Most People Travel to Newfoundland for Icebergs. I Came for the Accordions
This is the funnest folk festival you’ve never heard of.
My hair was frizzed from the unreasonably humid weather as I held an accordion in my lap for the first time and fumbled to press the correct buttons. I concentrated on the beginner’s cheat sheet in front of me, along with seven other would-be players and a handsome dog, while Kelly Russell, a famous musician and legendary fiddler demonstrated the basics of the instrument. This was the kick off to the three-day Roy Babstock Beaches Accordion Festival—a foot-tappin’ folk extravaganza that takes place every July in the tiny hamlet of Eastport, which is situated within Canada’s most eastern province. Most people go to Newfoundland to see icebergs; I had come for the accordions. After all, as I would be told by numerous locals, nearly every home there has one.
“One good way to drive a Newfoundlander crazy is to nail their shoes to the floor,” a man to my left said with a chuckle.
The “squeezebox,” as it’s also known, has been the heart of the province’s traditional folk music since the first trickle of early European explorers began settling there in the 16th century. Subsequent immigration waves brought all kinds of ballads, sailing shanties, and church hymns, which were built and expanded on. With small twists to the melodies, rhythms—and of course the addition of local stories as lyrics—Newfoundland’s folk music eventually developed into its own genre. Since then, it’s been passed down from generation to generation and kept alive.
“The accordion was the primary instrument played for dances long ago,” Russell told me during our workshop’s intermission. “If you imagine a crowd of people in a square dance hall, in an era where there is no amplification or microphones—well, the accordion is a much louder instrument, with its big, bold, brassy sound. So it can be heard.”
Meanwhile, as I struggled to tap out the notes to “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” I kind of wished my accordion’s volume could be turned down. As my cousin and I quickly found out, playing the instrument isn’t as easy as it looks in the movies.
Thankfully, we were accompanied by quite the cast of friendly characters, including a local from up the road who had brought a fleet of his own accordions to share with the group. Another attendee who could play “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” on pretty much every instrument known to man, sat to my right. Apparently, his hobby was learning just enough to play the one song but never progressing any further. “If I walked into the house with an accordion, my wife would kill me,” he said, as the dog capping off our semi-circle sat at the feet of his owner, a musician performing the Broadway production of Come From Away in the city of Gander.
By the end of the two-hour workshop, we had all bonded over the accordion and our shared experience. With a few hours to kill before the evening’s performance, my cousin and I hit the shore to see for ourselves just how beautiful the beaches were. Sandy Cove Beach was clearly popular, yet not overcrowded despite the fact that it was mid-July. Purple and pink lupins swayed in the sea breeze on the fringes of the beach cliffs, while the ocean waves high-fived the sand.
After stuffing ourselves with the incredible fish and chips at Chucky’s Seafood and Wild Game Restaurant, which was part of the Happy Adventure Inn, it was time to find our seats in the auditorium at the Beaches Heritage Center. The Accordion Festival was turning 20 that year, and there was an energetic buzz in the air as friends and families jovially greeted each other.
By the time the lights dimmed, there wasn’t an empty seat in the house.
The first act started off with a bang. It took about 1.5 seconds for the crowd to get fully swept up into the music, myself included. At one point, the floor shook from the exuberant foot stomping. During a song dedicated to one of the musician’s wives who had passed that year, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. The performers ranged from a teenager who’d been playing since the age of seven to a husband-and-wife pair playing nameless, passed-down tunes about logging in Newfoundland. “It’s probably the first time anyone’s heard that in 80 years!” the husband exclaimed.
Conversations flowed easily with strangers during the intermission; we sipped beer and wine while chatting with locals who quickly welcomed us into their tight-knit community. In the span of 15 minutes, I’d received multiple recommendations for the remainder of our trip, was invited for dinner, and had reunited with some of our workshop classmates who treated us like old friends.
Much like peanut butter and jelly (or Cheez Whiz and toast in Newfoundland), the fiddle and accordion pair well together. To close out the evening, my teacher, Kelly, played the former while his daughter, Tamsyn, shredded on the latter.
The performance ended with a standing ovation.
The following day, cars lined the main drag of historic Salvage, a small seaside town torn out of the page of a storybook that dates back to the 1600s. Worn fishermen sheds and houses in a spectrum of rustic colors dotted the cove’s shoreline and hills while boats bobbed in the harbor. My cousin and I were spending the afternoon at one of the most unique live music venues I had ever seen: the Salvage Stages. The audience moved about with free access to a collection of coastal fishing shanties that served as stages. Seafaring folk songs traveled through the air while guests played tambourine, danced their hearts out, or both.
Past and present seemed to co-exist here, with musicians of all ages celebrating the musical heritage of Newfoundland. It was a perfect example of the oral tradition of folk music being passed down through generations—just like many of the accordions they were playing. My cheeks hurt from smiling, though I kept on grinning through that evening’s Best of the Province Part II performance. There was just something extraordinary about the music, the storytelling, the welcoming spirit, and the contagious joy of celebrating Newfoundland with the people who live there.
After experiencing the festival myself, I had a deeper understanding of something my instructor Kelly had told me during our workshop chat. “The accordion, at least for me, is like the smell of the saltwater, or fish, or a walk on the barrens smelling blueberries; it’s the musical equivalent of those things that speak to me of Newfoundland very specifically,” he said. “It’s not just the instrument either, it’s the tunes that are played that have been played for many generations that you will not find anywhere else in the world—they’re unique to here and that’s why it’s so special.”