THROWBACK THURSDAY / TREEFORT MUSIC FEST 2016—The Evening Class Interview With Tispur (née Samwise Carlson)

It is wonderful to see how the Treefort Music Fest has expanded over the years, but I will always have a fondness for its early years and the young musicians and artists who embraced me when I first relocated to Idaho from the Bay Area. Key among them was Tispur (née Samwise Carlson) and I am delighted that they have returned to the festival; a welcome alumnus. With their sole performance at the District Coffee House Thursday, March 27, 2025, 8:30PM, I look forward to hearing where their musical journey has wandered. What better time to revisit my conversation with them of editions past. I apologize if the pronouns are a bit off but a lot has happened since back then. Regardless, everyone is welcome here in Boise and at Treefort Music Fest. 

Here’s Tispur’s current bio, offered by the Treefort Music Fest: "Tispur is a folk project led by Samwise Carlson in Portland, OR. They’re known for their angelic voice, unique finger-style guitar technique and gently hypnotic, moving performances akin to the spirits of Nick Drake, Vashti Bunyan, and Joanna Newsom. Originally hailing from rural Southeastern Idaho, Samwise moved to Boise in 2012 and spent the next seven years performing, writing music, touring, and hosting house shows before relocating to Portland, OR where they currently live. They have been accompanied by string sections, harpists, accordionists, pedal steel players, and percussionists, but often perform solo, and have opened for the likes of Aldous Harding, Neal Morgan, Mariee Sioux, Laura Veirs, Ora Cogan, Circuit Des Yeux, Marisa Anderson, Stelth Ulvang, Coco Rosie, The Secret Beach, and many other artists acclaimed in their genres. Tispur has released two records; “Sleepy Creature” in 2017 and the self-titled album “Tispur” in 2022, and is currently recording their third album. 

* * * 

With the sweetest of smiles and the strongest of embraces, Tispur (née Samwise Carlson) has distinguished themself in Boise's musical scene as an elven incarnation of fantasy folk, incanting melodies that dream and lure listeners into meditative states. Often when I spot them walking out and about it's as if one of the young subjects of a Botticelli painting has stepped down from the canvas to visit the street. Gentle and brave, their talent knows no bounds. As noted by Treefort Music Fest: "Tispur's debut album, ‘Sleepy Creature’, is an honest and lulling, testament to Carlson's childhood obsession with fantasy, and conversely, morose and oftentimes disconnected disposition toward the stark realities experienced as a millennial in America. Recorded to tape in a half-flooded concrete basement, ‘Sleepy Creature’ features accompaniment by Jake Saunders on cello and Riley Johnson on keys and vocals." 

It was a genuine pleasure to sit down with Samwise to discuss Tispur. 

* * * 

Michael Guillén: I'm aware that you showed up in Boise's music scene about the same time that I arrived here. Can you tell me a little bit about your background? Why and when you came to Boise? Where did you come from? 

Tispur: I moved from Rigby, which is near Idaho Falls. I was planning on going to school. I first came to audition for the music program at BSU, got accepted as a major in music composition, but didn't get accepted into the school itself because I'm super bad at math. I failed the Compass exam. 

Guillén: Why did I have the impression you were from southern California? 

Tispur: I am from California. I moved to Rigby from San Diego, California, when I was about 10-11. 

Guillén: So most of your adolescence and young adulthood has been in Rigby? Was it a tiny town? 

Tispur: Tiny town. It maybe has a population of 6,000. 

Guillén: Growing up in such a small town, when did you know you wanted to be an artist and musician? Did you have any influences there? 

Tispur: I started playing guitar when I was 10 or so and really loved it. I had some friends that also played music and we would just jam out all the time. I had one friend in particular who really pushed me to start singing, because I would not sing in front of anyone. I'd write all these songs by myself in my basement room. He helped me in that way by pushing me to start singing in front of people. 

Guillén: Did you have musical influences? It sounds like you found a community of like-minded people playing music, but were you listening to anyone who you wanted to be like? 

Tispur: If we really want to go far back, I was really into the Googoo Dolls. Kind of silly, right? They got me into tuning my guitar to alternate tunings. A lot of what I'm doing now was influenced by that. I listened to The Beatles a lot. I really loved The Beatles. When I was 14 or 15, I discovered more indie stuff, like Feist's "1234" and I was like, "What is this?" It was a really cute indie pop jam. 

Guillén: So you've always liked a melodic pop sound? 

Tispur: Yeah, but I didn't discover it until I was 15. After that, I fell deep into the Internet and found a lot of cool artists that I liked. 

Guillén: So you are a self-taught musician? 

Tispur: Yeah. I took a few lessons when I was young, as far as my instrument goes. 

Guillén: So you came to Boise and started playing at open mics. Did you ever busk on the streets? 

Tispur: I went straight into open mics. I did do some busking in the Summer of 2014, but by that point I had already had some shows and played out of town and stuff. 

Guillén: Did you know anyone when you moved to Boise? Did you already have a built-in community? 

Tispur: No, I didn't know anyone. 

Guillén: How did you find your people, then? Because now you are definitely a part of a community. 

Tispur: I want to credit it to The Crux. That venue was my spot for a while. It was my favorite place to go. I was there every day. Every night I would go to every show. It was a great gathering place where I could hang out and meet people. That's where I met Brett Hawkins, who's my best friend and band mate. I met him there doing open mic night. The Crux was definitely a huge deal. I met most of my friends there. 

Guillén: Where does your stage name "Tispur" come from? 

Tispur: This is really silly but I have a background of playing a lot of RPGs and, if I had an Elf character, I would always name it Tispur because it sounded Elven. Musically, I was originally going by Woodwind but realized it would be really hard to find Woodwind online anywhere because you would type in "Woodwind music" and get a million hits on woodwind players or woodwind instruments. So I decided to switch to Tispur. 

Guillén: Is Tispur configured as a solo act? Because the first time I saw you, you were playing with Judah Claffey, and the next time I saw you at last year's Treefort you had an ensemble of cello, harp, violin and viola (with that lovely guest appearance by Bronwyn Leslie). 

Tispur: That was a good time and super fun. 

Guillén: Is your conception of Tispur to advance to a fuller sound? Or are you remaining solo? 

Tispur: It keeps changing. I'm going to do it solo for a while. I feel it's healthy for me to do that now and it's fun. 

Guillén: Have you written new music for this year's Treefort? 

Tispur: I have three new songs that I'll be playing. 

Guillén: How do you situate Tispur within Boise's music scene? Do you feel that you're part of a scene? Is it a scene that's allowing you to grow as a musical artist? 

Tispur: To an extent I feel that. There's a lot of really good music and supportive musicians and non-musicians here. We're not at a competitive stage yet. 

Guillén: How would you describe your music? 

Tispur: Jake Saunders, the cellist who played with me last year at Treefort, he described Tispur as "fairy pillow talk", which I loved. My music has fantasy vibes. It's really pretty. 

Guillén: It is very pretty music and you have a beautiful voice. 

Tispur: Thank you. 

Guillén: And, as you've just told me, elven. There is a bardic minstrel quality to your songs. Your music tells stories. Where do those stories come from? 

Tispur: Most of the time when I write I'll have a vague concept of a story in my mind. I don't really try to write stories. 

Guillén: So you get an image first that guides the narrative? 

Tispur: Yeah. I utilize imagery a lot. Lately, having turned 22, I'm feeling an existential weight. I don't know why. 

Guillén: Looking back, I'd have to say my twenties were the hardest years of my life for being so heavy. Collaboration helps with shouldering that burden. Can you speak to Boise's collaborative ethos? When you arrived from Rigby, did you find that unusual? 

Tispur: Yeah, it was all unusual. What I knew about any of this from the scene in Rigby, which is nothing, or even Idaho Falls, which is pretty much nothing, was all I'd ever known. I don't really know anything else besides this scene in Boise. 

Guillén: What are your hopes then? Do you have a sense of where you want to go with your music? I know you've played in Southern California. Do you want to tour? To record? 

Tispur: I'm finishing up a record right now that will be 11 tracks long and I'm planning a tour for June. Touring, for sure, is my main goal. 

Guillén: How do you negotiate that? Do you have a manager? Do you do that all yourself? 

Tispur: I will be, I think, working with Duck Club. They're booking me in West Coast gigs. But I've booked about seven dates by myself. This is my first time doing that so I'm learning as I go. 

Guillén: What are you learning? Have you played these venues and feel comfortable approaching them again? Have friends recommended venues? How have you figured out this network of venues? 

Tispur: Pretty much all of that. If I've played a venue, I'll contact them. I've been going to shows long enough and have met enough musicians from out-of-town and that's helpful because I can approach them and say, "Hey, remember me? Can you help me get a gig here in Albuquerque, New Mexico?" 

Guillén: Are some of the gigs you've lined up out of state? 

Tispur: Yeah. Idaho Falls will be my first stop. Then I'm doing Camp Daze in Montana. Salt Lake City, Utah. Logan, Utah. Laramie, Wyoming. Fort Collins, Colorado. Hopefully Denver, Colorado. Albuquerque, New Mexico. Phoenix, Arizona. It's a long process. Most people try to book six months to a year in advance, which is such a long time in my opinion. I'm still booking this right now and it's hard to think four or five months away. 

Guillén: So my final question is a bit of a sticky one, but it's something I'm fascinated in. You and Brett and Judah, your tribe, your clan, you're characterized by a lovely gender fluidity. As a man who grew up as a gay kid in Twin Falls, Idaho, I have nothing but respect for this gender fluid approach towards persona. I couldn't have dreamed of doing something like that in '70s Twin Falls. I'm heartened that the times have changed and that young straight men like you and Brett feel comfortable challenging these gender conceptions by wearing make-up, jewelry, women's clothing. But perhaps I'm presuming too much? Do you feel comfortable? Can you speak at all to what gender fluidity means for you? And what you're trying to express by it? Is it an important element to your creative process? 

Tispur: I feel gender fluid. I don't think I've always felt that way, but when I was a teenager I noticed I was not a "manly" guy. I don't feel that I fit in that role. I also don't feel I fit in the role of a woman. These categories and the traits associated with them are weird. I don't really get it so I just do what I feel like doing. If I want to wear a dress, I'll do that. 

Guillén: I admire that you've joined a lineage of gender resistance that has been going on for generations. At last year's Treefort, I remember running into you and Brett as you were shopping for old clothes at a vintage outlet and I thought, "How lovely. They're acting like the young artists in 1920s Manhattan who were raiding thrift shops and cross-dressing." Everything old is new again, in a way. But so is judgment and discrimination. Do you get any blowback for your brave gender fluidity? 

Tispur: It depends on where I am. In downtown Boise no one ever says anything to me. Boise's a progressive bubble. But I live in Garden City where I've had a few ... experiences. There's a bar called The Ranch Club that's about two minutes walking distance from my place. It's a silly Idaho bar. You can smoke in there. But almost every time I go there someone comes up to me to say, "All right, I just gotta ask ya: are you a boy or a girl?" I'm like, "Why? Why do you care?" Sometimes I get that reaction. But most of the interactions I've had have turned out to be positive. 

Guillén: How do you answer when you're asked if you're a boy or a girl? 

Tispur: I just say, "I don't know. Both?" Then I gauge their reaction. Usually they'll just say, "All right. That's weird" and walk away. I just try to be charming about it and smile. 

Guillén: Has there been any blowback within the music community? 

Tispur: I don't think so. I've had nothing but positive feedback. People seem to be into the androgyny, which is cool. I work at the Heatherwood Retirement Community on the Bench and sometimes get comments from the older folks, especially the new ones who come in and don't know me, but I feel they've resigned themselves to not understanding me. "Kids these days." 

Guillén: Well, I'm very proud of your bravery, Sam, and encourage you to keep resisting. You're an inspiration to me as an older guy and I look forward to hearing you play at Treefort.

TREEFORT FEST 2025 / ARTFORT / THE EVENING CLASS INTERVIEW WITH BOBBY GAYTAN

Any city is composed of surfaces: walls, streets, sidewalks, fences and traffic boxes. A citizenry negotiates these spaces, maneuvering through the rhythms of their working lives, craving diversion to offset quotidian complacency. There is a deep impulse in urban individuals to see and be seen by the architectural rectangles that surround, contain and guide them to their destinations—sometimes woefully perceived as their destinies—and when those blank walls shout out “the words of the prophets”, when they are painted with murals that provide aesthetic and cultural and political purpose, the city becomes a living answer to the daily question of living. You can agree or disagree with what you see. You can favor one style over another. You can question the civic investment or the tag-and-run guerilla intrusions. “You can walk together by the postered walls and the crude remarks”; but, by that point the city has transformed into a reflection of its citizenry, of its multiplicity, and there is a very good chance that you can look at the buildings around you and find your face, identify yourself, and gain assurance in claiming an identity. 

Boise was as glaringly white as it was clean when I relocated from the Bay Area in 2011, and I use neither of those adjectives in any approbative way. It was unnerving. There was a dearth of street art which—as far as I was concerned—was a euphemism for cultural death. Where were the murals? Where was the sidewalk art? Where was the decalismo of inventive and subversive stickers stuck purposely where the sun did shine? As someone who has monitored street art for decades, I would flee back to San Francisco for the colorful multi-ethnicity of BART and MUNI—which felt like a breath of fresh air—and the ubiquitous street art with its many faces, its many races, staring back at me, sometimes with raised fists to stress a relevant politic, sometimes just to be beautiful, some fleeting, some eventual landmarks. 

 In recent years, Boise has become a true city (and not just because we finally got a Trader Joes). The advent of Treefort Music Fest and an admirable civic commitment to public art have paved the way for generations of local artists to create music and to paint the rectangular screens of downtown Boise so its citizenry can see itself reflected and magnified. One such muralist who has gained prominence in recent years is Bobby Gaytan.  

As profiled at Treefort’s website: “Bobby Gaytan is an artist and community advocate based in Meridian, Idaho. With a deep passion for street art and graffiti, Bobby blends urban aesthetics with professional creativity. After earning a BFA in Graphic Design from Boise State University in 2001, he transitioned into a professional career as an illustrator, bringing bold, graphic imagery to life through both digital and traditional mediums. 

“As the owner of Blakbook Pages, Bobby creates a wide range of art, specializing in murals and illustrations that capture the vibrancy of local culture and the energy of the streets. His work is a reflection of a life devoted to both artistic expression and community engagement. Beyond the canvas, Bobby is a passionate community activist, working to inspire and support young people through creativity, hard work, and dedication.” 

It was with great respect that I approached Bobby Gaytan for interview.

* * *  

Michael Guillén: Bobby, thank you for being willing to answer a few questions for my Treefort coverage. I know you are under pressure from our current administration’s treatment of federal workers, but I deeply admire your continuing gratitude towards life and how—even as so much is being taken away—you continue to give through your artistry to the Treasure Valley community. 

Can you lay out for me whatever training you had to become an artist and why it is you have chosen to practice public art? How does public art further your personal vision? Are there any muralists who have influenced you? 

Bobby Gaytan: I have a bachelor's degree in Graphic Design from Boise State University (2001). Since the early 90s, I've admired graffiti and street art. As a teenager growing up in South Texas, I started to draw and experiment with spray paint. Just like Keith Haring, I too love the idea that public art is for all to enjoy and experience. Over the years, I've witnessed graffiti and street art become more accepted globally. 

I admire muralists like El Mac, Mr. Aryz, OS Gemeos, Belin, Nychos, David Flores, Smugone, and others who are shaping contemporary street art. Creating in public spaces has allowed me to express my cultural identity, share my creative vision, and connect with the community.  

Guillén: Few Chicano/a/x and Latino/a/x artists have gained access to express themselves and their communities in public spaces here in the Treasure Valley and you have been more successful than most. But let me backtrack a bit. I’m from California so I identify as Chicano; but, you’re from Texas, so do you identify as Tejano? Is it important to situate our identities geographically? And, if not, what would be a good term to identify us all as a single community? 

Gaytan: I was born here in Idaho but yes, my family is from Texas. I grew up immersed in Tejano culture and Chicanismo. As a former migrant farmworker I learned about the farmworker movement of the 60s and 70s through my mother, Maria, a community activist who helped migrant families. Being Chicano means embracing Indigenous roots and standing up for my people. As an artist, I draw inspiration from my experiences to create, and I value authenticity over labels. While I identify as Chicano and see Raza as my community, I believe that people should embrace whichever identity resonates most with them. 

"Groovin' / Guitar Bob" (2013).

Guillén: When I relocated from the Bay Area to Boise in 2011, there was not much public art as there is now. San Francisco, of course, has a longstanding tradition of ubiquitous public art. I spotted “Groovin” right off when I was first exploring downtown Boise and was happy for it. It actually helped me make the transition from the huge urbanity of San Francisco to the more relaxed atmosphere of Boise. Was “Groovin” the first mural you painted in Boise? Can you tell me the story behind it? 

Gaytan: The Boise public art scene has greatly evolved over the past 20 years, with strong support from the city. In 2013, I applied for an art grant to create public art for the Treefort festival and was selected. I chose to paint a mural in downtown Boise, specifically "Groovin" or "Guitar Bob," which became my first large-scale mural in Boise. At that time, Freak Alley was still developing, and prominent murals were scarce in the city. The mural has since become a staple of downtown Boise, receiving positive feedback from both locals and visitors for over 10 years.  

Guillén: Since “Groovin”, which two mural projects have been the most representative of what you are trying to do with public art? I know that’s something of an unfair Sophie’s Choice kind of question; but, I’m intrigued by how an artist evaluates themselves. I know for myself it’s always my most recent art that I like the best. Is that true for you? Would your recent commission honoring J.J. Saldaña be among your two favorites? 

Gaytan: "Groovin" is definitely a mural that represents my style. "Flowers for J.J." was a very personal experience to honor my friend and a community leader. It has been my favorite so far for sure. I recently completed a project at Calle 75 Tacos in downtown Boise. That project gave me a different creative experience along the lines of an interior designer. They will reopen just in time for Treefort.  

Guillén: I know you have strong ties to the Chicano/a/x and Latino/a/x communities here in the Treasure Valley. Like myself, you come from a farmworker background and gracefully retain great respect for farmworkers even as you have moved out of the fields and onto walls. How did you negotiate that transition? Will you be participating with the upcoming Farmworker Awareness Week as you have in the past and—if so—what will be your contribution? Does any of that dovetail with Treefort? 

Gaytan: I never imagined as a young migrant farmworker kid I would be where I am now. I learned to work hard and always chase my dreams. I've always been proud of my farmworker history and continue to use art to bring awareness and a different perspective to that kind of life. 

This year at Treefort I will be showing new art at Tropico FM Showcase [website] at The Basque Center as well as be painting live by the mainstage alongside Sector Seventeen [website] and other artists. The live piece I'm painting will be in honor of Farmworker Awareness Week.  

Guillén: Both of your Treefort engagements—the “Coatl: Ten Perspectives” Artfort initiative, as well as the Main Stage live mural painting—are inherently collaborative. Can you speak to how working collaboratively differs from your independent projects? How were these collaborations organized for Artfort? And can you speak more generally how interacting with Treefort has been for you? 

Gaytan: I've always felt comfortable collaborating with other artists or organizations that are doing positive work in our community. What I love most about collaborating is getting the opportunity to mentor or share my knowledge with other artists as well as exchange ideas. 

For the past 5 years I've been part of the Tropico FM Art Showcase originally organized by Kyle Schef. Each year we try to make it a better experience by presenting the art more professionally and introducing local artists from our community. This year's theme "Coatl: Ten Perspectives" was introduced by Marianna Jimenez Edwards. Miguel Almeida has been the lead artist coordinator for the show and Maria Ayala has helped organize the space and how the art is presented. Being part of Treefort has been a good experience because I get to network and meet new artists in our community.  

Guillén: I’m aware that you have founded Blakbook Pages, but I couldn’t find much information about that project. Could you outline its objectives and future project goals? I’m also keenly interested, as you’ve already mentioned, in your commitment to furthering the artistic vision of young people. Can you speak to why that is important to you and how you have gone about to achieve it? Are there any up-and-coming Chicano/a/x and Latino/a/x artists you have an eye on and feel Boiseans should pay attention to? 

Gaytan: Blakbook Pages was a passion project I started in 2004. My goal was to build an artist community by showcasing local artists through a zine that included art, poetry, fashion, music, and other creative scenes at the time. I distributed the zines at local shows and various shops around Boise. Ultimately, I published 10 issues. I continue to use the name Blakbook Pages as a creative business. I still feel it is important to help mentor young artists whenever possible. 

For the past 15 years, I've been part of the Stay In School Quinceanera Program where I teach art classes to 8th and 9th graders at the Idaho Hispanic Community Center.  

Guillén: I would like to address your personal style. How would you describe it? I see an impressive range from realistic figuration—as in the mural you painted for the Boise Co-Op in Meridian and your beautiful Mothers Day portraits (including “La Mariposa”, which you painted for the Wassmuth Center for Human Rights)—to almost caricaturical images that come across as very “street” with a touch of the graffiti spraycan aesthetic. 

  

Gaytan: My personal style is always evolving. I like to push myself as an artist by exploring new mediums, techniques and ideas. When I was younger, I remember it took me a long time to call myself an artist. Eventually I found my creative voice. Caricatures and graffiti were my first introduction to art so it's probably why it's more natural to me to create in that style. As time went on I started using more traditional mediums and techniques.  

Guillén: Many of your creations are admirably subcultural. I love your paintings of the family making tamales and the little girl being given a paleta; they remind me of the work of Carmen Lomas Garza. And—as eating is my spiritual path—I was enticed by your offering your fideo con carne recipe on television; but you didn’t actually provide the recipe!! Don’t you think now would be the perfect opportunity? 

  

Gaytan: As an artist, I like to capture moments that remind me of my family growing up. Especially my Mother's kitchen. I think art is a good way to create dialogue and to take the audience to a certain place and time. When I think of Sopa de Fideo con Carne y Papas, I think of my childhood. I remember coming home from school and my mother having a big pot of this wonderful dish on the stove waiting for us. She prepared this dish anytime of the year. Not only is it delicious and easy but it’s very affordable and it goes a long way. We always had it with a bowl of beans on the side and freshly made flour tortillas. Here is my mother’s recipe.  

MARIA GAYTAN'S SOPA DE FIDEO CON CARNE 

Ingredients 

1 lb. 80/20 ground beef 

1 cup chopped onions 

3 small / medium green onions 

¾ cup diced green bell pepper 

2 Serrano peppers (optional) 

1 large cubed Russet potato 

3 large garlic cloves 

1 tsp whole cumin 

1 tsp peppercorn 

4 oz Fideo (Vermicelli brand) 

1½ tbsp chicken bouillon tomato flavor (Knorr brand) 

14 oz diced tomatoes 

Cilantro as needed 

7 cups water 

Salt as needed 

Vegetable oil as needed  

Preparation 

First, cook your ground beef in a large pot until it loses its pink color. While the ground beef is cooking, grind your spices (cumin, peppercorn, garlic and a little salt) in a molcajete. Add water and set the molcajete aside. 

Add your onions first to your ground beef while it's cooking. Then add your serrano peppers (optional). Next add your green bell peppers as well as the spices from the molcajete. After cooking for a couple of minutes, add the tomatoes, cilantro and your chicken tomato flavor Bouillon (Knorr). Finally, add water and a little salt then let it simmer for 15 minutes. 

While the carne is simmering, cut your Vermicelli fideo in small sizes and toast them in a pan with vegetable oil until they are golden. Add potatoes to the carne for 5 minutes. Then finally add the golden fideo and let simmer on a low boil for a few minutes. Enjoy your Sopa De Fideo Con Carne!!  

Guillén: Several of your images are rich with humor, levity and vitality, such as the little boy going to work in the fields with a hoe over his shoulder. It strikes me that you borrow imagery more from the contemporary life of farmworkers than Precolumbian influences. Would that be fair to say? 

Gaytan: I borrow a lot of imagery in my art from my experience living in the barrio of Alamo, Texas and the farmlands of Idaho and Michigan. I think that makes my art unique in that sense.  

Guillén: Flowers—which do have a strong Precolumbian antecedent—seem to be an important iconographic element for you (notably in “Flowers for JJ”); can you say why? 

Gaytan: Flowers have always been important to me because they remind me of my Mother. When my Mother was alive, it was a tradition of mine to give her flowers throughout the year. As a kid I picked wild flowers and made bouquets for her. I incorporate flowers and butterflies in my art in honor of her.  

Guillén: Thank you, Bobby, for taking the time to talk with me. I’m so proud to have your piece “Tecalmas O Te Calmo” in my art collection and remember laughing when you admitted that, yes, indeed, your mamacita had smacked you with a chancla now and again. I apologize for laughing because, of course, being smacked with a chancla is no joking matter. 

See you at Treefort!!

THROWBACK THURSDAY: TREEFORT MUSIC FEST 9 (2021)—The Evening Class Interview With Smokey Brights

Photo: Rachel Bennett.  All rights reserved.

Since first seeing Smokey Brights at the 9th edition of Treefort Music Fest, I have caught them in performance several times. They continue to be one of my favorite bands and I’m delighted they are returning for this year’s Treefort, playing at the Boise Brewing stage on Thursday, March 27, at 9:00PM.  

As outlined at the Treefort website: “Smokey Brights have been steadily growing out of the mossy Pacific Northwest city of Seattle for over a decade. The band, formed by friends working together at a pizza restaurant, has roots in Seattle’s DIY punk, songwriter, and psych scenes. Through the group’s four LP and three EP releases, you can hear Smokey Brights’ sonic branches stretching through 70’s prog, synthy new wave bops, fuzzy 90’s anthems, and intimate indie storytelling. You can also trace the lives and romance of songwriters Ryan Devlin and Kim West who married a few years after the formation of the band. The couple’s entangled approach to songwriting and melody has yielded a remarkable amount of original, genre bending music. Nick Krivchenia’s steady, stylish drumming is the backbone of the Smokeys’ sound, while bassist Luke Rägnar adds low end bounce as well as a third harmony to Ryan and Kim’s melodies. The band’s music has been featured in film, television, video games, and podcasts. They’ve toured throughout the US as well as the UK and mainland Europe. Their most recent releases, 2023’s ‘Broken Too’ EP and ‘Levitator’ LP, both landed on iconic radio station KEXP’s top 90.3 records of the year." 

 I reiterate my gratitude to Dana Robinson Slote, tour manager for Smokey Brights at Treefort 2021, who first invited me to come listen to the band at Treefort, and then arranged a Zoom interview the week after.

 * * *  

Guillén: I want to congratulate you on your presence at Treefort. I caught your “hot” show at The Hideout, where you were literally dripping with sweat. It looked like you were melting on stage! I’d like to start off with the name of the band—Smokey Brights—because I haven’t read anything anywhere regarding what that name signifies. How did you go about choosing Smokey Brights as the name for your band? 

Ryan Devlin: Originally, before we were Smokey Brights, we were called Colossal Brights. We had a little recording project going—Nick, myself, our original bassist Jim, and Mikey our original lead guitarist. We were making some demos and were thinking, “How are we going to get a name for this?” I had the radio down real low when I was driving home one night listening to KEXP and this song where I thought I heard someone say in this song “colossal brights”. I thought that was such a cool phrase. I came back to the band and told them, “I’ve got the band name: Colossal Brights!” Jim looked at me and he goes, “Spell Colossal.” And I couldn’t. So I said to him, “Well, it’s back to the drawing board, I guess.” 

A day later, Jim was like, “Y’know, ‘Brights’ is a cool name. I’ve never heard that attached to a band. It’s kind of cool.” We’ve always straddled some darker, moodier, gloomier elements—being Northwest folks suffering through the cold—but we also love pop, and are trying to find the light of things. So, it felt like ‘Smokey’ Brights embodied the dichotomy that sounded like what we were already doing.  

Guillén: I understand you’ve been to a few of the Treefort festivals, but I’m curious what your experience of this particular edition of Treefort was like? For our community this edition was painfully meaningful. It took such a struggle and effort on the part of the Treefort team to get the festival going that, for myself, it felt triumphant that Treefort actually got back out there for the community. There had been worried concerns that they might have to cancel again when the Delta Variant began spreading in Idaho, which I honestly believed might have spelled the death of this festival. So it was great that the festival got to go, albeit masked and vaxxed and waxed (whatever people had to do). [The band laughs.] 

So I want to know if each of you can give me a feeling you had about what your experience of the festival was? I know you got to play three different stages—the Record Exchange, the El Korah Shrine, and the Hideout—which is lucky. I don’t know many musicians that have had that luck. So, perhaps, in describing your experience, can you comment as well on the variance of the stages? Perhaps on the sound systems? If you felt your music was being presented differently on the different stages? 

Kim West: I’ll go first. You described it perfectly. The experience was triumphant. It was triumphant and surreal to get to play our favorite festival. We played Treefort a couple of times before and the first time we played we came in 20 minutes before our set and had to leave at 7:00AM the next day because we were on tour. All of our friends were like, “What are you doing? You have to be here the whole time!” We were walking around the streets of Boise, freaking out, saying, “What are we doing? We’re messing up! We have to be here the whole time!” Ever since then, we come Wednesday through Sunday and just try to experience so much of it because it’s more music than we get to see in four days.  

Guillén: Who can? It’s a discovery festival! You’ve been here three or four times, as you’ve said, and yet this is the first time I’ve seen you, or even heard of you, because there’s always over 300 bands and it’s tough trying to graph out who to listen to. A person can only do so much. I feel lucky that I got to see you guys this time. A lot of that is due to Dana, who has been doing a remarkable job for you. She reached out and invited me to come hear you. I feel your band is on the cusp of something—I sense it, I feel it—and I’m excited for you guys. I’ve been listening to as much of your music as I could get my hands on and have been bopping around the house. I really love the music. But back to the festival, other band and stage experiences? 

Ryan Devlin: I’ll try to be brief but I can speak to that feeling that it might not have happened was really palpable. There was a lot of conflict even within our own immediate community of other musicians and friends, people who come to every Smokey Brights show in Boise, who weren’t so convinced that Treefort should be happening. I was following along. I read Eric Gilbert’s interview in the Idaho NPR affiliate where he said, “We need to prove that this can work. That if we get vaccination cards in hand, and we mask up, we can go ahead and have a really good time together.” 

One of the most surreal moments to me was when I had a hangout with a friend, a resident of Boise, usually vocal on Twitter about how Treefort shouldn’t happen because Idaho’s health care systems were overloaded, and it was too irresponsible. We went to our first set, we hung out, we had a really long conversation, and then that night he drove home and he passed what he described as a country bar. He looked at it and a lightbulb went off in his head. He thought, “I’ve driven by this bar every night during this pandemic and it’s been packed. These people aren’t wearing masks. And these people aren’t being vaccinated (some might be, who knows?). Treefort’s not the problem.” 

Kim West: Of course not. 

Ryan Devlin: Treefort has been working collectively to create a safe experience. If they don’t do that, as a music community, as promoters, as bands, people are going to find something else to do but it might not be as safe. So that feeling of being right on the edge, everyone was feeling that, but it wasn’t until we got there that we thought, “This has to happen.” 

Kim West: It has to happen, yeah. And I couldn’t have thought of a cooler way to start our experience than to play The Record Exchange for their first in-store appearance in 18 months. The sound was amazing. I wasn’t expecting a stage. I wasn’t expecting a full PA. It was like the whole nine yards. The sound guy was probably one of the more experienced sound guys in Boise. He had worked for everybody and knew that whole system backwards and forwards. We could hear everything. It was a really nice way to ease back into this festival experience.  

Guillén: I was just watching the videos from your performance at the Record Exchange today. They’ve just gone up. 

Kim West: Oh, cool….  

Guillén: And they do sound good. 

Kim West: We’ve played in stores before and it doesn’t usually sound like that.  

Guillén: How about the El Korah Shrine? 

Nick Krivchenia: I think my audio is gone again. Oh, here I am!!  

Guillén: [Laughs.] Okay, that’s enough feedback out of you! [Band laughs.] 

Luke Logan: The El Korah was massive. We felt really humbled to play it and thankful that we were able to get that slot and that Eric trusted us with that. One of the things that we didn’t have during the pandemic was audiences. They’re a pretty important half of what we do; the people who come to give it back in our faces. We played some shows throughout the summer. We had a couple of ones where it felt like we were getting some energy and pulsing but they were smaller scale. Our El Korah experience was big scale. Talking to what Ryan was saying, knowing that everyone had gone through so much to get to that point too, that it was a very intentional crowd, even moreso than it usually is, made it even more meaningful as they were moving along with the rhythms that Nick was putting out. It made it one of the more special performing experiences I’ve ever had.  

Guillén: Which leads me to the question of what it was like for you guys to be onstage looking out at a masked audience? Normally, you’d be registering smiles, you’d be registering facial reactions to your music; but, suddenly, you’re watching a sea of masked faces. Did that affect you? Other musicians who have answered that question for me have said that it didn’t make a difference, that they still felt the energy of the crowd. But did you miss the facial connection? 

Ryan Devlin: I can speak to that. We had a few practice runs of playing to masked audiences and I have to say that, at first, it was a little disorienting because we are so much depending on the energy put forth from our audience and, yeah, that is usually displayed in cheering, in smiling, in singing along, all those things that we don’t really get to have with a masked audience. But by the time we got to the El Korah Shrine, we had several different performing experiences and I was pretty used to the masked audience. Feeling the energy of those people in that room far transcended any sort of loss of seeing the smiles or anything like that. One thing that the mask does not cover are tears. When we played “I Love You, but Damn”, I looked out and saw at least three friends, dude friends, just crying.  

Guillén: Dudes aren’t the same anymore, are they? [Laughs]. Nick, reaction to the Hideout. How did you like the Hideout? 

Nick Krivchenia: Loved it.  

Guillén: It wasn’t too hot for you? 

Nick Krivchenia: It was super hot. The sound was great. We got everything we needed. Great crowd.  

Guillén: You guys might not have noticed this, but across the street from the Hideout was a big parking lot, which was where I was parked whenever I came down to the festival, and in the parking lot your music got amplified. It was a huge sound. I couldn’t believe it! There were people actually sitting on the higher levels of the parking lot to watch your set from there. 

Kim West: That would have been a good spot to watch!  

Guillén: I came in to cover Treefort this edition primarily because of my interest in the COVID Interruption—those 18 months of artistic interruption—which almost devasted film and film festival culture because film culture is based so much on production and exhibition, both of which couldn’t be done. Whereas, music differs in that—though you couldn’t have exhibition and concerts—musicians could still make music. Can you speak to how your band kept its musicality together? I’m actually proposing that the COVID Interruption helped many artists focus and get more creative. What happened with you folks? 

Kim West: For us, it was three phases of COVID. We had a record on deck, “I Love You, but Damn”, that was going to come out. We had four tours, national and international, booked. We had a whole year ready to go. We were like, “Here we go!” We were getting ready and then COVID hit. We actually personally weren’t very creative the first couple of months. We were sad. All of a sudden we were free-floating and trying to figure it out. I consider us very lucky in that we were all able to prioritize our time in getting together and practicing and making that something that was important to us. Ryan and I saw these two men [Nick and Luke] and our two other friends and that was it. Those were the only people we saw during the whole pandemic in person without the masks. We made it work. We got through the sadness. We wrote a record that we kind of liked. Then we kind of scrapped that. Then we wrote another record that we really liked and we went and recorded it about a month and a half ago. In two days all the amazing tracks were done. In a week everything was recorded. Then we came into being able to play live shows again. There wasn’t a moment of, “Oh no. Do we know how to do this still?” It was: “Oh yeah, we can!!”  

Guillén: One thing that has always fascinated me about music is the cover song. There were two songs that caught me in your work immediately: “I Love You, but Damn”, of course, but then you had a cover of Gerry Rafferty’s “Right Down the Line”, which was just a beautiful cover. And then when Dana sent me the press notes, I discovered there was this wonderful love story behind all of this with the covers and the poor Christmas and the CD that went out with the covers on it as Christmas gifts. I’m interested in knowing what some of those covers were on that CD, because it’s not available is it? 

Kim West: I actually have a picture of it on my phone from a friend’s aunt who just found a copy of that. 

Ryan Devlin: It was just a burnt CD.  

Guillén: That’s what I figured, but I thought it was interesting because I have been arguing with musicians I’ve met in the Boise scene about the importance of covers. I’m an older guy so I’m familiar with music from the ‘60s and the ‘70s, and going even further back. I had a complaint with the Boise music scene when I first arrived because it was so thoroughly saturated with neo-psychedelia. It was like every band I heard was neo-psychedelia and they were copying each other. I could only take so much of that, y’know? I would say, “Can’t you guys learn a traditional? Like even just one traditional? Can’t you go back and sing a song written by a songwriter from the 1970s? Would that be so wrong?” For me, the value of a song is that it can be interpreted. If you write a good song, it can be sung in different tempos, different languages, you can do so much with the structure of the song. So you started out with a burnt CD of covers and I’d like to know what some of the titles were on that burnt CD. As I was going through your body of work noting which covers you’d done, there was “Right Down the Line”, there was Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams”, and Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares to You.” Are there any others that you’ve actually recorded? 

Ryan Devlin: That first EP was wintery, holiday-feeling songs for us, but they were not traditional holiday songs. We had Joni Mitchell’s “River”, Kim sang it, and it was really beautiful.  

Guillén: I would love to hear that. You know, of course, that Joni Mitchell’s “River” has since become an official holiday song? 

Ryan Devlin: We did a cover from one of my most formative bands, Idaho’s own Built to Spill. We did “Twin Falls, Idaho.” We did “St. Augustine” by Bob Dylan, again feeling vaguely religious, vaguely holiday. It’s one of my favorite Dylan tunes.  

Guillén: How autobiographical are your songs? My roommate was listening to “I Love You, but Damn” and he was taken with the lyrics from where you talked about “being taken home to dinner to meet the parents and how are you going to explain me”. Was that about you two? 

Kim West: “You’re back home getting your degree / explain me to your family.” 

Guillén: With the COVID Interruption having tripped up the release of “I Love You, But Damn”, don’t you think it should somehow be re-released? 

Ryan Devlin: We would need to get a bigger label. 

Kim West: We have two singles coming out soon. And we’re going to release a deluxe version of “I Love You, but Damn” on CD with those two. We’ve gotten quite a number of requests for CDs, generally from people not in the U.S., usually people in Asia; but, CD technology is still alive and well in certain parts of the world and in people’s cars.  

Guillén: Tell me the story of “I Love You, but Damn.”

   

Ryan: In the briefest sense possible, not all of Smokey Brights’ songs are autobiographical, but the speaker in that song is probably Ryan Devlin, me. When Kim and I first started dating about twelve years ago, I was playing in a couple of punk bands and touring a lot. For the first six months of us dating I was gone easily three months of it. We had an up and down cycle, y’know? We’d get together, we’d break up, we’d get together, we’d break up. That song is literally about love and distance, trying to grow up and figure it out, while being very far away from this person that might be falling in love. If we might be falling in love, we might have to change ourselves, I might have to change how I think about myself.  

Guillén: I’m sure you recognize that in the corpus of your work, it is an important song. As I was reviewing your work, it was the first song that, POW, I was grabbed. “What is this song?!!” And I’ve noticed you’ve chosen to use it to close your sets, so obviously you are aware of its power? So I’m glad it’s getting a CD re-release with your two new singles. 

I’m going to let you go, because you got to go, you have other people to talk to, but thank you so much for your time and I really hope you guys enjoy your ascent. I really think you’re on a cresting wave. 

Smokey Brights: Thank you, Michael.

REVIEW: EXTRACTED (2025)—Episode 3: “The Hunt”

Justin & Austin Denison.  Photo courtesy of Fox.

The third installment of the Fox reality series Extracted raises the question of where it is that drama resides? Which human qualities offer opportunities for drama? What strength is the seed bed? What weakness? Which personalities and behavioral characteristics fuel it? 

I hand it to Team Jake. These three brothers are solid. I admire the dedication Austin and Justin have to helping their brother Jake survive the wilderness—one could say that’s a given—but I’m even more impressed with how Austin lends support to the struggles and achievements of other teams. When Haley, driven by hunger, elects to eat ants that taste like lemons, Austin and Justin physically react in sympathetic revulsion. Austin expresses his pride in Davina for hanging in there and keeping an optimistic attitude, even though she is clearly ill-equipped to handle the wilderness, not even being able to build an adequate shelter for herself. He gives it up for Rose when she gets her fire going. Empathy becomes a makeweight in the building of drama. 

The bulk of the third episode is a second survival trial. As the survivalists begin to hear their stomachs grumble in hunger, they’re offered a chance to retrieve meat from a fallen deer. At HQ, the family companions are briefly shown a map of the deer’s location (30 seconds) and must then reconstruct the map from memory to guide their competitors to the carcass. Once they finish their map, they enter the supply room for a container for the meat and must choose (first come first serve) a knife the survivalist will use to cut the carcass. The knives vary in utility and as each team enters the supply room, choice becomes limited. Justin observes that when he and his brothers are in the wilderness they can read a map and know where they’re going; but, to be a shown a map for 30 seconds and then have to reconstruct it in their mind is another story altogether. This proves to be true as he and Austin have a hard time getting their bearings while drawing their map for Jake. They are unaware that they misread the map they were shown and have placed the carcass north of the lake, instead of south. They eventually make the painful discovery that the map they have drawn and delivered to Jake by drone is inaccurate and upside down. Justin finds it amazing that neither he nor Austin caught the error and worries that Jake is screwed because of them. 

As Jake begins navigating through two miles of unforgiving terrain to locate the deer’s carcass, he has started off in the wrong direction and detects early on that there is something “weird” about the map. It makes Austin sick to his stomach how much they have put their brother at a disadvantage, but Justin trusts his brother and is depending on Jake’s instincts to compensate for their error. He hopes that Jake will rely on landmarks to get him to his destination. 

Meanwhile, in the survival zone, Jake complains that “someone” is really bad at drawing maps. Austin beseeches him to “figure it out”, which Jake does admirably. Determining that the landmarks on the map are accurate even if the directions are not, he figures out that he’s on the wrong side of the lake and compensates accordingly, arriving fourth to the carcass and able to carve off enough venison to feed himself. 

As a coldfront approaches after the survival trial, the threat of hypothermia becomes a concern. A supply drop of wool socks and cannisters of hot chocolate are offered to the survivalists, but only for seven out of the eleven teams. The companions at HQ must decide amongst themselves which survivalists will receive the critical supplies to offset potential hypothermia, and who will not. Not only that, but for every three minutes that passes without the companions making a unanimous decision, one of the supply packs will be removed. Justin and Austin immediately volunteer to go without. They can see that some of the survivalists are truly struggling—without water, fire or food—and that volunteering to opt out is the right thing to do. Though it’s unfortunate that Jake opens an empty supply box, I have nothing but respect and admiration for the strong moral center of the Denison brothers. My question is answered: integrity, compassion and competence are what makes proactive drama. 

Inversely, selfishness and incompetence make for reactive drama. As the families bicker over who should get the supply drops or not, animosities and resentments surface. I’m glad Team Jake removed themselves from that undignified scene before it even started. By the end of the episode, Davina is extracted, wasting a survival drop of hot chocolate and socks, which does not go unnoticed. 

 

REVIEW: EXTRACTED (2025)—Episode 2: “Gimme Shelter”

Austin & Justin Denison in HQ; courtesy of Fox.

With 80 robotic surveillance cameras positioned in the Survival Zone, and who knows how many observing from HQ, the amount of footage needing to be edited to shape the Fox reality series Extracted (2025) is near to mind-boggling. But shaping the story through editing also hints at later developments. Team Jake (Jake, Justin and Austin Denison) appear infrequently in the first and second episodes of the series because focus, of course, needs to be drawn to those competitors and their companions who will be the first to be extracted. 

Thus, Team Anthony is singled out and profiled as Anthony loses his cool and demands his parents extract him. Austin comments, “Oh boy…” as Anthony begins to cuss out his parents for not extracting him upon demand. Justin grimaces. It’s difficult to watch Anthony self-combust. After much anger, disappointment and embarrassed frustration, his dad finally pushes the extraction button. His mother refuses to. Good riddance. Anthony personified everything I do not like in entitled young men who think the world owes them everything. I suspect his “unbecoming” behavior (as his mother phrased it) will limit his opportunities in his “modeling career.” My heart goes out to his mom and dad who have yet to teach him how to control his emotions and stop vandalizing good will. 

Austin and Justin can’t help but celebrate, however, because now there’s only 11 families left to go; Team Jake among them. Their confidence shows because Jake by his own admission is doing good and will sleep well his second night out. The only true competition they perceive is Team Ryan W.  Ryan has made himself a killer moss-lined set-up for shelter (“amazing” Justin describes), and has a fire going.

On the morning of day three, Austin and Justin are up by 6:15. In HQ the teams are advised that the survivalists are each wearing a smart watch that tracks their biometric data (heart rate, respiratory rate, stress level and sleep), summarized into four color codes: baseline green registering healthy biometrics; moderate yellow showing signs of decline; elevated orange suggesting that medical attention may be required; and severe red indicating that extraction may be necessary. Jake’s first data summary falls within green. 

The first survival trial is announced. The survivalists must make it across the lake to retrieve three potential shelter supplies. One cache has two tarps, rope and a bear skin; the second has two tarps, rope and a sleeping mat; and the third has two tarps and a rope; all on a first come first served basis. Further, the first survivalist to cross the lake receives an advantage for their family in the next supply drop. The families in HQ are responsible for designing the raft and providing the tools necessary to build it. Austin and Justin slap hands after they secure what they feel Jake will need to make the raft they have designed. Their design and Jake’s construction are not shown and Jake isn’t one of the top three winners, but he is able to retrieve some (unspecified) shelter supplies. 

On day four, Jake starts out his morning by noting that he’s good on water but begins boiling more from the lake as a reserve. I’ve switched away from the Fox website to watch the Extracted episodes in their entirety on YouTube where the commercials that were bogging down the stream on the Fox website have been minimized to a brief few.

 

THROWBACK THURSDAY—SVFF 2013 / TREEFORT MUSIC FEST 2013: CINEMA DISRUPTION (ONLINE, IN CINEMA & BACK AGAIN)—Evening Class Questions For the Creative Team Behind the Road to Treefort Web Series

"Interesting distributing something like this with the internet and then not really knowing much beyond that."—Zach Voss, Retroscope Media. 

Fourteen years ago, in the Spring of 2011, I brokered my relocation from the San Francisco Bay Area to Boise, Idaho, by befriending a vibrant crew of youthful artists whose creativity embraced me in their contagious enthusiasm. The Treefort Music Fest ("Treefort") inaugurated their cultural initiative in March 2012, at the same time that the Sun Valley Film Festival (“SVFF”) launched north of Boise. By the Spring of 2013, I was fully immersed in the second editions of both Treefort and SVFF. At the same time, influenced by the regional filmmaking I witnessed happening throughout the Treasure Valley, my film journalism focused on both regional filmmaking—as monitored primarily through Idaho-produced short films and music videos—but also on the multiple national and international platforms that had become increasingly available to exhibit short form work, obviating regional restrictions. The interstitial tension between film production and film exhibition seemed nowhere more apparent than in the opportunities afforded short film content, particularly in its capacity to occupy multiple spaces, often concurrently, for different marketed and/or social effects. 

A near textbook study of these shifting trends of short content occupying multiple spaces was the Road to Treefort web series developed by Retroscope for Treefort. Not only did Road to Treefort screen in-cinema at SVFF 2013, but was likewise slotted into a shorts series shown at Boise’s Egyptian Theatre, in conjunction with Treefort. Having watched the Road to Treefort web series online several times ramping up to the music festival, I likewise sought out the experience of watching the series in a movie theater projected onto a large screen. After that Egyptian Theater screening, Zach Voss, Willow Socia, Cody Gittings, Bronwyn Leslie and Yurek Hansen—members of the team responsible for creating the web series—fielded questions from their Treefort audience. 

Ramping up to the 2025 edition of Treefort, I find myself nostalgic regarding the early years of the fest and grateful that I took notes at that Egyptian Theater Q&A session; a perfect entry for Throwback Thursday!! Looking back to turn forward. 

* * * 

Bronwyn Leslie helped with casting and production coordination, as well as acting. Yurek Hansen was the "puppeteer of sorts" who donned the monster costume and ran around the forest. Hansen's been a professional dancer with the Idaho Dance Theatre for the last 13 years and recently returned from field work in Africa. Cody Gittings, the director of photography, also helped co-edit the first episode and plan the blocking and cinematography. Willow Socia (who "makes anything and everything") was the designer of the monster costume and helped fabricate it alongside Daniel Fo. 

Interesting for Voss was that the series went straight to the internet where it was well-received with several views and likes, admittedly shorthanded communication, so Voss welcomed the opportunity to hear questions from his live audience. 

 I began by complimenting Willow Socia on her iconic monster and asked how she came up with the concept? How she designed it? And how she then actually fabricated the creature? Socia noted that the monster was designed upon illustrations by James Lloyd, Treefort's Art Director. She taught herself to crochet and decided to incorporate her new skill into providing texture to the monster. She had never made a costume before. Fittings were interesting because she didn't have Yurek Hansen on hand all the time, though she did have Zach. He spent a lot of time donning the monster's pants so Socia could fit them properly; she had never made pants before. "With crochet you work in the round," she explained, "so I would try one leg on, then the other leg, and made it up around that." The Monster's head was made out of painted insulation and the beard was made of dangling shoe laces. 

Voss credited Daniel Fo for the costume's foam components—the head, the feet. Fo had moved into the Oddfellows Building where several artists, Voss included, had studio spaces. Voss watched Fo build rock formations for a train set he was making and offered, "Daniel, jump in on this project with us. It'd be great for you to interpret something we'll be working on." That was another tangent that worked out really well, but wasn't necessarily planned. 

Mosaicist Anna Webb asked how Voss got the Shriners to participate? Were they game from the beginning? Voss replied that—when they first launched the series and it became live on the internet and picked up speed—Treefort already had the El Korah Shrine booked as a music venue. At that point it was easier to approach The Shriners because they had already seen the support the web series was receiving (the series helped promote Treefort on Pitchfork and Spin). The same was true for then-Mayor Dave (David H. Bieter). When Voss approached the Mayor's Office, they knew all about the web series so it became easier to propose where Mayor Dave could play a part and have his office represented. Without question, however, both the Shriners and the Mayor's Office were behind Road to Treefort. With the Shriners in particular, it became a case of having to turn down the amount of participation they were willling to offer. Voss recalled attending a meeting where they offered fire trucks, dune buggies, scooters, all sorts of things, which Voss declined on the caveat that next year they might take advantage of the fire trucks and the elephants. 

As for locations, the rustic bar used in the series was Diamond Lil's in Idaho City. Gittings and Voss had driven up to Idaho City to scout for locations and exteriors, including the cabin where the crew hung out. They filmed that cabin exterior in Idaho City, but the interior was actually shot in Willow Socia's parents' home. They stitched those two together. Then the scene where they're running down the field was filmed in the Grayback Gulch Campground. In reality, the production was a process of piecing together elements that were available and at hand, to save time, plus meeting locals who were game to help make the film. Diamond Lils was ready to go on the day shooting was scheduled, even though they were still open for business. Several of their bar patrons drank and watched while Voss and his crew filmed and when Voss would shout, "Quiet!", everyone in the bar—including the patrons—froze. They were totally into it. The scene would be shot, Voss would shout "Cut", and the bar would break into laughter and celebratory applause. 

Gittings and Voss were setting up the scene where the Treefort Monster first ambushes the crew at the bar after they've downed shots. They had dolly shots of the Monster opening the door, but they needed something else. "What have we got?" they thought, "Fog or smoke or....?" They wheeled around, faced the patrons at the bar and asked, "Who here smokes?" Lots of hands went up. So the shot where the Monster appears in the doorway surrounded by smoke is engineered by the sheer lung power of a crowd of bar patrons who blew out cigarette smoke on cue on either side of the open door. "It's things like that," Voss enthused, "that you can never totally plan for, but when you set yourself up at the right place and the right time, things come together. And that was really one of the charming parts of the project, late at night after a full day of shooting, but we still had so much energy and enthusiasm, including people who smoke who were willing to help out." 

I first met Bronwyn Leslie at the work-in-progress screening of An Unkindness of Ravens held at the Sun Valley Opera House during SVFF. The following weekend I saw her onstage as the musical act Lionsweb backed up by Sun Blood Stories in the Linen Building during Treefort and I was blown away by her honest, soulful talent, let alone that she was Visual Art Director for Treefort. In addition, she was on screen running around in a white fur coat in The Road to Treefort. I asked Leslie how she had trained and become fluent in so many different forms of creative self-expression? Admitting she had no training but simply liked "to do it", Leslie moved to Idaho from Alabama. She's been here nine years. She took acting and video classes at Boise State. Her grandparents ran a photography studio while she was growing up so Leslie was accustomed to imagemaking, even though she never knew it would become her art and passion, which blossomed when she met Voss, Socia, Gittings and Hansen.

  

 

 

TREEFORT 2025—RAÍCES: The Evening Class Interview With Miguel Almeida

Miguel Almeida is an illustrator / muralist based in Boise, Idaho. He works both digitally and traditionally to create colorful illustrations. His personal work is largely inspired by his Mexican roots. He combines colors inspired by Mexican folk art and heavy line work to create a modern graphic style. Almeida has worked with numerous clients from City of Boise, Idaho State Museum, Chocolate Skateboards, Calexico, Push & Pour, Google/DLR Group and many more. I’m grateful for his taking time from his busy ramp-up to Treefort to answer some questions.

* * *  

Michael Guillén: I’ve studied Precolumbian iconography for decades, and have watched the welcome and creative appropriations of Teotihuacan, Toltec, Olmec, Aztec and Mayan motifs by Chicano/a/x and Latino/a/x artists, primarily in California in the Bay Area through exhibition spaces like the Mission Cultural Center and Galería de la Raza. My own art collection revolves around Mayan themes, drawing from the work of Patssi Valdez, Juana Alicia, Calixto Robles, Mario Romero, Tony DeCarlo, and several others. When I relocated to Boise, Idaho, I was delighted to discover your community work, along with Bobby Gaytan’s. I’ve been fortunate to acquire one of Bobby’s paintings but have yet to secure one of yours. Let me articulate why it is that I want to eventually include you in my collection. 

I see in your artwork a similar practice of claiming and incorporating our cultural legacies; but, what I find singularly unique in your expression is your palette. Whereas most of the artists I know have gone the way of bright, primary colors, you have chosen instead a range of specifically-hued pinks, yellows and blues. Can you speak to me of how you have incorporated Precolumian imagery into your work and how you have melded it with contemporary formats (i.e., skateboards, stickers), and why you have chosen your particular palette to do so? 

Miguel Almeida: My color palette is largely inspired by the pueblos in Mexico. My grandparents lived out there in Zacatecas, so I spent a lot of summers visiting them and seeing all the art in Mexico. A lot of those pinks, teals, yellows are inspired by the building colors out there. Here in the USA everything is just a boring grey, black, white or brick. I love that out in Mexico it is very colorful and I feel like color is a big part of the culture. 

As far as incorporating Precolumbian imagery, I do draw inspiration from it and do my best to honor it in a way that feels right to me. Like a large majority of Mexicans, I am Native American mixed with some Spanish but due to colonization I don’t really know what specific indigenous culture my ancestors were a part of. I have some ideas through family research but nothing 100% certain. I don’t want to step on anyone's toes, but I try to do my best to honor my Native American roots through my art. To me it feels like an act of resisting colonization and reclaiming something my ancestors were killed or punished for.  

Guillén: You describe your work as having a “heavy line work technique” and I’m slightly embarrassed to say I don’t know what you mean by that. Could you explain? 

Almeida: I use the term “heavy line work” to describe my art because there is a lot of line work involved. I don’t paint shadows or light in my work but often use lines to create the effect of a shadow or to define an object. It’s more of a graphic style similar to the result of a linocut work.  

Guillén: In an admirable “danger, Will Robinson” move, you landed on robots for your design of beer cans for local brewery Lost Grove. Lost Grove is also one of the participating sites of Treefort’s “Back Rooms” Artfort initiative. Speak to me about your commercial interaction with Lost Grove, how you decided on robots for the campaign, and how you’ll be representing at Treefort. Will you be participating in the “Back Rooms” program? Will you be painting a window or mural during the festival? 

Almeida: The Lost Grove Robot beer collaboration was a fun one. I grew up being a big fan of Mega Man and Gundam anime so getting to design robots was something new but something the kid me would have loved. I was working with Lost Grove on launching their Artist Residency project that involved designing labels for their more specialty barrel aged beer and they wanted me to design some of their Hazy IPA beer line. I had a lot of fun doing it. It’s always nice to be able to tap into the kid in me and create something for fun but still make it feel like my art. 

I’ll be doing a couple things at Treefort this year. I’m helping organize an art show with Marianna Edwards, Maria Ayala and Tropico FM at the Basque Center. The show is called “Coatl: Ten Perspectives” and I recommend coming to check it out; it should be really cool. It’s all Latino/a/x artists and we’ve got some heavy hitters in our community with some younger artists too. Tropico FM does a great job to make sure we have a space to be represented and usually we have Musicians from Latino America performing. 

 I’ll also be painting a live mural at the main stage Wednesday—Sunday. There are a few of us from the “Coatl” show that will be painting a mural live. Shoutout to Sector Seventeen for making it happen. It’ll be a good time hanging out with all the artists and painting. Aside from those two events that I’m doing, hopefully I’ll be able to catch some shows and enjoy being outside.  

Guillén: In a distinct Wassup Rockers vibe, you’ve elevated patinetas to subcultural prominence. I know you’ve been a skateboarder for a couple of decades and so it seems a given that you would want to take your work to the street not only through your murals but through your sidewalk traffic. We have a major skate park in downtown Boise. Has Treefort created any kind of event there that you have participated in? 

Almeida: Treefort puts on Skatefort with Boise Skateboard Association and Prestige Skateshop. In the past I have donated some apparel / stickers from my Brand Raíces to give away for kids who land tricks. It’s super cool and always fun to be there skating with everyone.  

Guillén: Talk to me about the relevance of public art and representing and providing presence to Chicano identity in our community. I should qualify that question. I grew up in California, so I identify as Chicano; but, I have friends who don’t feel comfortable with that term and go by Tejano. I’m not sure what the appropriate appellation would be here in the Treasure Valley. Mexicano? How do you identify? 

Almeida: I use both Mexican and Chicano but I identify more as Mexican. As a first generation Mexican American that grew up in Idaho, to me Mexican represents me and my history more. I grew up in a very traditional Mexican family. If we were in the 70’s, though, I’d identify more with Chicano for sure. I’m all about fighting for our people and challenging oppressive systems set in place to harm us.  

Guillén: Back to the relevance of public art, can you speak to what it means for you? 

Almeida: Public art to me is a very special opportunity that many Mexican / Chicano artists in Boise don’t always get. I never take the opportunity lightly so I always try to create something that represents me, my family, and my community because it's rare to see our stories being told and celebrated in public spaces. I grew up in Marsing / Caldwell, Idaho, so growing up I never saw art in public that reflected me or my family. I love that public art is accessible to everyone. I always think about my parents and tíos who have probably never gone to an art gallery and how they can experience art in public. I love seeing my community's reaction to seeing familiar stories, objects and our community being celebrated. I hope kids who grew up like me can get inspired by it and dream of being an artist. That is something I didn't have growing up but hope the future generations have.  

Guillén: I’m aware that you have done great work in Garden City and I’m wondering if you can contextualize your efforts there? With Treefort's offshoot Flipside being venued in Garden City, have they assisted your initiatives? I want to emphasize my admiration and respect for the political aesthetic that runs through your public art, not only in minority representation, but also in causes you believe in (such as climate change). I’m further aware that you were the first artist chosen for the Garden City Climate Action Artwalk sponsored by Conservation Voters For Idaho and that you’ve collaborated with the Garden City Placemaking Fund, which I first heard about through a public lecture sponsored by Flipside. Can you speak to where the Garden City initiatives are at this point, if anything is coming up? 

Almeida: The murals that I did in Garden City were the first two murals I ever did. Big shout out to The Garden City Placemaking fund for their trust and opportunity to help kick off their project along with Ashley Dreyfus, Julia Green and James W.A.R. Lloyd. One of the murals was tied to a climate change project so I decided to create something that said the message in Spanish versus English. I felt it was important to include folks like my parents in the conversation who speak Spanish and very little English. The second one I did on the wall of Visionkit was based around farmworking. Chinden being a busy road, I thought it’d be a good place to create something that honored farmworkers and a reminder to folks where their food comes from. 

I haven’t had any involvement with Flipside Fest. I think they might have used the mural in a video, but that might be all my involvement. [Laughs.] 

To be honest, I’m not too sure on the situation of the Garden City Placemaking Fund. I know it is still around and helping folks with first-time mural opportunities. I think without funding it’s really hard for it to grow as fast as they’d hoped. I’m glad it is still around though and hoping one day they get the funding for future public art opportunities. It's a really cool organization and I owe alot to them for giving me my first mural opportunity. Mural work for me really blew up after those first two murals. That’s their mission: helping artists get mural experience and being a resource with a large pool of experienced artists / muralists.  

Guillén: Will you be speaking during Treefort in conjunction with National Farmworker Awareness Week (particularly in response to Trump's disrespect of the contributions of farmworkers to the well-being of the American economy)? 

Almeida: As for the talk with National Farmworker Awareness Week, I won’t be a speaker on that panel. I’m sure the mural I paint will, for sure, be a response to all the disrespect and hate we are enduring.  

Guillén: Finally, I’m always interested to hear where musical interests lie. Is there anyone you’re excited to hear at Treefort this year? 

Almeida: To be honest, I haven’t seen many bands on the line up that I recognize. I might have to take a deeper look. So far the only ones I can think of are Ramona and LA LOM, who I haven’t seen before.