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Members of the St. Petersburg indie music scene are a tightly knit bunch.
On Saturday, Oct. 5, hundreds of musicians, promoters, local business owners, photographers, writers, and simple enjoyers of good music turned out in support of the first Don’t Stop St. Pete music and arts festival — reinforcing the scene’s strong sense of community.
Though facing off against Tampa’s Plan B music festival, which went on concurrently, Don’t Stop held its own, with more than 60 bands on nine stages, spread across just four Central Avenue blocks.
I showed up to the festival around 5 p.m., after only a few venues had gotten started. The cool breeze we’d been treated to during the week seemed to have disappeared and I instantly regretted wearing long sleeves.
At that point in the evening, a few hundred people were roaming the street, picking over the dozens of vendors set up in tents and saying hey to buddies.
Red Feather took a while to warm up on the main stage, set just west of Fifth Avenue S., facing the 600 Block.
As I sat on the sidewalk, adjusting my camera’s settings, pretending to know what I was doing with it, I caught a whiff of something rank in the air. I never determined if it was garbage, B.O. or bad Mexican food.
Finally, an announcer, in an outfit I can only assume had been worn to roller disco the night before, came on stage. When he introduced Red Feather, a local psychedelic folk band, as “acid rock,” frontman Mark Etherington’s face turned as red as his gingery locks.
The foursome played whimsically as ever through a 45-minute set, but not before Etherington got a chance to set down his guitar and prance around shaking yellow maracas. His buttery voice carried surprisingly well, not just past the stage but all the way down the block, with a quality I wouldn’t expect from an outdoor stage.
Before the band’s final song, Etherington reminded the audience of the importance of supporting local music. “We’re not doing this to make money; we’re doing it because we love it,” he said.
The late start on the main stage, which consequentially delayed the smaller outdoor stage, gave me time to walk around before seeing another act.
The crowd began filling in and, though I’m normally hesitate to use the term, I truly felt I was in “hipster central.” It seemed like anyone without a fancy DSLR camera around their necks was a minority. Thank goodness I had The Crow’s Nest’s Canon to clutch/hide behind as I wandered about.
Living in downtown St. Petersburg and frequenting the local indie/underground music scene, I’m no stranger to the eccentric types who occupy it.
I’m pretty sure John Lennon’s illegitimate grandson was there with his girlfriend, Kate Moss’s stunt double (from that one TV movie she was in), and I’m fairly positive I saw Jack White (though he looked shorter than I remember). Was I in downtown St. Petersburg or reject Hollywood?
Around 6:15, the breeze came out of hiding and I headed to the small outdoor stage to see Kersey Williams muse over charmingly depressing ukulele-backed ditties. Despite having to fight fire truck sirens for sound waves at the start of her set, the Largo High School alumna drew a crowd of about a hundred people.
Though Williams’ set was captivatingly sweet, a far more entertaining spectacle was going on in the middle of the street.
An elderly lady in some sort of head wrap had dropped to her knees and begun bowing and looking up to the sky, interchangeably. It may have been nothing more than a theatrical form of prayer, but the crowd found it fascinating, especially when she began shuffling around in a circle, eyes closed, hands high above her head. She was also yelling (or possibly chanting) something unintelligible. At risk of compromising my politically correct journalistic integrity — it looked something like a rain dance.
As I walked away, a bearded, leather-sporting man ran passed me yelling, “Ah! She put a cross on my forehead!” I didn’t actually see that happen, though.
Tides of Man took the main stage a little later, accompanying the sun on the final leg of its descent with atmospheric progressive post-rock. The Tampa band’s all-instrumental set was loud compared to the folk acts I’d caught beforehand, but the droning bass and textured guitars combined with an occasional gust of wind created a peaceful, refreshing ambience.
It was nice to see the festival was both kid and dog friendly, but even nicer to see only a few people acted on the opportunity.
Around 7:30, I stepped into Local 622 to cool off and wait for Goodnight Neverland. Until that point, my evening had consisted of lots of sidewalk sitting and forehead sweat wiping.
The local indie alt-rock band’s frontman, Kerry Courtney, wore a floppy hat that put him somewhere between Gilligan and a scarecrow. No stranger to the 662 stage, he seemed comfortable and confident spouting on about SpongeBob and dial-up Internet while tuning his guitar. The band produced its signature tranquil melodies carrying Courtney’s dynamic voice as it transitioned effortlessly from booming and thick to delicate falsetto.
An hour later, Polyenso hit the main stage with a groovy, vibing indie rock set, accented by bright lights and balloons that exploded with glitter when popped.
At the opposite end of the block, Connor Zwetsch, an adorably soulful singer-songwriter from Tampa, prepped with her band. I graduated high school with her but had yet to see her perform at a real show. It was nice to see her among some of my favorite local acts.
Around 10, New York City’s Black Taxi played jaunty, funky pop-rock tunes on the main stage, attracting an energetic (or perhaps just drunk) crowd that squeezed close to the front.
Making a 180 in terms of genre, I headed to State Theatre for Indiana’s gothicly tinged Americana folk band Murder by Death, who were scheduled for 10:30, but didn’t come on until around 11. The whiskey revering folk veterans packed the theatre, drawing one of the biggest audiences of the festival.
I had planned to see SWIMM at Local 662, but knowing I wouldn’t make it past midnight, I called it a night after MBD. Beat from the sun and light walking, and hungry after opting out of the festival’s two on-site food choices, I retreated down the street for a burrito bowl, ears ringing with satisfaction.
