The squelching sound of sneakers pivoting on damp grass fills the air as the tired and freezing festival crowd shift their weight from one aching foot to the other, waiting for the set to start.
The roaring sound of Canadian indie rock band Born Ruffians has stopped echoing across the open space between the two mainstages erected on Henley Island for the Cicada Music Festival. Their set finished only a minute or so earlier, but the people pressed against the barricade in front of Henley Stage are getting anxious.
Crammed between a PDA-heavy couple and the tallest man I have ever seen; I start to shiver. The dark-haired girl beside me must be cold too as she pulls her oversized jean jacket tighter across her chest. Watching as she cracks open a bottle of water she’s pulled from her coat, I press my dry lips together to prevent a longing sigh. For a moment, I wondered how she got that thing to fit in such a small pocket and if might be able to do the same before shaking my head. My lunch, a small tray of plain french fries I shared with my companion, cost me $15.
I don’t even want to know how much a bottle of Dasani would put me out.
I can’t ponder it for long though, shaken out of my reverie when my body, unwillingly, rockets into the PDA-heavy couple in front of me. While Andy Shauf has quietly taken the stage without me noticing, the tall guy behind me hasn’t missed a beat and currently seems to be attempting to phase through my body to get closer to the stage. A series of aptly guided elbow jabs and a glare seem to set him straight.
On stage, Andy perches on a wooden kitchen chair with his legs crossed. While behind him a full-size drum kit and a variety of string instruments are veiled by misty shadows, Shauf is a one-man show — just him and his acoustic guitar. Purportedly a Saskatchewan native who should be used to the cold, Shauf starts to shiver as he takes a sip from his tea-filled thermos.
As warm, syrupy guitar tones fill the crisp air, hush falls. Shauf’s unique voice unravels out over the crowd like a blanket, encapsulating everyone in a cozy hug that staves off the cold. Bodies sway in unison as each song starts to blend together with only a quiet “thank you” from Shauf to break up the set.
He meanders through “Wasted on You,” “Halloween Store,” “Spanish on the Beach” and “Yvonne” before briefly stopping to take a sip of tea and flex his cold fingers. Picking away at his guitar again, Shauf is a mastermind of quiet authenticity. While each song he plays fits into the larger fictional story he has created for his work, Shauf sings each track as though he has lived each experience he is speaking of in full. There is no denying that he is believable in his craft, of which he appears deeply engrossed.
Towards the end of the set, he admits to the crowd that he has absolutely no idea where he is, only that he is happy for the chance to perform at all.
Quietly he ends his performance with “Satan,” leaving the audience in a fuzzy haze of warmth. Before long, a heavy bass drum beat shudders the crowd awake and toward the other stage, where Serena Ryder is ready to rock.
Festival life continues and each set starts to blend into the next. Yet, Shauf’s unique quietness and authenticity will not be easily forgotten by those lucky enough to experience it.