Sound waves, Cygnet and silence.

The most fabulous thing about a music festival is that there’s a common want: to experience music honestly and often. The listeners are flooded with music made earnestly for them and the players are in full flight because finaly people are actually paying attention.  

January sees Cygnet Folk Featival grip this south of the Tasmanian state and invites players abound to both meet the crowd and take home a new dream of honesty in his guitar case. I don’t mean to wax too lyrical here and say that the streets of Cygnet are paved with gold, but they do have more to cheer about then the other 51 weekends of the year. 
And as the arse of recorded contemporary popular music falls further into disrepair, it is a sweet breath to be reminded that the integrity of live music has, once again, demanded that the best will be rewarded here. Sing the song dammit!! Start to finish. And when it’s done, wait like the conductor of the orchestra who holds the baton high and allows the last sound to stand still before dropping his white stick, signaling the return to silence, which only the audience may disrupt with applause. 
It’s a great relationship. And it always will be. 

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