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Last weekend I attended the Norman (Oklahoma) Medieval Faire.

I got out of Muskogee at ten minutes before 7, went south on Highway 69 to I-40, turned left at I-35, and I would have pulled into the parking lot at Norman before the opening time of 10 if I had known beforehand where the magic spot is that you get into an exit lane that I realized was now separated from the rest of the lanes by a raised concrete barrier as I was seeing the signs announcing the southernmost Norman exit. Instead I had to cross the river, use a U-turn exit and then come back north to get off on the boulevard that took me to the cross street that took me north to the parking lot.

It was 4 minutes after ten as I arrived at the parking lot that was already filled past the first of its several entrances from the street. Back in the turn lane I was waiting behind about eight cars, and there was a long line assembling in my rear view mirror. The broad sidewalk leading up to the fair site itself was filled to where you had to go on the lawn to pass people, and the day went on to present perhaps the crowdedest conditions that I have yet encountered at any RenFaire.

The site was unchanged from last year; it was still in the same park, shaped like a backwards L, of three flat city blocks on the campus of Oklahoma University. There was no gate or opening gate show, admittance was free, and you could walk into it from anywhere around it. There were 200 vendors in tents all around and 36 food stands under awnings, a patron turnout that had to be in the myriads, and all of this made for congestions of oriental proportions.

The rainy low pressure system that the TV meteorologists were predicting to be engulfing Oklahoma during the weekend was nice enough to stall over Arizona long enough to allow us two days of sunshine and highs in the top 60s. It stayed cold enough for a wrap most of Sunday morning. It was perfect for my golden amber velveteen Guinevere dress, and that felt so flowingly heavenly that I wore it both days. It is spoiling me for some of my other garb, which tho colorful isn't always as comfortable.

The assorted costumes on the mundanes were sometimes as interesting as the garbed. There were some intricate goth-punk ensembles, some featuring intricate patterns of fishnet hose, and there was a Harley rider's convention in Muskogee that same weekend, and quite a few of them were at the fair in their regalia. The Tickle Man was in heaven with all the miniskirts walking around.

Immediately upon entering I was drawn to the chessboard which was also a stage by the voices of Smee and Blogg, the Singing Executioners, who have routines of songs and jokes filled with godawful puns about anything that has to do with dying and hurting. That was followed immediately by Tullamore, the guitar, whistle, and hammered dulcimer Celtic band, and I was starting to wonder if I was ever going to get further into the fair.

Smee and Blog were wearing wireless mikes, and Tullamore set up mike stands. This fair was to be distinguished by the presence of electronic amplification, which sometimes enhanced, but often distorted and hindered the performances. The system at that first stage consisted of two speaker boxes on metal foldup stands at head height, which probably had 15 inch woofers with a single tweeter, and a monaural amp box that had mixer knobs on the front.

The amp/mixer was in a tent behind the stage, with the speakers turned the other way from it toward the audience. There was a man there trying to balance the sound of Tullamore and not being very successful. I walked from in front of the speakers toward the back, and lost the perception of a lot of midranges. I told him that the guitar was way too heavy and I could hardly hear the vocalist. He finally arrived at an improvement, but still, the sound was rather tinny and almost clippy in spots, like a boombox being played full blast.

After Tullamore completed their set I was determined to get away and see the rest of the faire, but was soon stopped at Sherwood Forest, a second stage, by The Counterfeit Bards. There again was some fine hammered dulcimer, guitar, singing, and assorted tweety things being victim to some not very well adjusted electronics. There the mixer was off to the side of the stage on a picnic table, and I again heard loud stringed instruments and hard to hear vocals.

I contemplated ways to improve this; the obvious one was to put the amp box out in front with a sound person there, but that would have involved wires strung out where patrons are walking, and leaving equipment out in front begging for kids to play. Another was to use a single omnidirectional mike, have a good monitor, and let the musicians balance with their nearnesses to the mike. But the electronic sounds everywhere were to be much better the next day; some people apparently were able to solve many of the problems with the equipment as it was.

After their set I roamed thru some of the many many shops until I came to the third stage, the Gryphon, and there the Rogues were piping away. Jimmy was the only one there of the four I danced in front of in 2001; there was another piper, another bodhranist/announcer, and a snare drummer who looked so much like Bryan that he had to speak once into the mike before I was sure that he wasn't. Jimmy told me later in their tent that Lars just wasn't able to make it for this weekend. Their replacement piper was every bit as capable.

That stage also had a sound system with the same augmented boombox sound. The Rogues were standing a few feet behind the mikes (and you don't need to mike bagpipes anyway), and the sound wasn't too distorted, but their announcer was in the habit of talking too close to the mike, and sometimes it was like a sudden slap in the ears.

I had wanted to connect with Bruce the Bruce as soon as I walked in, but I decided from past experiences looking for people at faires that I should just wait for us to chance to meet at precisely the right time. It happened at about 1:30 when I finally got as far as the short leg of the L. I saw him playing with a group of other musicians under a canopy. He saw me while playing and greeted me with his eyes, and Susi was right beside me and gave me a big hug. I said to her that I had just been on a wild trip, and she said, "I know, I've been reading your Live Journal page."

The tune ended, and Bruce called over to me, "Did you bring your harp?" I was able to answer "Yes", and I asked, "Is this a jam tent?", to which he answered in the affirmative. I told him it would take about ten minutes to go and fetch it, and asked if they would still be there when I got back. Bruce assured me yes.

I then made an aerobic walk from the far end of the short side of the L thru the throngs of patrons back to the top of the long end, across the street with its speakers on the traffic light poles alternately beeping then saying "walk light is on" for the blind people, cutting diagonally across a block of grass and trees, then across another wide street with a grassy median down the middle and cars mostly wanting to turn into the parking lot but sometimes wanting to go straight into me, to where my van was. I was consciously using assorted of deep breathing techniques and trying to pay attention to my pulse rate as I walked equally as fast all the way back, lugging the harp case that did have a shoulder strap. I got back to the canopy, had to sit down and huff and puff for a few minutes, and during that time both Bruce and Susi said something about going to play with a Gypsy fiddler and bid me adieu.

But they left me with Wayne Cantwell, and other members of Calliope House who came and went. They had set up the canopy as a designated jam space that was open to all comers, and some other very good players did. They went on to play lots of reels and jigs, and I was hearing myself for the first time able to keep up and make fluent music with pros who could do vivace tempos.

All winter long I had been able to get in at least 45 minutes of practice every day, often more, and I never missed the Sunday Celtic jam at the Americana Academy. I witnessed all that effort coming to fruition in that next hour. I was able to see chord patterns upon the strings in Is, IVs, and Vs, and improvise melodies betwixt them, and it was getting as easy as the guitar had become. Most of the tunes they were playing I was hearing for the first time, but I wasn't needing more than about one time thru to figure them out. I was in a rapturous rush of fulfillment.

Bruce eventually returned along with Susi, and he asked me to come with him to accompany the Courtly Dancers, who were performing in the jousting arena. I took with me a chair from under the canopy, as I was advised I would have to do. I sat on it and played while Bruce and a young woman fiddler tended to walk around. I want to figure out some way the harp can be strapped so that I can play it standing and strolling.

After the dancers "were met" (their scheduled performance time had been filled), I returned with the chair to the canopy. Calliope House had a stage show in a few minutes, and it didn't look like anyone was sure to remain there to watch over my harp, so I returned it to the van (at a much more leisurely pace, pausing at booths on the way). I then returned and stayed until about 5 strolling thru vendor's tents.

I went north on I-35 looking for the Motel 6 in Moore, and saw no trace of its sign. I then drove back south on the frontage road and still failed to find it. I saw a long board fence with what looked like a construction site being prepared within at where I vaguely remember it was, and had to conclude that that whole Motel 6 had been completely demolished.

I went back north further into Oklahoma City and spied a non-chain motel with a sign on it saying $25.95 and up, but the section of I-35 it was on was under heavy construction, and all the exits were blocked until I had crossed a beltway freeway a little ways north. Coming back down the one way frontage road, which was orange barreled off to one lane, I had to make a Parcheesi board turn right on the beltway's frontage road three fourths of a mile to a bridge that crossed it, then back to the side of I-35 to continue down the original frontage road.. The real price on the weekend with taxes and all that jazz came to about 32 bucks.

Sunday morning I managed to get there at about quarter to 10, but I was able to park a bit nearer. The patronage was sparse until church letout time, about noon. Then the throng became as dense as it had been Saturday.

I started out trying hard to make it to the jousting arena at 10:30, where the Courtly Dancers were again scheduled to play, but I was captured and delayed by a local Irish dance school putting on a show by a tent they had put up. There was an elementary school age girl, a young teenager, and two women from the Counterfeit Bards taking part. The two girls were wearing short skirts and black panty hose, like the Riverdance women, and their legs were long and shapely. They did high kicks allowing brief glimpses of thigh, and it was as good as Irish can can. The older girl was a flamenco quick tap dancer who made a mighty drum out of the plywood she was on.

When I came upon them, their music was coming out of a boombox that had microphones laid in front of them connected to a PA box in silver boombox plastic style, and it was clippingly distorted. The woman who was the teacher and announcer picked up one of the mikes when she wanted to speak, then laid it back to play another tune. They also had there four live players, including a cello, that the teacher walked over and held mikes in front of as they played.

I finally couldn't stand it any more and went up to look at the controls on the PA. I found three band equalizer knobs that had all been pushed all the way down, so I slid them to bring down the midrange and augment the highs, leaving the bass in the middle. That improved it a bit. Then I found the mike input knobs turned all the way max, and brought them down. That produced something that was now at least recognizable. I did all this as the woman was talking into the mike, and I think that she heard the improvement enough that I felt secure in hoping she didn't object to my barging in.

All this was going on as the PA at the chessboard stage about 100 feet away made the rhythms of the Bilge Pumps clear enough to sometimes cause confusion for the dancers.

I finally got over to the jousting arena, but found only a few people there and only the fiddler among the musicians. There it was still only about 50 degrees, and the arena was out in the open enough to make for considerable wind chill. The fiddler hadn't brought her instrument, and she said she was just going to sing. I didn't feel like I could play the harp effectively in such conditions either. I had snitched a chair from the Gryphon stage and carried it over, and I decided as an experiment to leave it by the bleachers and see if it survived until the afternoon.

I pondered where I might could stash my harp when I wasn't using it, and espied a pile of musical instrument cases behind the reviewing stand with the thrones. There I encountered Lee Agnew of the Counterfeit Bards, and he told me I should try over by the Sherwood Forest stage. I had ducked under the rope surrounding the jousting complex as I had followed Bruce in doing so the previous afternoon, and Lee said to me, "I know you, so I guess I can be your escort this time, but the way we do it is you ask to be escorted before you come into this compound." This exclusivity I later surmised was because of the weapons and danger that is there when the jousts are going on. Over by Sherwood was indeed the booth of the Unitarian Universalist Pagans, and a lady sitting at a table there said, "Sure, you can park it here, and someone will be here all the time." There was already a spread out pile of cases and drums in the4 back of the tent behind her.

On the stage was Boru's Ghost tuning up, and I stayed to hear all of their set. This morning they had gotten the electronics trip together, and some fine electrified sound came forth. John McGaha was playing a purely electric fiddle, with a narrow solid body between the fingerboard and the chinrest. Their final song featured him doing an extended solo that I could see him really getting off on in his face. I left to look for the jam canopy, but there was nobody there yet. The crowd was still sparse, so I went around looking at shops. I bought a "faux mail" shirt out of thick polyester fishnet from Tiger Togs.

As church was letting out and lots of people started showing up, I again sought out the canopy, and this time found people playing. I went and fetched my harp from the pagans and returned and set up.

Bruce and Susi hung around for several songs, and I and the whole of Calliope House made for some dramatic Letter from Kilkenny and Spancil Hill. We went on to two more hours of skipping eighth notes and I was holding back tears of thanks to God.

I lost track of the time and got over to the Courtly Dance late, and found that the chair was on the other side of the field with an ass on it. The whole thing just seemed not to have started out right, so I didn't attempt to play. I went back to the canopy and waited for the House to come back, and went on for two more hours with them until my left ring finger was screaming at me for mercy. By them I was in a blissful state of psychological exhaustion. I tried to stay for the Last Huzzah, but crapped out about halfway thru and bid Bruce farewell. I heard later that I had missed the good part where Bruce called "Toast", and then got pelted with pieces of browned bread.

Mama told me there'd be days like this, and for these I am profoundly thankful.

*(The tangential and now becoming increasingly convoluted story of why I was in Muskogee instead of my usual Lawrence can be reviewed on my Live Journal blog, accessible thru my sig file below)

-Butterfly Bill

"Greetings, milady...or is it milord?...or..um...."
"So did you lose the bet?"..."No, I won it, he bet me I wouldn't"
Ren Geek with pewter computer imputer
Solarus Juvenilius Pastritis of Sarcastica. He who Grouches
while Biting the Wax Tadpole.
"possunt vincere nothi solum si facetias tuas a te tollunt"

more faire reviews like this one are at
http://members.isp.com/farfallabill@isp.com/RbStories.htm#renfair
some of my computer music can be heard at
http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/butterflybill
my Live Journal page is