Two separate experiences this weekend have left me reeling. Kinda.
I got booked at the Harvest Jam at Forever Florida and it was so perfect; perfect weather, music, vending, vibe, I wanted to stay there all day. Roger Zimish came and joined me on-stage at the fest.
Then, we packed up and headed to Muddi Gras, which was a whole different vibe. It was fun, we laid out some different vibes and, at the end, it got a little weird. People, well, okay - two or three kinda threatening men who were calling out for Waylon Jennings and stating that, "you all need to play some music that we like."
It, honestly, got scary there for a couple of songs. I recall at one point, having one guy at the front of stage asking for Waylon Jennings and another guy at the top of the stage stairs leaning in for some requests. They weren't friendly requests. They were in the vein of "you all need to play this, in order to keep us happy." Previously, with the Gator Band, I'd played Native American Flute and had been greeted with a swelling roar of ATVs, swamp buggies and other gasoline-powered movers in a quick and prolonged blast of sound. What did it mean? Did the revving signal appreciation, like applause? Or did it mean that they wanted to drown out the sound of Native American Flute and drums?
I was sober - and in no way paranoid during all of this. I have to tell you - with no fear in my heart - I still felt a sad sort of disconnect in one way, just with some of the folks listening to the music.
And on the other side, I met so many kind and wonderful people tonight. When it comes to rednecks, niggers and the rest of the names that come to mind - we are operating under a collective consciousness where these kind of titles identify who we are and what we do. Which is false. These names might be bookmarks, but they are not impressions of the many souls that we are.