Festival Express

Get on that train: Festival Express is the last ride for '60s rock idealism

By Mike Prevatt

Recently, the punk rock-oriented Warped Tour came to an end, having celebrated its 10th summer in about 50 cities across the country. But before the last show was even over, the tour's promoter, Kevin Lyman, had already amassed most of next summer's bill. Given that bands generally don't get paid very much to participate, and the outdoor festival means playing in very warm weather, the widespread artist interest in Warped is a little bewildering. But ask any of them why they do it, and you're bound to hear the words "punk rock summer camp."

Such tours are an excuse for musician camaraderie, as documented in Festival Express, a celebratory film about a train full of rock and blues acts having the time of their lives on the summer tour of the same name. In 1970, concert promoter Ken Walker devised a three-city Canadian festival tour featuring acts such as the Grateful Dead, Janis Joplin, the Band and the Buddy Guy Blues Band. What would make the jaunt special is the train Walker chartered, which included a specially designated "bar car" stocked with various musical instruments. This would allow for the sort of spontaneous moments--musically derived or otherwise--indicative of the culture. As Grateful Dead member Mickey Hart put it, "This was really of the spirit and the times."

Directed by Bob Smeaton, who only recently cobbled together footage that had been locked up and unseen for 35 years, Festival Express largely follows the D.A. Pennebaker concert movie formula--live performances broken up occasionally by offstage activity filmed cinema verité-style (with some modern-day interviews by surviving participants). And, like rock flicks such as Don't Look Back and Gimme Shelter, it's always the offstage happenings that are most interesting.

For instance, each festival was marred by disorganized and often unruly demonstrations outside each stadium. Many protesters felt that $14 was too expensive for a full day of rock 'n' roll; some argued that the shows should be free. The controversy was so pervasive during the tour that the Grateful Dead were obliged to play a free ancillary show in a park during the Calgary stop.

Smeaton wisely depicts the physical unrest outside the otherwise peaceful proceedings, as well as taping several of the ticketless gaining admission by jumping a fence. He juxtaposes this by switching over to one of the stage performances, from the Dead's tuneful "Don't Ease Me In" to the Flying Burrito Brothers' dreamy "Lazy Day." If the music being played in the venue reflected the remaining idealism of the hippie movement, the protests outside were a marker for the post-Easy Rider disillusionment that had become so widespread it was even rankling the typically peaceful Canadian population.

On the train, there was no such dichotomy. Fueled mostly by alcohol, drugs and spontaneous jamming, the musicians embodied the era's cultural romanticism with such enthusiasm that the performances on the train are sometimes more compelling than the ones for the crowd. Just as you think nothing could approach Joplin's soaring "Cry Baby," she teams up with the Band's Rick Danko in the bar car for an impromptu version of "Ain't No More Cane." Whereas the former reveals Joplin at her most vocally skillful, the latter performance exhibits the singer--and Danko, for that matter--in the throes of musical ecstasy.

And speaking of ecstasy and the Band, its classic "The Weight" could just be the soundtrack song of the summer, with its highlight showing here, as well as a joyous rendition by Colin Farrell and Dallas Roberts in the recently released A Home at the End of the World. These two resonant scenes are perfect examples of how they are defined, not merely enhanced, by the music. Even amid the breakdown of the peace movement, Festival Express frequently exemplifies that spirit.