The colours we’re born to mourn:
Orange, white, and green. This weekend was IrishFest in Indianapolis, and my friend Mason went with me. Sadly there are no photographs, I forgot my phone on the couch (surprise!) It was definitely different than I had pictured it in my mind, but then again it was pretty unlikely that they would rebuild a small pub in the middle of Memorial Park, fill it with wall to wall benches and tables, and allow the whole place to get riotous.
Instead, it was an open-air festival organized in the way that only American-(insert culture here) pride can do it. As we walked in, we were kindly greeted, purchased our tickets and proceeded over to the first tent. There we purchased 10 redemption tickets (which was scheduled to equal two beers each, but changed later). Feeling utterly naked at IrishFest without a good import, we went first to what would normally be the beerwagon, but was more like the beer semi-trailer, and ordered ourselves a couple of Harps. While we were waiting in line, we overheard what I can imagine would only be said in a state like Indiana: “They ain’t got no Budwieser or Coors or anything good.”
From there we decided to check out the bands on all the stages as well as the vendors selling everything from knit caps, to wool sweaters, to every imaginable product labeled “Irish” or “Ireland”. I personally purchased a green rugby jersey. There are no pictures (camera phone still at home…) but I’m sure I’ll wear it often enough that you’ll see it if you live here. The music was pretty good overall, and there was one band, Mickey Finns we were particularly fond of. The guy playing fiddle was really talented, and the drummer (playing djimbe’s with cymbals) was super good. The guitarist was actually Irish (as in from Ireland, rather than from Indy but a third generation Irish immigrant) and his voice reminded me a lot of the fellow from Dropkick Murphy’s.
And then there was Brigid’s Cross. Apparently they were the band of the festival winners last year, and as we sat through the first couple of songs it became clear why. They were fun, they were charismatic, and they didn’t perform Irish music. Well, let me rewind a bit. Mason and I were trolling around looking for a stage to sit in front of for a while, and while there was another entertaining set going on, it seemed that there were good seats at the main stage opening up, so we went there. The sound check was at least mildly amusing as the frontman got his vocals and guitar checked while singing “All Along the Watchtower”. The lady on keyboard amused us with a little Four non-Blondes, and the violinist treated us to some metal on the fiddle. I was pretty excited, because they were definitely entertainers. Then the first curious thing happened. It was strange enough that our alcohol passes were American flag wrist bands, but I didn’t expect to have to stand for a run through of “God Bless America”. Perhaps I’m not terribly patriotic, but after that they spent about five minutes telling us why America was so great. I agree, America is pretty good, but we’re at IrishFest and this is just awkward gosh darnit! Okay, okay, so let’s let them play and see how it goes. The first song? Alabama’s “Fiddle in the Band” with country music being replaced by Irish music. Um. Okay…. It was pretty lame. We left. When we came back to see if it was better, they were oddly playing a little of “The Pretenders”. I enjoy the song (far more than the prior choice), but the only thing culturally Irish about the song are the singers. There’s no other relevance. Molly Malone? Irish. Black is the Color? Irish. Danny Boy? Irish. 500 Miles? not really. But, as with all music, this was subjective. I don’t think they should be awarded band of the festival because of that, but apparently everyone else enjoyed it.
There were also a bunch of signs everywhere labeling the areas. Mason brought up a good point, asking whether it was necessary to label all of the areas “Irish” (like Irish Market) when you were at IrishFest. The only place without it were the johns, with the nifty port-o-sinks so you could wash your hands. Hooray for festival hygiene!
After a while of listening to Mickey Finns, we spent our remaining beer tickets on pretzels and headed back. Good times over all, and I plan on going back next year and recommend that you give it a try as well.
