Telluride Bluegrass Festival offered Rocky Mountain highs — and one troubling low

The Telluride Bluegrass Festival has an open-arms policy. Its 50th-anniversary bash earlier this month welcomed everyone from Sam Bush, a legend who just might sleep with a mandolin under his pillow, to Gregory Alan Isakov, who sounded more like Wilco than Bill Monroe.

But getting to the party isn't easy. The closest major cities to Telluride, a former mining town in Colorado, are Santa Fe, N.M., Denver and Salt Lake City, and each is more than a six-hour drive away. Tricky weather can make navigating the mountain roads as harrowing as tackling "Dueling Banjos."

Hotels are pricey, which means most of the 12,000 visitors per day rough it in campgrounds that turn into mud baths after thunderstorms, and forced two evacuations from the main park on the second day.

Those who can't secure space in the neighboring lot must pitch tents high over the box-canyon burg and rely on the free gondola service to reach the concerts.

Some artists struggle to adapt to the wild shifts in temperature and an altitude of over 8,500 feet.

"I need some oxygen," said Mary Chapin Carpenter near the end of a greatest-hits set, huffing and puffing so hard after a raucous version of "He Thinks He'll Keep Her" that she messed up the band introductions.

But the big names keep making the trip.

They also come for the rabid fans. Tickets ($330 for a four-day pass) sold out within two hours when they went on sale last December.

Every morning, diehards lined up for blocks at the gate to participate in the Running of the Tarps, a goodnatured foot race to see who can snag the best lawn space. It's a tradition that nods to the land rushes of the late 19th century, although it's safe to assume that those early pioneers didn't include couples in matching "Hee Haw" overalls or a guy in a hot dog suit.

It felt like a family affair. You could safely leave your bags on your blanket while you stood in long beer lines, got your sandals repaired or engaged in the dying art of Hacky Sack.

It's also an audience that leans left, the opposite direction from folks at certain festivals in West Virginia and North Carolina, where MAGA hats outnumber electric guitars. For Telluride's version of a seventh-inning stretch, yoga instructors urged people to lean in and listen to their partners' hearts.

Before Tim O'Brien played "When You Pray (Move Your Feet)," a tribute to civil rights advocate John Lewis, he made a joke about former President Donald Trump being arrested. The fans roared their approval.

On any given day, you could count nonwhite spectators on one hand. There were food stands for curries, banh mi sandwiches and wontons. But none of them ever seemed to be manned by Asian Americans.

The lineup wasn't much more diverse. Yasmin Williams, a guitar instrumentalist who mimics the rush of waterfalls, was one of the few Black performers who got an invite. But she wasn't raised in the bluegrass community. She learned her craft while mastering Guitar Hero.

"It's almost a copout to say we're limited within our genre, because, moving forward, there's a lot more diversity in newer bluegrass," Tucker said. "I'm all ears to hear how we can improve."

In a phone interview before the festival, singer/guitarist Del McCoury said that diversity was discussed after his own DelFest, held in Maryland every May.

"This year was the first time it was brought up," he said. "We're going to work on that."

Alison Krauss was underutilized during her closing set with Robert Plant, allowing fellow fiddler Stuart Duncan to do the more furious playing on a very different approach to the Led Zeppelin classic, "Rock and Roll."

But Krauss had shown off her chops earlier in the day by tearing through "Sawin' on the Strings" with the Telluride House Band, proving she came to Colorado to do more than babysit a rock legend.

Chris Thile, who inherited "Prairie Home Companion" from Garrison Keillor, may be considerably younger than those names, but he's earned enough cred here to have merited five sets, including two with the Punch Brothers, who were saying goodbye to bandmate Gabe Witcher. It was a perfect setting for a farewell to the adept fiddler as the group formed during one of the many Telluride after-parties.

Emmylou Harris dug deep into her bag of sad songs, even pulling out the neglected gem "The Sweetheart of the Rodeo." But she also made sure to spotlight her brand-new backing duo, Watchhouse, allowing the pair to shine on two of their terrific original numbers.

Isakov, who sings with Leon Redbone-type energy, may have been an odd choice to open for Plant and Krauss. But those paying attention to his sharp lyrics had to believe they were listening to the next great poet of Americana music.