Jim Gillespie

A Beatnik’s Love Affair with Blissfest

July 9, 2015

For folk music fans looking to tour the past, a must-stop on the northern Michigan scene is 421 Howard Street in downtown Petoskey.

Today, that address houses the Julienne Tomatoes cafe, where you can snag a great sandwich. But back in the mid-’80s, it was the Spectrum Center artist collective and coffeehouse – where Blissfest was born. It’s also where Bliss Executive Director and festival guru found his calling.

Gillespie and his crew wrapped up another successful Blissfest this past weekend, the event’s 35th happening. We talked to him about how the whole thing began.

LANDMARK DAY

The Spectrum hosted local folk music artists, a film club, dancing, and arts education activities. One particular group, which included Gillespie, was devoted to exploring traditional and roots American music.

"I managed the Grain Train Food Coop in Petoskey between 1979 and 1986," explained Gillespie. "So it ended up being the Grain Train staff, plus the volunteers and artists who ran the Spectrum Center, who were the early organizers of the first Blissfest."

Blissfest actually sprung from a fundraising idea for the Bliss Alternative School, located close to many of the Grain Train staffers’ homes. Much of the talent for the initial festival was provided by musicians from the Spectrum Center. Gillespie also called on artists he’d met through Wheatland Music, a traditional arts organization he’d been involved with since 1972, when he was studying at Central Michigan University. They decided to call the fundraising event Blissfest.

"The obvious name, since it was going to be a festival in Bliss, Michigan," Gillespie laughed.

A northern Michigan staple had been founded. The very first Blissfest took place Saturday, July 5, 1981, for just one day.

TURNING POINTS

At the time, Gillespie didn’t realize that Blissfest was going to be a major part of his life for more than 30 years, but it made sense, as music had always been his passion.

"Ever since high school band I was really drawn to listening and playing music," he said. "My band teacher actually called my parents when I was a senior at Petoskey High School in 1968 to advocate for me to major in music, but my parents were under the impression that I should go into pre-med and that music was a nice hobby, but you could never make much of a living at it."

Gillespie only lasted a few years in the pre-med program and then he drifted toward anthropology.

"I started getting exposed to different cultures and discovered stringed instruments and American roots music through my fellow students," he said.

Returning to Petoskey was a turning point for Gillespie, as it allowed him to combine his passion for music with his passion for people.

"This combination really opened my eyes and mind to the potential of music and culture to be a transformative catalyst for community," he explained.

"When I moved back after 10 years of higher education with two degrees and long hair, the Grain Train had a ready-made community of like-minded folks to plug into.

Blissfest started developing the same way as the hippie tradition that helped develop the food co-op movement."

EARLY YEARS

In the early years, it was tough keeping Blissfest going.

"After each of the first few festivals, I would vow that I would never do it again, since it was so much work and it always lost money," Gillespie laughed.

The fest didn’t turn a profit for its first 12 years, but it was the music, and the musicians themselves, that kept Gillespie going.

"Every March I would start getting calls from friends and musicians encouraging me to do Blissfest again, and what a great time we all had, and that it was often the only time everybody was in the same place at the same time," he said. "It had become a big family reunion of sorts. I still say, to this day, that Blissfest is a family gathering with 5,000 of my closest friends."

Not wanting to disappoint, he moved forward each year and, three decades later, the fest has proven itself in spades.

"It’s because of the perseverance and the passion I have for the transformative power of music, culture and placemaking (a multifaced approach to creating public spaces that promote happiness and well-being) that I’ve stuck with it," he said.

BACK IN THE DAY

That first festival was a far cry from today’s Blissfests, which boast multiple stages and dance floors, large campsites, drum circles, workshops, craft and food vendors, and some pretty big-name performers from folk music circles worldwide.

Held on the Leonard Potato Farm, the 1981 fest welcomed about 350 people. Today, Blissfest attendance is nearly 5,000 people per day. Gillespie’s friends Herb and Daisy Searles took festival-goers on horse and buggy rides, and the Bliss logo was hand-colored on T-shirts with fabric markers.

"We used pieces of yarn for wristbands, we built a small platform under a tree as a stage, and we ran the whole thing with a 1,000-watt generator," Gillespie recollected. "We charged a whopping $5 for the whole day."

On the 1981 performance roster were Gillespie’s own band, Odds and Ends (he played mandolin); all-girl string band The Bosom Buddies from Lansing; Americana musicians Iowa Rose and Riff Raff; and Wheatland band Quackgrass.

The weather, Gillespie quipped, was "blissful," with warm temperatures and blue skies, the air thick with the aroma of farmfresh cut hay, and folks learning how to clog and square dance while the bands played.

"No one could ever have imagined back then where Blissfest would be today," Gillespie said.

After three summers in three different locations, Blissfest moved to its permanent location, a 40-acre farm near Cross Village. The Blissfest organization bought the property in 1995 and expanded it to 120 acres in 1998.

While Blissfest’s hippie reputation holds true today, Gillespie said that’s definitely not a bad thing.

HIPPIE SUCCESS

"I came of age in the hippie generation, and the cultural changes during that time made a lasting impression on me and many others," he said.

"Although hippies get stereotyped as a drug culture, the truth is that the countercultural revolution gave birth to the sustainability movement that has become mainstream today, including the interest in American folk and roots music through gatherings like Blissfest."

The Bliss organization takes sustainability seriously. They’ve long been known as an environmentally conscious event, with recycling bins on site, ground fires prohibited, geodesic domes and tents as workshop sites, and a shuttle bus to the nearby general store and beach to reduce car traffic.

This year, a 6,000-watt solar array was added to the fest along with the solar-powered All-Michigan Local Acts Stage.

"The Blissfest Solar Initiative goal is to eventually go to zero net metering, which means we make all of our power," Gillespie said or every component of Blissfest, musical or otherwise, Gillespie has been at the helm, but after 30 years, how much longer does he plan to keep on keeping on?

"Well, as you know, Blissfest is my baby," he said, "and I will always be involved as long as I’m able to help continue the vision, but the Blissfest Music Organization is now old enough to be considered a young adult. So we’re working on succession plans to allow me – the guy who’s always worn too many hats – to focus on being the artistic director."

Passing the baton is sure to be a slow process, given Gillespie’s still fervent enthusiasm for the "little festival that could." But in building Blissfest, he also built a support structure that’s nearly as passionate about the event as he is.

"We have a hard-working board of directors that keep the organization thriving and the millennials are taking folk and root music and indie-folk to the new, next exciting phase. So I’m confident of the long term survival of Blissfest."

For more information on Blissfest and associated off-season events, visit blissfest.org