I was a John Gorka fan in the 1990s. Bought his CDs, went to his shows (in fact, the first time I heard Dar Williams, before she broke out on the folk scene, was when she happened to be opening for him at the Bottom Line). At some point I sort of drifted away; no reason, really – just other people I was excited by. I’d still see him here and there at folk festivals, but didn’t go out of my way to see him play. He was at this year’s New Bedford folk festival in a way that made me take notice again, and that was even more true at the Falcon Ridge folk festival, from which I’ve just returned. And I found myself really appreciating him. In particular, I was taken by his engagement with the music. There may have been no one at the festival more engaged with the music that was happening there. I noticed it first whenever he was playing in the round. He paid close attention to anyone else who was playing, and almost couldn’t help finding a way to contribute to it – by singing harmony, or playing a lead, or just moving in rhythm to the music. And there was something different about the way he did it than some of the up-and-comers, who sometimes seemed to be jumping in to play in an effort to call attention to themselves, to show that they could contribute. In his case, it instead seemed to be in the service of the music, in appreciation for it. But he also played, for no compensation, elsewhere at the festival. Including the Lounge Stage, the unofficial stage from before the festival started, requiring him to be there a day early. And, even more impressively, the Lost and Found tent, where he played for hardly more than a half dozen people, since those shows aren’t scheduled or publicized in advance. Lots of emerging artists and others scramble to get to play short sets around the campgrounds or the festival area because they are looking for the exposure. (I played both Lost and Found and Acoustic Live.) But he doesn’t need the exposure; he’s not building his audience. He just loves to play. And he loves to listen. A surprising number of the musicians – full-time or otherwise – at the festival don’t listen to much of the music that’s being performed by others. I understand the need to guard your time, to make sure you aren’t over-extended, and a desire to hang out with friends you don’t get to see too often. And maybe you’ve heard a lot of these people play before. But I really respect musicians who love the music so much that they are drawn to it, wanting to hear everyone else play. And that was John Gorka at this festival: he listened to the emerging artists, and I kept seeing him in the wings or backstage area paying attention to whichever musician was on stage playing, silently singing along. He loves music, and I love that about him. One of his early songs, That’s How Legends are Made, was written for and about Stan Rogers, who was also the first great songwriter I loved and lost. That song perfectly demonstrates his love of this music and the spirit he brings to songwriting and the music community. And I spent most of the festival grateful that there are musicians like John Gorka in this community that is so important to me.