By 
Governors Ball, Bonnaroo, Forecastle, and a handful of other major festivals have coaxed Top 40 covers and ranting and raving out of Jack White as he continues to tour behind Lazaretto. But at last weekend's Newport Folk Festival, the notoriously aloof musician didn't riff on "99 Problems" or make constant jabs at the slightly unflattering lines from his Rolling Stone cover story. (He only made one.) He shelved the haughtiness, the rehearsed accent, and the spectacle for a moment. At Newport, Jack White cried.
On the second day of the festival, White helmed a touching tribute to the late Pete Seeger, American icon and an integral part of Newport Folk's cultural makeup. Musicians who had been seen either playing stages or milling about the grounds at Fort Adams earlier that afternoon (Pokey LaFarge, The Milk Carton Kids) joined White onstage. Together, they and the crowd before them launched into a soft and strong take on "Goodnight, Irene," a favorite of Seeger's and a mainstay in the sing-alongs he had hosted on that very stage every year before this one. It might've been the timing of the finale — White finished things up just as the sun was dipping into the fiery strokes of a painted sunset — or it could've been the fact that Seeger wouldn't be joining White himself. Despite having kept things as rambunctious and compelling at Fort Adams as he had at all of the commercial mega-festivals he headlined before it, White couldn't get beyond that note at Newport Folk, and his icky-thumping heart was overwhelmed in that simple crack of his voice.
The aftershock carried over the storied walls of the Fort and long past the verse about singing one more song, and the comments he made earlier — about how he had loved watching other bands at Newport Folk, how this was the first festival he'd been to in 12 years where he could take in another artist's set and be left alone — were no longer hollow attempts at flattery but sincere points of praise. There's something about Newport Folk that relieves an artist as seemingly unapproachable as Jack White of the expectations that go along with being a rock star, because the histrionics, ceremonies, and protocols of fame aren't really welcome at Newport. (Ryan Adams joking about yacht rock and Jeff Tweedy warming up with a secret show in the ramshackle confines of the fort walls two hours before his main stage performance back this up as well.) At Newport Folk, it's not about the reverb, the massaging bass, or the casualties after the bouts of alcohol poisoning and drug consumption have been reported. It's just as simple and straightforward as the chorus of the folk song White could hardly bear to finish. Newport Folk is not about the noise, it's about the music, and that simple distinction could save us from losing our tradition to the festival machine.
The festival's life after dark doesn't hurt its mission, either. The touching tribute from White, Ryan Adams's refreshing, optimistic turn, and the various demonstrations in musical prowess that had filled the Fort with twang and grit while the sun was up all eventually led to the shenanigans afoot at Newport Folk's Deer Tick-hosted after-parties. The Newport Blues Café shows, officially sanctioned by the festival, struck a nerve that indicated that the American music establishment could teach the music industry a thing or to about the staying (and paying) power of tradition.
When you go to a festival that involves openly weeping throughout a Paul McCartney monologue or roaring to the point of laryngitis alongside 90,000 people, you're watching a meticulously crafted lineup that takes into account record release dates, reissues, major headlining tours, movie premieres, anniversaries, and other numbers provided to the festival by the music industry for the sake of promotion and cross-channel saturation. Outkast's massive tour didn't simply come about because there was a demand for it: Their triumphant festival circuit takeover this season coincided with their 20th anniversary as a recording act, and André 3000's performance as Jimi Hendrix in Jimi: All Is by My Side. Kanye West made a notorious return to Bonnaroo and will headline Outside Lands with a refurbished take on the Yeezus tour, a change in direction and scenery if only to accommodate the demands of festival production alone. Tom Petty — who will join Kanye in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park this August and headlined Bonnaroo alongside McCartney last summer — has a record out this week, just in time for his Outside Lands set to receive an overdue makeover. These performances were all spectacular, but repetitive. Trips to both Bonnaroo and Outside Lands are rendered obsolete when the lineups embrace a hefty portion of the same artists and the set lists remain the same. Some people want to see Kanye twice in one summer. And some people want to go to a festival for a lineup curated for the space, the vibe, and the genres it reveres especially, not necessarily a program designed by formula.
These festivals with zillions of dollars in sponsors and amenities that can cater to tens of thousands of people make for the perfect platform to debut new material, but what if the promotion isn't the motivation? At Newport Folk, this criteria is a hindrance, if anything: In order to get on the Newport Folk lineup, you need to express interest in the festival or be recommended to its organizers as an act that'd be great for the stage. The asset doesn't guarantee you a spot on the lineup. The desire to be there helps. As a result, the performances refrain from sticking to the mechanical, military-grade clockwork these other productions abide by. Depending on who's hanging out along the side of the Fort stage or how the crowd is feeling, a set can include a multitude of musical moments that occurred just because the people executing them put improvisation before agenda.
A soaring rendition of The Band's "The Weight" voiced by soul sensation and Muscle Shoals maven Mavis Staples, Norah Jones, and Taylor Goldsmith of Dawes was followed by a fort-wide chorus of "Happy Birthday" and a giant, candlelit cake, because Staples had returned to Newport to celebrate her 75th year in style. Lucius sang backup for Jeff Tweedy in all his stripped-down acoustic glory and then climbed up onto the beer-soaked stage at the Newport Blues Café to accompany Deer Tick, who coaxed one of the sound guys to deliver an impromptu performance of Blind Melon's "No Rain" in order to force some buddies into losing a bet and scoring some bumblebee tattoos as the penalty. And when they're not performing, the artists are supporting each other and walking freely between the tents: Ryan Adams made a point to show up early to watch Anais Mitchell, and White spent the hours before his time on the main stage briskly striding between sets by The Oh Hellos and Benjamin Booker.
When the expectations and industry obligations are removed from the equation, what Newport Folk provides is a celebration of an ever-evolving genre in an unpredictable way — a music festival in its purest form. This doesn't invalidate the pleasures that come with the bombast and aplomb of Bonnnaroo, Coachella, and the like, but it exposes weaknesses and tired tropes, and a festival like Newport doesn't suffer from the same Achilles heel. When artists are invited back because they make music that stirs audiences rather than as promotional vehicles, the lineup stays true to the spirit of the festival instead of the economics of the industry. And when that pressure is gone, when it really comes down to a few taut strings and the strength of more voices than one, that's when the music can move you — and even Jack White — to tears.
