within weeks of relocating, the owner became his adopted hometown's biggest booster. granted, i temper much of his enthusiasm with his fresh independence, but its sincerity is endearing and i'm thrilled he's found a place to rebuild his life on happiness, not sacrifice.
he's been generous in sharing some of this with me and we've banged heads more than once with the dropkick murphys and waxed mellow on the summer night grass with the indigo girls. we've been shined on and rained out at the spinners and tipped a few pints at local watering holes. however, this weekend is the raison d'etre for much of the town, with the annual folk festival. the streets are closed to car traffic, stages and pavilions are scattered throughout the downtown with free concerts all day and much of the night. food from all over the world and artists who paint, weave, carve, and work with quills and quilts round it all out.
we started our night friday with jeffery broussard and the creole cowboys and they just rocked. how long have i loved that zydeco fiddle sound? somehow we had to escort a social orphan (how'd we get her?) to the skatalites, but they were a little more mellow than we wanted, so we ditched, went back to the dance tent and the boys from louisiana. a beer garden, giant fans and couples two-stepping made for a perfect show. room to move and even the owner couldn't help but swing his hips!
stumbled on an alley with picnic tables and a flatbed trailer doing double duty as a stage. bunch of guys rocking, beer on tap and folks kicking up dust. perfect. laughed it up with townies, drank pbr's, watched grandmas cut loose and heard at least 3 different bands, none of whom will go on to greatness but were having a blast.
saturday started a little rough for some of us, so we missed the early shows, couldn't get near our cowboys, so wound our way to hear balla kouyate play his 800-year old balafon -- a west african ancestor of the xylophone. the sound was amazing. gourds! even more amazing when one considers the fractured family lines in so much of his ancestral region to know his has remained unbroken. (a very inconsiderate white woman, a baby slung on her back, insisted on videotaping the show from center aisle. at least 5 people tapped her shoulder and asked her to get out of the way before she finally did. my suspicions were confirmed by the lowell sun this morning -- she was kouyate's wife.)
we caught bits of puerto plata (well, i did, the owner was shopping and continuing his major support of the local economy); the broad gospel pipes of sister marie knight; skordalia, a traditional greek dance band; watched a step-dancing workshop (too painful, lol, even the teacher had to turn her back); and at last back to the skatalites. how old are those guys? they backed marley, ya know? they sounded great and riffed out classics that had everybody swaying. old hippies, babies in tie-dye and barefoot phish-kids all digging it.
visited our alley, caught a rock-a-billy band and saw our favorite rockin' granny (whom we now know is maggie and hangs out at the old court, lol). rounded out the evening with a bit of mighty sam mcclaine, who might have been more mighty 50 years ago. sounded great, but we'd both hoped for a bit more bo diddley, less luther vandross, so called it a night.
here's hopes that the weather will hold for today. friends of mine live nearby, so there are plans to connect there and neighbors here at love, american style are having a brunch. (more on THAT later, lmao.) even if it rains, i can't think of a more perfect weekend in a very long time. perfect. even i like lowell. )
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