It’s held on the grounds of a community college in rural northern Massachusetts, but the Green River Festival isn’t the collection of acoustic guitar-toting folk singers you might expect. This year’s lineup, which sprawled out over two hot summer days and nights, included a touch of the traditional (Brooks Williams opened the main stage on Saturday), but made plenty of room for the unexpected (Allen Toussaint, Cake, and Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars are just a few eclectic examples).

One of the great things about the festival’s location is room — and plenty of it: Aside from the spacious main stage area, which housed thousands of chair-and-umbrella-toting concertgoers and dozens of craft and food booths, the festivities spilled over into a huge lawn area where lesser-known acts played at the Dance Tent, hot air balloon rides were available for folks who had $250 to burn, and our pal Bill Childs delivered two days of marvelous family entertainment at the Meltdown Stage.

I’ll be writing about the grown-up artists at Popdose later, but here’s a brief rundown of my Meltdown experience:

Elizabeth Mitchell took full advantage of the sign language interpreters on offer under the Meltdown tent, using two — one using what I assume was ASL, and another communicating with what I’m guessing was Korean Sign Language. It’s all part of the multicultural, all-inclusive aesthetic her music has always had; when I arrived at the tent, Mitchell was telling the folks in the audience that on record, the song she was about to perform featured a magic xylophone, but she was sure it’d be fine without it because “everyone has a magic xylophone within them.” It reads pretty airy-fairy, but if you’ve ever heard an Elizabeth Mitchell album, you know it makes perfect sense in the context of her music. Her gently buoyant set was perfect for a hot afternoon; I was pleasantly hypnotized long before her adorable daughter broke out with a harmonica solo. Even with a wall of overdriven amplifiers, she’d be soothing; crooning “peace like a river,” she’s positively heartwarming. I’ve long loved her earlier work — if you aren’t a fan yet, visit her site now and familiarize yourself before her new album, Sunny Day, arrives this fall.

Earlier this year, I missed the New York duo Ratboy Jr. at the Meltdown Festival, and I was determined not to make the same mistake twice. Hailing from New Paltz, NY, the duo of Timmy Sutton (guitars, vocals) and Matty Senzatimore (drums, backing vocals, and amazing simultaneous keyboards) offers a wonderfully down-to-earth alternative to a lot of the sugary, stupidly silly kids’ music on offer by concentrating on stuff kids really love — like dirt, worms, and robots. Timmy told the crowd he was excited to see Cake later in the day, and you can hear a pretty clear line between the two acts, but where I’ve always found Cake painfully corny, there’s something undeniably endearing about Sutton and Senzatimore’s eagerness to get down in the muck and remind us how much fun it really is to connect with the world around us. Like their song “Dirt” says: “Everything is wonderful, including the dirt.” As parents, a lot of our choices are corporate-fed, and they ultimately ring hollow on one level or another; as clever as the Backyardigans’ or the Wonder Pets’ songs might be, they’re still part of a computer-generated product line. Ratboy Jr. is as far away from that as you can get. Read my review of their CD here, or visit them at their Facebook page to sample their wares.

I’ve gone on record with my love for the Flannery Brothers‘ music on more than one occasion, and I’m about to do it again: Their Sunday set, which kicked off the afternoon program at noon, was the second time I’ve seen them give it their all for a crowd that should have been ten times the size. If they aren’t my favorite kids’ band, they come awfully close, and there simply aren’t enough of you listening to their wonderful songs. During the band’s Green River show, vocalist/keyboardist/tambourine player Dan Flannery swiped the title of “hardest working man in children’s show business” from Justin Roberts; even if it hadn’t been 90 degrees outside, he would have quickly worked up a sweat with his energetic antics (at one point, he grabbed his tambourine and sprinted across the field between verses of a song). They’re just a great band, melding funky grooves, tight guitar, and electric keys to funny, charmingly wide-eyed songs about vegetables, riding bikes, and favorite pillows. I’ve heard their upcoming album, The New Explorers Club, and it’s absolutely their best yet. Visit their site, buy some music, and spread the word — the Flannery Brothers have the childlike spirit, the performing talent, and the songwriting skill that listeners of all ages need to hear more of.

Having said all that, the nicest Meltdown Stage surprise of the weekend came in the form of The Primate Fiasco, a local band that describes its sound as “psychedelic Dixieland,” but really offers a much more traditional listening experience than you might expect. Close your eyes, and you’ll imagine guys wearing natty straw hats and suspenders on their arms, but this five-piece crew was full of sweaty, youthful vigor when I saw them; they played a “grown up” set at the Dance Stage before slaying the pint-sized Meltdown crowd with selections from their addictive new family disc, Wheels on the Bus — and then they led a Mardi Gras parade through the festival grounds just before Allen Toussaint took the main stage. I bought both of their albums before I walked out of the tent — give me a banjo, a clarinet, and a tuba, and I’ll be your friend for life — and played Wheels for my kids first thing Sunday morning, at which point they became immediate fans. If you’re not in the Northampton area, your chances of catching a Primate Fiasco show are on the slim side, but nothing’s stopping you from buying either (or both) of their CDs. Vocalist/banjo player/harmonica player Dave DelloRusso told a concertgoer that Wheels on the Bus is his favorite of the two, and I agree with him — but miss their first album, Geek Dreams, and you’ll miss one of the more sublime versions of “Sweet Georgia Brown” that I’ve ever heard. Trust me: You’re a Primate Fiasco fan. You just don’t know it yet.

So far as I know, no one has ever thrown a parade for Bill Childs, the benevolent genius behind Spare the Rock, Spoil the Child. But I’m pretty sure someone will someday, because Bill is a veritable font of awesomeness, starting with the website I linked to a few words back, extending to his killer family-friendly radio show, and culminating with the series of super-sweet concerts he’s helped promote in the Northampton, MA area. For much of the year, you see, Bill brings artists to Northampton as part of the No Nap Happy Hour — and as if that weren’t enough, there’s the Meltdown, the (free!) festival that brings families and performers together for a whole day of music, activities, and good times.

All of which is a long way of saying my family and I made the 90-minute trek to Northampton last Saturday, where we melted down, and it was good.

Bill, to his immense credit, has been very patient about getting me to come out and see/cover one of his shows, but my youngest is two and a half, and until very recently, I’d sooner have towed a trailer full of rabid spider monkeys to Atlanta than risked three hours in the car and a napless day with my son. This year, though, we were so excited about the Meltdown that we lined up a whole caravan of friends and kids.

This year’s festival was held at the JFK Middle School, which I’d never set foot in and from which I had no idea what to expect. If someone had tried to hold a bunch of concerts in my old middle school, I can tell you that the only people who wouldn’t come away filled with sadness and regret would be the lawyers retained for a vigorous round of suings. But hey, this is Northampton, so I should have known that JFK would be a spacious, well-lit, brightly colored box of happiness — or at least it was on Saturday, when a few thousand people showed up to see a stacked lineup of kids’ performers, a circus, a goat, and more. (Yes, really. A goat.) It ran from 10-4, admission was free, parking was free, pretty much anything important was free. How? I don’t know. I think Yankee Candle and Comcast may own Bill’s children now, but I’m not certain.

Here’s my one caveat for the whole thing: When you stuff several thousand people, many of whom are knee-high or shorter, into a building with amplified music and a circus, the experience can be a little overwhelming — not only for smaller children, including my son, who was ALL DONE WITH THIS PLACE after about two hours, but for grown-ups like our friend Jamie, who ended lunch by cradling her head at a “cafetorium” table and looking at me plaintively. I was there more or less all day, and honestly, I felt a little carved out by the time we left — it’s just a lot to take in, all the time, although you can come and go whenever you like and there’s a “Chillout Room.” I can’t tell you anything about that room, or quite a bit of the day’s performers, because I was with my music-loving four and a half year old daughter most of the day, and she had her own very definite ideas of who we should see. Here’s what I can tell you:

Alastair Moock, longtime veteran of the “dude with a grizzled but very likable voice and battered acoustic guitar” scene, was there plying his new CD, A Cow Says Moock. Alastair, who has the coolest name in all of kids’ music, was tucked away in what was charitably called “The Lounge Stage,” but which was actually an alcove across the hall from the gym/circus with gym mats on the floor. But for kids’ performers, it’s all about small — small listeners, small spaces (and ones that are, by and large, much cleaner than the small spaces played by “grown-up” singers), even small background singers standing rather defiantly in front of their tiny mikes and threatening to disrupt your performance. But Moock took it all in stride, delivering rousing originals alongside judiciously chosen covers (such as a dead-on take on “Fishin’ Blues”) and displaying some impressively deft crowd management skills in the bargain. I left his performance for a few minutes to check in on my kids, who were watching a belly dancer or something across the hall, and when I came back, the gym mats were covered with bouncing little people.

Rani Arbo and Daisy Mayhem, whose new album Ranky Tanky was recently (and rapturously) reviewed in this space, rolled onto the main stage at 1 PM, boasting an instrumental lineup that included fiddle, stand-up bass, and the world’s most wonderful drum kit — boxes, empty soup cans, and a suitcase doubling as a kick drum were all on display. The music was everything you’d hope for after reading that description: A fluid swirl of soulful, funky roots music and a set list that kept the crowd on its feet throughout boisterous originals and covers like “They All Ask’d for You” and “Purple People Eater.” I wanted them to play for two hours; I also wanted to hurl embarrassing compliments in the band’s direction after they finished their 35-minute set. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), I stayed trapped under my daughter as she sat on my lap waiting for…

Uncle Rock, the alt-rock vet who took the hard lessons he learned in the trenches and used them to emerge victorious as a crown prince of kindie music. I had my first Uncle Rock experience reviewing his new CD, The Big Picture, last week, and I liked it — but watching him slay his pint-sized fans at the Meltdown, I completely understood his immense appeal. Prowling the stage, dancing around, exhorting the kids to follow a list of commands like a playground B.F. Skinner, Uncle Rock (or, as the New York Times would call him, “Mr. Rock”) came, saw, and conquered. (He also provided me with my only opportunity to see Dean Jones play when he brought Jones out to play trombone on a few songs.) Rock’s music is, well, more rock-oriented than most; his band interpolates bits of various grown-up bits in songs here and there, and they sprinkled the set list with covers like Buddy Holly’s “Everyday” and a transcendent version of “Love Train.”

The Flannery Brothers, who ended up with the somewhat thankless task of playing “The Lounge Stage” at 3 PM, but turned lemons into lemonade by working the crowd like they were playing Madison Square Garden. Dressed in bright colors and wedged into that tiny space, the Flannery Brothers proved they aren’t just a lot of fun on CD, but they’re an impressively tight live act, delivering note-perfect renditions of tracks like “Rutabaga” and “Best Pillow in the World” that brought an ear-to-ear grin to my tired face and reduced my daughter to giggling fits. (At one point, singer/tambourine rocker Dan Flannery sashayed down the gym mats and into the hall, prompting her to shout “He’s leaving!” in hysterics.) It was, in a word, marvelous, and I only hope the Flannerys end up on the main stage next year, because they’re stars just waiting to be connected with their audience.

Much to my regret, I missed Dog on Fleas and Ratboy Jr., but I’m only one man, and hey — that’s what next year is for. Mark March 26, 2011 on your calendars, and if you’re in the New England area, make the trip. What Bill and his colleagues are doing out here is wonderful, and it deserves to be supported.

But as soon as I received my copy of Move Over Lullabies…It’s Time for Wake Up Songs!, I tore off the plastic and put the disc in the CD tray. With the Flannery Brothers performing the songs, and a title like that, how can you go wrong?

Answer: You can’t. Wake Up Songs is very short — the whole thing is over in about 15 minutes — but as advertised, it’s a great way to start the day. Acoustic guitars, electric piano, and those Flannery harmonies come beaming out of the speakers, exhorting you to wake up, splash some water on your face, hop on your bike, and move your arms and legs. (Good advice for parents as well as children.) Nine times out of ten, a record like this would be stuffed with annoying, Spongebob-style hyper energy, but these are just fun, uptempo songs, warm and organic, and perfect for a dash of silly fun in the morning. Play it while you’re making breakfast for your little ones — twice in a row, even — and start looking forward to the Flannery Brothers’ next full-length, already in the works.

The Flannery Brothers – Love Songs for Silly Things (2009, self-released)
purchase from Amazon

I know we aren’t generally in the habit of giving bad reviews here — if we don’t think something is worth a dad’s hard-earned time and money, we simply won’t cover it — but the Flannery Brothers‘ Love Songs for Silly Things is a special case. As in an especially wonderful case. My house is a constant stream of kids’ music, and my 3.5-year-old daughter has reached the point where she doesn’t even bat an eyelash when a new CD or DVD arrives in the mail “for her.” With all that entertainment going on, it’s hard for one album to stand out, but Silly Things has done it, becoming an instant summer favorite for my daughter, my 21-month-old son, my wife, and even our visiting nephew, who turns 11 in September. Rare is the kids’ CD that doesn’t advertise itself as “fun for the whole family,” but this one really delivers on that promise; my nephew spent the better part of a week singing the chorus of “Broccoli Yet” under his breath, and my wife yelled “I love that CD!” when she walked in and found me writing this review.

They aren’t superstars (yet), but the Flannery Brothers aren’t just favorites in my household; they’ve actually become something of a sensation in their native Maine, and have won awards from the International Songwriting Competition and the John Lennon Songwriting Contest. The recognition is richly deserved, because each of the dozen tracks on this album is a delightful blend of kid-friendly fun and smart pop songcraft. Titles like “Best Pillow in the World,” “Rutabaga,” and “Dilly Beans” promise supreme levels of silliness, and Silly Things does not disappoint; it’s the kind of record made for long family car drives, and if your kids are anything like mine, they’ll be singing along before they’ve finished listening to the songs for the first time (of what will be many, I assure you).

Unlike a lot of kids’ records, Love Songs for Silly Things doesn’t feel like a piece of product — Dan and Mike Flannery take obvious joy in their work, and it shines through every hook, line, and chorus of this independently released CD. I can’t even get my daughter to stop listening to it long enough to give the new They Might Be Giants a spin with me. That pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?