As news of festival closings came in a steady drip through December and January I found myself repeatedly assuring people that the sky was not falling—that it is the nature of festivals, even long-established ones, to come and go. I even broke out the old trope about organizations rarely surviving their founding generation.
And of course, that’s right. Festivals are often labors of love and a lifetime’s achievement. Succession planning must be ongoing and even then won’t always work. This is true even when, as is proper, the average festival goer has no idea how much work is being done behind the scenes or who's doing it.
But what struck me most about the recent closings was that these were still profitable if diminished ventures and attendance, if lower, was still strong. My instincts tell me that where 20,000 people paid for a classic jazz festival in 2017 capitalism will ensure those people have a way to see their choice of music in the future.
More single acts may come through and fill community arts centers. Struggling clubs may find new life as sponsors of monthly events. A restaurant may offer a standing gig, making jazz available year round. Somehow the demand will be met.
Perhaps a new festival will open 40 miles down the road with stages for blues or zydeco or folk music to satisfy a generation with eclectic tastes—tastes that include traditional jazz w
