test strips courtesy of the Idaho Safety Crew
Built To Spill closing the main stage to a beautiful Boise sunset
I took in much of the festival solo, as my wife couldn’t make it and friends had different schedules. This is uncommon for me, and slightly outside my comfort zone, but gave me lots of opportunities to observe and reflect. I missed Wednesday night, although it sounds like there were some stellar sets. I started Thursday on the main stage with Luna Li and Prism Bitch. Luna Li is a singer/ songrwiter/ multi-instrumentalist from LA performing melodic, varied pop with a diverse, talented band with mostly women-identified members. It was a nice way to ease into the festival and a great setup for the incendiary, ridiculous energy that is Prism Bitch… the band that was so nice, I tried to see them thrice (and succeeded twice).
Prism Bitch – Sunday at El Korah Shine
I was vaguely familiar with Prism Bitch prior to the festival. I somehow thought they were a Seattle band, while a friend thought they were Boise-based. I guess everyone wants to claim things that really stand out. Turns out they’re from Albuquerque, which I doubt I’ll forget. They’re a four-piece featuring Three women, two of whom are insanely talented vocalists belting out riot girl, queer power pop over keys, high-kicks and shredding guitar. Both vocalists had massive range and nailed the dissonant but beautiful screams unique to that vibe. Their lyrics range from accessible, almost clubby tunes (live for the weekend) to just the right amount of romantic/existential dread (Starlight, where Built to Spill front man and world’s nicest musician Doug Martsch joined them for a guitar solo). Some of the songs have a bit of a bubble gum punk feel, and are the kind of music I would never listen to outside of a show. But I loved the shit outta ‘em there and will definitely rock again.
Built to Spill closed out Thursday, then played the second-to-last set of the festival on Sunday night. I only caught the first, but loved the new arrangement (with two talented women joining Doug, thus concluding a day where the main stage was dominated by assertive, women-identified artists). BTS has a special place in my heart. I attended college in Boise and they’re the band I’ve seen the most (around 20 times in as many years). As I get older, I’m accepting that it’s OK for some of my tastes to be based in nostalgia (I mentioned Phish a few weeks ago, right?). But there is also something deeply moving about Doug’s soaring yet dissonant guitar style, his always on the verge of breaking voice, and existentially anxious lyrics (I believe written by his wife), that hit me anew every time. The performance of Going Against Your Mind was brimming with emotion.
Other main stage stand-outs are Japanese Breakfast headlining Thursday, Y La Bamba and Chong the Nomad on Saturday, and Dawn Richard’s incredible covers Sunday. Looking back, I realize they are all also women-identified acts. That’s pretty damned cool with me. I missed the closing Saturday set by Poolside (subbing for the Marias), as it conflicted with the showcase we threw at the Adelmann, but I heard it was awesome. I love them, and also that the two last acts on the biggest night of the biggest stage of Treefort were electronic. This bodes well for a diverse main stage future and refutes some of my friends’ concerns that the festival may regress to an overly rock-driven vibe just as the city is once again on the cusp of having a thriving dance music scene.
On that note, I would be remiss to not highlight the music nearest my heart. I was sad that Prefuse 73 canceled (many folks did, some from COVID anxiety, others from COVID). But the electronic music I encountered more than made up for it. Standout DJ sets include recent Idaho transplant Orographic at the Adelmann on Thursday (playing electro and acid house, defying Boise’s small town focus on EDM and bass music), Seattle’s Succubass on Friday (playing eclectic leftfield techno, bass and breaks), LA’s Jamie Schwabl at our Esthetic Evolution showcase Saturday (what a great intro to Boise), my own set there, and Idaho’s original Drum-N-Bass DJ James Stevens closing us out. I usually don’t “toot my own horn,” but it was one of the best I’ve played, tearing through a ton of bizarre, driving techno and acid in an hour to incredible visuals by 1313 Effect and a Funktion One sound system. Of course, James is an ever-eclectic selector and DJ genius of the highest order. We both had packed dance floors and folks were slam dancing at the end of his set sprawling across leftfield, future house, bass, DNB and whatever you call it.
But the most exciting electronic music was Wajatta, comprised of rapper, beat boxer, comedian (and nice dude) Reggie Watts, and acid house and techno icon (and nice dude) John Tejada. Both are amazing solo, and they are a force to be reckoned with together. Reggie’s improvisation and wordsmithing had the crowd eating out of his hands. John has produced many of my favorite acid house tracks, including the seminal Sweat on the Walls. It was awesome seeing Reggie doing the robot over raging acid to a crowd of white Idaho kids unfamiliar with any of the above. He also called out random dancers in weird costumes, who my friend (and legendary local DJ) Brooke Would brought to stage, only to have several bust out sick dance moves, including crazylegs-level breakdancing, right after Reggie made a joke about Breakin II. Now all we need is a Wajatta cover of Sweat on the Walls. I want to hear Reggie singing about “messing with his gel.”
Reggie Watts and John Tejada as Wajatta – Friday at the Knitting Factory
My set Saturday night at the Adelmann – Courtesy of Robbie Debolt
Finally, shout outs to the random artists I fell upon or who friends said were must sees at the last minute. This includes Orkestra Gold at the Basque Center, Roselit Bone at the Neurolux, Motrik at the Record Exchange and, most notably, Rituals of Mine at the Hideout. All of them were moving sets, and I rocked out to Orkestra Gold’s Afrobeat with a Malian singer (over white dudes from Oakland, but whatever), Motrik’s post punk, talking heads-vibe synthy rock, and Roselit Bone’s moody, noir-ish alt-country and Mexican-influenced wall of sound. But LA’s Rituals of Mine hold an extra special place, as the singer (who turns out to be Treefort’s publicist) shared this was their first gig in over two years. The joy, connection and love she and her loud, tight drummer felt was washing over all of us, even as she was belting out dark, Portishead or Mazzy Star-feeling lyrics and melodies. She summed up so much of what I and countless people around me felt in the moment.
Rituals of Mine at the Hideout – Friday Night
I visited the main stage merch booth on Sunday night, hungover and tired after losing $100, a key fob, USB stick, lots of brain cells and at one point a friend’s dog (festival life, amiright?). I sought out a monster Treefort hat I’d seen around. They only had kids-sized, so I looked for a replacement. I’m not one for heavy branding, and I settled on a quilted flannel jacket with a simple “TMF” logo, followed by “A Festival of Discovery.” It seems fitting (although ironically a little large). Looking back, I have discovered some of my favorite new artists in the lead up to or thick of Treefort. This includes Kae Tempest , Y La Bamba, Guayaba, and this year, Roselit Bone, Japanese Breakfast, Rituals of Mine and Prism Bitch. But the main thing I discovered was that with the right leadership, trust and behavior modeling, an arts event can play an important role in shifting social behavior. Hopefully it’s a rallying cry for people to respect each other, vaxx up, mask up and get down. Way to go, Idaho!
If the local numbers spike this coming week -likely given COVID in Idaho- I doubt it will be due to Treefort. But that’s not how others will see it and not something the scientist in me would claim I can prove. I hope they don’t, for obvious public health and personal reasons. I also want Treefort to go into its tenth year as a beacon for doing things right, inspiring local, national and international promoters, and legitimizing the blowout party they deserve. Simple, positive, science-based messaging from trusted authorities like Treefort is a necessary step towards change. And, while it is not sufficient, we have to start somewhere. This ultimately has to come from Idaho’s political leadership. I hope some were there, watching and listening, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. But there were so many wonderful and decent staff, volunteers and attendees, just as there are throughout Idaho. Treefort obviously changed some of their minds. Now hopefully some get more organized, run for more elected offices and build love and capacity for the culture shift necessary in my beautiful home state.
See you next year, Idaho, in downtown Boise for Treefort 10 and in the meadow for the Esthetic Evolution reunion.
