Washburn 1

Trevor Washburn
Ms. Townley
Composition
7 April 2015

The Sights and Sounds of Stinson: Maha 2014

Arriving at Stinson Park for last years Maha Music Festival was a sensory overload.
Immediately the smell of curry fries and falafel filled my nostrils as I breathed in the warm latesummer air. The sun was producing an almost unbearable heat as my skin began to burn and tan.
As we entered the park a man at the entrance marked our hands with a stamp shaped like a
phoenix rising from the ashes. Looking around, I saw the colorful tents; they reminded me of the
tents you would see at a State fair or a circus.
As I began to walk around, large beads of sweat began to roll down my face; I bought a
bottle full of water. The smoothness of H2O hit my tongue. I knew today would be a good day,
but I was in for a sweet surprise I wasnt expecting. As we made our way around the tents and
stands where people were both buying in selling shirts and vinyl records in relaxed voices, I
noticed how relaxing the breeze was, as it hit my face and began to cool me down both internally
and externally.
We moved towards the large flock of people crowded around the two very large stages at
the other end of the park. The men moving the large stage equipment around stopped for a few
moments to wipe the sweat and dirt from their brows. As we moved to our, unknown at the time,
perpetual spot near the front of the main stage; I heard the chords of a guitar being strummed
lightly as a mans raspy voice began to sing the words of a song I had never heard before. I didnt

Washburn 2
find out until afterwards that the musician, a man named Matt Whipkey, was a local Omaha
native and also happens to teach guitar lessons. He played a few more songs with his touring
bandmates, who harmonized with him and made very beautiful chords while playing with him.
As we sat on the warm green grass, I began to itch and became very uncomfortable; as I
later found out I am slightly allergic to direct skin contact with grass. My skin was raw and
bright red from the uncontrollable itching and scratching at my skin. By this point Matt had
finished his act, and the sun had already made a thorough dent into my epidermis, my skin still
bright red, I never figured out if it was from the sun or from the itching.
The morning festivities were very different from the evening shows at the festival. That
night three of the greatest bands in the indie folk scene performed in a concert that changed the
way I view music. Local Natives kicked off the night, each of their band members singing
throughout the concert, and each of them swapping places and playing drums, synthesizer, and
other percussion instruments. The moment the lead singer dove out into the crowd and began to
crowd surf was such a unique experience for me. One man, sweat beads dripping down his face,
shirt soaked from moving and jumping around, was able to rile up the crowd and keep them
invested and excited for more music they would continue to play.
After Local Natives came The Head and the Heart, their lead singer dressed in a suit and
a flat top bowler hat. I nudged my way up to the front of the crowd and was within ten feet of the
band on stage. They played for a quite a while, playing banjo, guitar, and singing. Their vocal
harmonies rang through my ears and made the hair on my neck stand up. One song in particular,
"Rivers and Roads", gave me the chills and brought a few tears to my eyes. It was a beautiful
rendition of the song and in Stinson; the sound was amplified and could be heard from a mile

Washburn 3
away. The crowd initially roared and then began to sing along as they began to recognize some
of their more popular songs.
I didnt realize that The Head and the Heart were to be quickly overtaken in terms of raw
emotional appeal for me. The headliner and closing act of the night was one of my all-time
favorite bands. Death Cab for Cutie ranks up among the legendary bands such as The Beatles and
Led Zeppelin. They are innovative, they have a lot of talent, and like those other prestigious
bands; they were, at the time, in the process of losing a member and potentially breaking up
altogether.
Their performance in the space was phenomenal, the light, yet somewhat harsh vocals
coming from Ben Gibbard, the lead singer, rang through my ears, it was eerie to hear them
perform live. The guitarist, Chris Walla, was visibly sweating more as he progressively got more
and more into the music. This made me smile, I took in a breath of unfiltered air, this was the
member they were losing, yet he still played with such ferocity and passion.
As we left the concert I could feel the tears dripping down my face. This festival, and this
park, would forever be seared into my memory as a life changing moment. The various
performances of the night gave me a renewed hope in music. It ignited my passion to want to get
so into the music during my own performances that others would walk away, so emotionally
overwhelmed by the experience, that they too begin to shed a few tears. Although the music had
overwhelmed me, the space itself made up half of what was so great about this concert; the
rolling grass, the carnival-like tents, and the thousands of fans screaming encore as we walked
away. This was a space Id pay fifty dollars every year to come back to and experience this level
of musicianship and finely-tuned acoustics. The name Stinson Park will be remembered in

Washburn 4
history as the place that inspired many musicians, myself included, to pursue their dreams and to
never be afraid to show some emotion in their performances.