Article Contributed by Mike
Published on 2026-08-10
Jesse Welles - photos by moran
Day one of the 36th annual Rocky Mountain Folks Festival in Lyons was a marathon, particularly for someone a little more than six weeks removed from hip replacement surgery. By the time I was finished Friday, I had logged nearly 14,000 steps and around seven miles walking back and forth between the Main Stage and Wildflower Pavilion. The hip held up remarkably well. The bigger challenge may have been the heat. Friday was blazing hot, with hardly a cloud in the sky for most of the day.
Even before reaching Planet Bluegrass, the signs of just how dry this Colorado summer has become were impossible to miss. Driving from Longmont toward Lyons, the water levels in the lakes and reservoirs along the way looked shockingly low, with patches of exposed ground where water normally sits. The St. Vrain River told the same story. I had just been at Planet Bluegrass two weeks earlier for RockyGrass, and even in that short time the river seemed to have dropped considerably. By late afternoon, people were still sitting in chairs in the river and dipping their feet into the water for relief, but there wasn't much flow to speak of. It was a stark reminder of the lack of snowpack last winter and just how dry things have become. Fortunately, there was no shortage of music.
My first Main Stage set of the day came from Larry & Joe, the duo of Venezuelan harpist Larry Bellorín and North Carolina musician Joe Troop. Their music represents a fascinating meeting of two traditions that might initially seem worlds apart: Appalachian music and Venezuelan folk. Bellorín's harp immediately gives their sound a character unlike virtually anything else at the festival, while Troop provides the Appalachian side of the equation. Throughout the set, Joe also translated remarks from Larry for the audience, and the two spoke openly about immigration and the experience of migrants in America. At one point, the audience heard how current immigration enforcement has affected even something as basic as Larry's comfort with traveling. That gave their migrant songs considerably more weight. Whatever side of the political spectrum someone happens to occupy, hearing these stories directly from the person living them is different than seeing another headline flash across a screen. Personally, I think America needs those voices right now. This country is largely a nation of immigrants, and at a time when the Trump administration has made immigration enforcement such a central part of its agenda, Larry & Joe's music felt especially relevant. The duo lightened things up with a song familiar to plenty of Colorado music fans, "Going Down the Road Feeling Bad." Joe asked whether there were any Deadheads in the crowd. In Colorado? Of course there were. Their arrangement filtered the old standard through both Appalachian and Venezuelan traditions and was an early highlight of my day.
From there I headed into the Wildflower Pavilion, which would become an increasingly welcome destination as the afternoon sun intensified. I only caught the tail end of Bill Nash's set. An older gentleman performing solo acoustic music, Nash immediately struck me as part of the storytelling tradition that runs through so much of Folks Fest. I didn't hear enough to give his set a full assessment, but what I caught fit comfortably into the intimate Wildflower setting. Sarah Clanton and Andy Beckey followed. Clanton, whom I had seen previously at the Wildflower Pavilion, played cello alongside her recently engaged musical and life partner. The Nashville-based couple appeared genuinely happy to be sharing the stage. There is something especially appealing about watching two people who are obviously in love create music together. If you're looking for ways to deepen a relationship, making music together seems like a pretty good place to start.
On my way back toward the Main Stage, I caught the announcement of the Folks Festival Songwriter Showcase winner. Andrew Pauls of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, took the top honor, earning, among other things, a Main Stage appearance at next year's festival. From my spot farther back near the soundboard, I could see all the finalists gathered together. Zooming into my photo later, Pauls appeared almost overcome with emotion.
Getting the opportunity to return and stand on that Main Stage in 2027 clearly meant something. Kristin Andreassen and Chris "Critter" Eldridge were next on my Main Stage itinerary. Their musical résumés run deep through Uncle Earl, Punch Brothers and collaborations with everyone from Emmylou Harris to Paul Simon, but what interested me Friday was how naturally the two sounded together with little more than acoustic guitars and close harmony. Andreassen has a lovely voice, and the stripped-down setting allowed both musicians plenty of room. Visually, her colorful blue dress with red and green flowers looked especially striking against the trees behind the Main Stage. I would have happily stayed longer, but there was someone I particularly wanted to catch back in the pavilion.
Shanna in a Dress is a character. I saw her at Folks Fest last year and knew immediately that I wanted to catch her again. She combines songwriting with stand-up-comedy timing and a seemingly endless willingness to make herself the punch line. Dating—or her continuing adventures in not successfully dating—remains fertile territory. She described getting food earlier in the day next to a man who wanted the cheese left off his order. This apparently constituted an immediate romantic disqualification. When she learned he didn't like feta, he described himself as "feta-phobic." Shanna's response? She was a "feta-phile." That gives you a pretty good sense of where the next 30 minutes were headed. Shanna's set probably lands somewhere around PG-17, depending upon how sensitive you are to language. Her songs frequently mine awkward relationships, single life and her own insecurities, but the self-deprecation never comes across as miserable. She actually seems like an extremely happy person who has figured out how to turn life's absurdities into material. "Sweet Spot" drove that point home. Underneath all the jokes is someone who seems pretty content with where she is in life.
She also resurrected a running joke that her actual stage name should be Shanna Whore, adding that the resulting search-engine optimization would be fantastic. Sarah Clanton returned as a guest during the set, and another musician joined on fiddle, but for most of the half hour Shanna held the pavilion on her own. Then came "Seagull." Someone appeared on stage dressed as, or at least doing a pretty convincing impression of, a seagull while Shanna took an acoustic guitar about as close to heavy metal as an acoustic guitar is likely to get. The F-word made several appearances. It was completely ridiculous and very funny. Thirty minutes with Shanna in a Dress goes quickly. She would turn up repeatedly later in the day as well, helping introduce artists from the Main Stage and essentially taking on some emcee duties.
Before John McCutcheon began, Bonnie Paine and several members of Big Richard appeared on the Main Stage to teach the crowd a little dance. It was another example of something I noticed at RockyGrass two weeks earlier and saw again Friday: people at Planet Bluegrass are actually playing. Hacky sack, of all things, seems to be enjoying a resurgence among younger festivalgoers, which I fully support. There were hacky sack circles, Frisbees, footballs and kids running everywhere. Phones certainly haven't disappeared, but it was encouraging to see so many young people doing something physical and social instead of staring into a screen.
John McCutcheon followed, and although I only stayed for several songs, he made an immediate impression. During the portion I saw, McCutcheon was playing five-string banjo, and he is simply a heck of a musician. He also provided one of several John Prine connections that surfaced throughout Friday. McCutcheon talked about writing a song in 2020 after Prine died during the COVID pandemic. Prine's passing clearly continues to resonate among songwriters who understood just how special he was. McCutcheon also brought up Carl Sagan and the staggering size of the universe, relating the thought that if someone had departed Earth around the time of Jesus and traveled at light speed ever since, that traveler would still be within the Milky Way today. As someone who loves Carl Sagan, I appreciated that detour.
Back in the Wildflower Pavilion, I briefly caught Amy Speace on both guitar and piano. Speace is another familiar face around Folks Fest, and one story from her set stuck with me. She talked about being in Germany and becoming fascinated by Charlemagne, eventually digging into his history and turning that curiosity into music. Then came Vance Gilbert, who provided another of Friday's funniest sets. Almost immediately upon reaching the microphone, Gilbert announced that he was going to get into politics. Someone in the audience apparently responded with something along the lines of, "Do we really have to?" Gilbert never actually launched into a political sermon. He was mostly having fun seeing what kind of response the suggestion would provoke. The Philadelphia-born singer-songwriter talked about growing up surrounded more by Motown than Appalachian folk music and about eventually discovering artists such as John Prine and Joni Mitchell. He also played some of Jimi Hendrix's "Little Wing," which certainly got my attention.
But Gilbert's greatest instrument Friday might have been the audience itself. One woman sitting near the front got up during the set, presumably to use the restroom. When she returned, Gilbert immediately began teasing her about not being able to make it through a 30-minute set without a bathroom break. Before long, he had invented a "tiny bladder" song. Fortunately, she had an excellent sense of humor. Being the subject of the joke, she stood up, turned around and essentially presented herself to the rest of the pavilion while laughing along. Then somebody dropped a water bottle loudly, which became another improvised song. Another man walked conspicuously through the middle of the seating area, and Gilbert wondered aloud why he couldn't possibly have stayed toward the back rather than making his way directly through everybody. Nothing malicious was happening. Gilbert simply seemed capable of turning whatever occurred in the room into part of the performance.
Moira Smiley followed, dressed almost as colorfully as anyone I saw all day. Her pants were covered with mushrooms, rainbows, flowers and even ice cream cones, paired with a bright red-and-white top and a large hat. Smiley, a Grammy-nominated singer and composer who had also been involved with The Song School during the week leading into Folks Fest, immediately involved the audience in the music. She divided sections of the pavilion and taught them different vocal parts, one higher and another lower, eventually turning the crowd into part of the arrangement. I only stayed for a portion of her set, including time with Smiley at the piano, but it was enough to understand why communal singing is such a major part of what she does.
S.G. Goodman brought a completely different energy back on the Main Stage. To my ears, Goodman exists somewhere between Appalachian music, alternative rock, punk and a hint of psychedelia. Her band began playing before she walked out, and the guitars immediately had a slightly psychedelic edge. Goodman eventually emerged dressed mostly in black, with sunglasses, a black T-shirt and a chain hanging from her pants. Visually and musically, she looked less like someone's idea of a traditional folk singer and more like she might be preparing to front an underground rock band. Her musicians reinforced that impression. One guitarist wore a 1991 Chicago Bulls World Champions shirt while playing a yellow Stratocaster. The bassist, meanwhile, wore a cowboy hat with a red-and-white checked shirt. It was another set I sampled rather than watched in full. By this point the Main Stage sun was simply brutal, and the Wildflower Pavilion was increasingly serving double duty as a place to hear music and avoid being cooked alive.
Arthur Lee Land was waiting there. Arthur is one of those musicians who seems inseparable from Lyons and the Planet Bluegrass community. I've seen him around this area many times, and he remains one of those genuinely warm people who seems to have a smile ready whenever you see him. He mentioned Friday that this was something like his 24th appearance on the Wildflower stage. Whether anyone other than Arthur has kept exact count, his long history here is unquestionable. He recalled playing the Main Stage with songwriter Steve Seskin back in 2002 and has been appearing around Folks Fest and Lyons for decades. Land also talked about collaborating with his wife, comparing their creative relationship loosely to Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter—one providing the musical vehicle and the other helping supply the words. "In the Perfect Groove" was among the songs I caught, and the title pretty well describes Arthur himself. After dealing with prostate cancer several years ago, seeing him continuing to make music with such obvious gratitude and enthusiasm makes his appearances even more enjoyable. He also mentioned that he was looking forward to Jesse Welles later that evening. A friend had apparently shown Arthur an older video of Welles playing with a trio, and Land remembered being struck by just how much the group rocked. That comment would prove prophetic.
First, however, came Big Richard. The Colorado quartet of Bonnie Sims, Joy Adams, Eve Panning and Hazel Royer has become one of the state's great musical success stories over the past few years. Mandolin, cello, fiddle and upright bass provide the basic ingredients, but describing Big Richard simply as a bluegrass or string band doesn't begin to cover what they do. Friday arrived at the perfect time for them. After hours of being baked by the sun, we had finally entered golden hour. I dipped my toes into the St. Vrain and photographed people sitting in little chairs in the shallow water, seeking whatever relief it could provide. Even the river felt warm, but at least the light had softened. Big Richard looked like they had dressed specifically for golden hour. All four wore black, decorated with colorful floral headpieces or wraps in their hair. At some point, they jokingly referred to their outfits as "the death of capitalism." They also had a tiny additional member stationed at the edge of the stage: a grasshopper they called Katie Hill, housed in a little transparent enclosure. Only Big Richard.
Their ability to transform familiar songs remains part of the fun. Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game" received the string-band treatment, while I unfortunately found myself toward the back getting dinner when they reached Pink Floyd. From way back there, I heard them tear into "Time." Pink Floyd is one of my favorite bands, so naturally that's the one I wish I had been standing directly in front of the stage for. But even from a distance it sounded powerful, strange and magnificent—four acoustic string players attacking Pink Floyd with absolutely no fear.
Then came Jesse Welles. Welles has become one of the biggest singer-songwriter stories in the country over the past couple of years, and Friday's crowd made it obvious that plenty of people had come specifically to see him. The festival clears the area immediately in front of the Main Stage before the headliner and queues people alongside the grounds before letting them back in shortly before showtime. Once those gates opened Friday, people filled every available spot. The stage-left dancing area was about as packed as I've ever seen it. My prediction is that Welles may wind up drawing the biggest audience of the entire weekend. He began exactly as many people have come to know him: alone with acoustic guitar and harmonica, singing direct, topical songs with obvious connections to the American protest-song tradition of Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan. His timing couldn't be much better.
At a moment when the Trump administration, ICE, Pete Hegseth, health-care companies, corporations and virtually every other institution in America seem to be generating songwriting material by the hour, Welles has found an audience hungry for somebody willing to say something. That willingness matters to me. I wish more musicians would use the enormous platforms they have to speak about what is happening around them. I love Phish, but politics rarely enters their shows. Jerry Garcia generally avoided political pronouncements as well, although Bob Weir became much more outspoken and Phil Lesh certainly made his own political leanings known. Artists don't have an obligation to become political commentators. But music has always had the ability to say things that speeches can't, and right now I personally think we need more musicians willing to take that chance. Welles is certainly taking it. His acoustic portion included songs such as "Walmart," "Fat," "Philanthropist," "Fentanyl," "United Health" and "The Poor," each taking aim at a different piece of modern American life.
Then the evening changed completely. The band walked on, and suddenly the Woody Guthrie comparison didn't tell even half the story. Welles strapped on an electric guitar, and what had been a topical folk set became a legitimate rock-and-roll show. His band—guitars, bass, keyboards and drums—was extremely good, and Welles himself demonstrated that he can do considerably more than stand under a tree with an acoustic guitar and sing protest songs. The full-band portion moved through originals including "Join ICE," "Red" and "Domestic Error," but the covers showed just how hard this group can play. Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" absolutely raged. They also tackled Nirvana's "Come as You Are" and the Beatles' "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." I'm admittedly not the world's biggest Nirvana fan—I've always considered them more than a little overrated—but I'll give Welles and the band credit for taking the song on their own terms. "War Pigs," however, was another matter entirely. That thing rocked.
Arthur Lee Land had been right. Anyone who knows Jesse Welles only from the solo acoustic videos circulating online might be surprised by what happens when he plugs in. There's a very real rock guitarist hiding underneath the folk-singer exterior. The currently posted setlist also shows that S.G. Goodman later joined Welles for Bob Dylan's "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" before Welles moved through another solo section and eventually returned to full-band material. It was quite a way to finish a very long Friday.
By the time I headed home, I'd spent most of the day moving between stages, shot thousands of photos, walked roughly seven miles and somehow kept a six-week-old hip functioning through all of it. Saturday may need to be a little less ambitious. The hip is definitely reminding me today that yesterday happened. But Friday also reminded me why Folks Fest remains such a special weekend. The music ranged from Venezuelan harp and Appalachian banjo to comedy songs about tiny bladders, collective singing, psychedelic Americana, Pink Floyd on strings and Jesse Welles turning Black Sabbath loose on the Planet Bluegrass Main Stage. And through all of it flowed—or this year, barely flowed—the St. Vrain. Day one was hot, exhausting, funny, political, occasionally ridiculous and frequently beautiful. Pretty good ingredients for a folk festival.
