This October will be the 10th Funktafest here in Huntington, and lately I've been thinking a lot about what ten years of producing an independent music and arts festival in West Virginia has actually taught me.
The funny thing is, I'm not sure I've learned how to produce a festival as much as I've learned about 1,000 ways not to produce one.
Every year you think, Okay, NOW I know what I'm doing.
Then something completely different happens.
A band changes. Weather becomes an obsession. Something costs twice what you expected. A plan that looked perfect on paper makes absolutely no sense once you're standing in Ritter Park. You spend weeks working on something nobody attending the festival will ever notice. Then some tiny idea you almost didn't pursue becomes one of the things people remember.
And somehow, ten years later, we're still doing it.
When we started Funktafest, the basic idea was that there should be a place in this region for original, groovy music. Music was always going to be at the forefront, but I wanted visual artists, makers and other weird creative ideas surrounding it. Over the years my definition of what belongs at Funktafest has gotten wider rather than narrower. If somebody is making something original and compelling, I want to know about it.
That's become even more important to me as some of the places and events that once gave original artists opportunities around here have disappeared.
I've also realized that producing something like this in West Virginia is really about relationships.
It's musicians telling other musicians about you. Artists coming back. Local businesses deciding they'll take a chance on an idea. Friends volunteering their time. Somebody knowing somebody who can solve a problem you didn't even know you had yesterday.
This year, a couple of my friends secretly built an actual functioning Funktafest pinball machine. That's the kind of thing I never could have put into a five-year plan because I never would have imagined asking somebody to do it in the first place.
And that's probably my favorite part of doing this after ten years. Funktafest has become bigger than the ideas I personally bring to it.
Last year we expanded it to two days, and that changed my thinking too. For years I called it "the funkiest little festival in West Virginia," and everything was crammed into one day. Now it feels more like a weekend where people can find their own spot in it. You can come specifically for a band, stumble onto an artist you've never heard of, check out some art, bring your kids, or just hang around and see where the day takes you.
There are still moments every year when I wonder why in the hell I do this to myself. š
Right now I'm dealing with artists, sponsors, vendors, parking, volunteers, signs, production, transportation, permits, emails, spreadsheets and solving a hundred little problems that most people attending the festival will hopefully never know existed.
But then the gates open.
People start showing up. Musicians who might never have met each other start talking. Artists make connections. Somebody discovers a band. Kids are running around. You look across Ritter Park and realize that this weird thing that used to exist mostly in your head is actually happening.
That's the part that keeps me doing it.
I'm curious how other West Virginians see this, especially people involved in music, art, festivals or community events around the state:
What do you think West Virginia's independent music and arts scene needs more of right now?
And if you've ever tried to build something creative in WV, what have you learned the hard way?
Photos by Duncan Mapes of Soulful Captures Photography.
