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Marfa myths: A quixotic music festival that deFies the age of instagram By Jael Goldfine – May 23, 2019 Marfa is a speck of a town in the lonely high desert mecca. The kind of place where Danish artists build of West Texas, pierced by a few yellow licks of high- anti-capitalist art installations on the side of the way, washed in a buzzing silence and surrounded by highway, that Beyoncé documents herself visiting on endless horizon. It’s been the subject of fascination road trips and her sister Solange selects (alongside since minimalist sculptor Donald Judd moved there the Guggenheim) to stage performance art. The kind in the 1970s, leaving it littered with sculptures, his of place where HBO shows documenting parodied home, a prestigious contemporary art museum (The literary communities are set, actual famous poets Chinati Foundation) and the lore that the land itself live, and where Brooklyn record labels host music is imbued with creativity. Whispers about the town’s festivals. mystical status technically pre-date Judd, going back to 1800’s gossip about a still inexplicable glow above Marfa Myths, a collaboration between Brooklyn in- the Chinati mountains known as the Marfa Lights. die label Mexican Summer and local arts non-profit Ballroom Marfa, is an annual music pilgrimage that But the more recent quirk in Marfa’s history is what has become a keyhole into Marfa’s bucolic, peculiar transformed the former railroad water stop into a universe. Capped at 800 people, absurdly intimate, precariously burgeoning tourist economy and art tranquil and hyper-local — in contrast to the sched- ule of paint-by-numbers, 10,000-100,000 person venues, ensuring that each day, visitors have to trek affairs assembled out of 18-wheelers onto nameless up and down Marfa’s single dusty intersection to patches of land and packed away after three days — catch the generously spaced out events. In between, Myths is one of several events the terms “anti-Coach- they’ll get to know the town’s geography intimately, ella” or “anti-festival” have been applied to. visiting Judd’s sculptures at the Chinati Foundation, patronizing the few restaurants, including a world- Myths is, indeed, completely unrecognizable within class burrito shack plastered with photos of grinning the modern definition of a music festival. Not a celebrities, the single coffee shop, and the scattered single stage, bed, toilet or taco is imported. The art boutiques (whose succulents and geometric jewelry installations are permanent. Not one ‘pop-up experi- would have you believe you were in Bushwick, but ence’ appears over the weekend, unless you count the for the cowboy boots). lady selling ceramics off a folding table outside the sporting goods store. Attendees sleep in the town’s However, something feels wrong about the implica- few hotels, or El Cosmico, a colorful, self-described tion that Myths is a backlash to festival culture. As “Bohemian West Texas Nomadic Hotel” and camp- if a few hipsters scouted the “quirkiest” they could ground of (as I’m told) bumper-sticker fame across find, so they could sit around smugly listening to the state. All shows are hosted in local bars and noise music and making fun of influencers in assless chaps and people getting herpes on ferris wheels. Arguably, Myths feels just as antithetical to this scene as the coital assless-chapped couple riding a ferris wheel, while Justin Bieber lip-syncs in the background. Rather than a protest of anything, Myths feels like the organic outcome of a symbiotic relationship between a place and a project — an experience expe- rience that both defies the term “music festival,” and the colorless, curated non-conformity promised by an “anti-Coachella.” Myths feels like sitting on pebbles under the notori- ously huge, cerulean Texan sky, inside the white ado- be walls of Ballroom Marfa’s courtyard, lulled into an unshakable calm by the joyful rhythms of Jess Sah Bi & Peter One, two Ivory Coast musicians blending traditional folk, Afro-pop and American country. And wiggling around to London DJ Josey Rebelle’s disco-tinged techno in El Cosmico’s backyard. It feels like laughing out loud, after wandering into Lost Horse saloon to catch Superstar & Star, the bi- zarre cult duo of Trinidadian-born Neville Lawrence and his collaborator, an older woman simply known The Space Lady, a self-taught Boston street player whose zonked-out synth music has found cult fan- dom, the half-satire, half-synth-pop project of Jerry Paper) and unsung “elder statespeople” (old school Houston hip-hop DJ OG Ron C, feminist punk Vivien Goldman and electronic pioneer Annette Peacock). Plus, a couple of indie staples to “ground the program” like Khruangbin, Tim Hecker, Cass McCombs and Deerhunter. This last category has shrunk each year. Fans’ cu- riosity about Marfa is plenty for them to make the as Ann, whose Caribbean-soul performances resemble trek out from New York City, Chicago, Portland and a low-budget but huge-hearted Elvis impersonation. all of California and Texas’ metropolises (the closest And swaying to the psychedelic country of Texan of which, El Paso, is a three-hour drive away) with hometown hero Jess Williamson, under low lights in hardly any even indie-famous headliners. “We’d love the Marfa Visitors Center, one of the “main stages,” to get it to a point where people say, ‘Oh, I don’t where concerts have the homey ambience of a school dance. know anybody on this line-up, I think it’ll be amaz- ing,’” Abrahamsson says. He adds that big-name acts Whether your friends are punks or basics, none are welcome, on the condition that they “do some- of those moments will attract many “omg jealous” thing really freaky, completely out of their comfort replies or explosions of heart-eyed emojis on an zone, super weird. Like, John Mayer can come play, Instagram story. But they were among the most but he’s gotta do a Dead Moon set.” Their experi- memorable at this year’s festival, which has become ment has produced a sweet spot in the alt-festival something of a musical social experiment. “Our goal circuit: friendlier than the avant-garde assault of is total discovery. We want to challenge people who Basilica Soundscape, but weirder than the weighty come here,” explains Keith Abrahamsson, co-founder line-ups of Arcosanti FORM or Pitchfork Fest. “As of Mexican Summer, and co-curator of Myths. This each year grew in ticket sales and attendance, we year’s uncluttered, 20+ act bill highlighted a cocktail realized, ‘Hey man, people are really stoked to come of young polymaths (Rebelle, jazz experimenter Jon out there and see something that they are not going Bap, sonic collagists Makaya McCraven and Emily to see anywhere else.’” Sprague), post-modern weirdos (Superstar & Star, Myths’ quixotic goal to challenge rather than appeal (and its Bandcamp deep-dive of a bill) runs the risk of appearing pretentious or exclusive. But within a few minutes of the familial, low-tech festival, it’s clear that Myths isn’t concerned with curating an elite audience. Rather, Myths is curated in the spirit of nudging people towards an appreciation of music that’s rooted in an elementary, defamiliarized place of joy, rather than clout. Made possible by its extraordinary hometown, Myths is a musical experi- ence as agnostic to the religion of cultural currency obsession with neon signage and colorful stucco) and that we’re all unwilling devotees of, as perhaps is the growing list of pop cultural landmarks which possible in 2019. intro articles like this one, have drastically raised Marfa’s profile. Paradoxically, this growing Insta- This quietly rebellious ethic feels consistent with grammable appeal of Marfa’s mysteries is, to some Myths’ model as a festival. Acutely conscious of extent, what make Myths’ Instagram-defiant musical “seeming like outsiders coming in from New York,” experiment possible. Those same posts and prop- according to Abrahamsson, Myths doesn’t just er nouns encourage attendance to a festival whose prioritize, but only exists because of its intimate line-up isn’t designed to please. The phenomena has relationship to Marfa. From its origins in 2014 as a thrown Marfa into limbo. one-day, five-act show (that Abrahamsson describes as a rained-out, glorious “total fucking disaster”), the The weekend of this year’s Myths, the town is festival has grown slowly and organically with Marfa, on-edge. “#MARFASAYSNO” yard signs dot the ensuring each addition or expansion serves the town town, following a confrontation with music festival as well as visitors. company C3 Presents (a subsidiary of Live Nation), responsible for mega-fests like Austin City Limits “We’d love to get it to a point where people say, ‘Oh, and the seven Lollapaloozas around the world. Three I don’t know anybody on this line-up, I think it’ll be amazing.’” weeks earlier, C3 officially postponed a proposal to found a 5,000 person festival outside Marfa, starting Mexican Summer has made this happen, largely in 2020. The number is a fraction of ACL and Lolla’s through its marriage with Ballroom Marfa (a pillar 400,000-plus events, but more than twice the popu- of the town’s arts infrastructure) which facilitates lation of the tiny town, which sometimes runs out of partnerships with nearly 20 local organizations, gas and staples. from the Chinati and Judd Foundations, to Texas Rio Grande Legal Aid, a law firm that provides free When residents discovered the proposal earlier in the services to migrants and receives a portion of the year, it ignited an existential crisis fueled by visions festival’s merch sales.

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