Reggaefest Recap

At the beginning of the fall semester this year, I made a promise to myself to see as much live music as possible. Unlike my promise to quit smoking weed, I actually kept this one. Last semester, I saw Eryka Badu, Nine Inch Nails, and (my fav of the semester) The Mountain Goats, among others. Not all in the same concert, of course. Although that would have been awesome.

But then I got to thinkin. What's the next step on that? I'm seeing all these amazing bands live. Decades from now I'm going to be telling my kids and grandkids about how I hung out with the lead singer of the Easy*Star All-Stars after the concert and trying to recreate that magical, after-an-Experience, walking-on-air, almost-spiritual feeling of seeing Modest Mouse rock it and rock it hard. But with my long-term memory (it's bad) and the years in between, the chance of me being able to do justice to these magic moments is dim. So I'm going to start keeping track of every live concert I go to, be it a $40 headliner at Stubbs or a guy and his guitar at a cafe.

Take this weekend for instance. :)

It was Reggaefest in my dear little city, and I had the pleasure of going yesterday. I only got to see two bands, but they were both Awesome in every sense of the word. Notice the capital A.

The first was Grimy Styles, a band I'd heard of, but before last night couldn't tell you one word about. Now I know they're an instrumental local reggae band who know how to kick off the dub sound right. Seriously, these guys just made me want to dance, despite my... uh... lethargic state of mind. I remember sitting on that white felt blanket, the sun turning the top of my head hot, unable to keep my eyes open but grooving anyway. I remember that, despite my toes pinching in my cute red cowboy boots and the fact that just minutes before I had been aching to sit down, I kept asking my people if they wanted to get up and dance with me.

This is the stuff I want to remember. The little moments, the ones that disappear first. I'll always remember* that yes, I went to Reggaefest 2009, and yes, I saw Grimy Styles before I knew who they were, but the details and the moments of complete and pure happiness, the jokes told and real live connections with the music will get lost. That's why I'm doing this, to keep those.

Another aside: I really love that experience of not knowing anything about an artist, seeing them live, and falling in love with their music. I feel like it's the most pure way to enjoy music. You don't have any prior thoughts from other people, no Rolling Stone shout-outs, or half-heard singles floating out of your radio to influence your opinion of what you're listening to. Your affection (or lack of it; I've been exposed to bands I didn't like this way as well) is purely organic, grown out of what is happening right there in front of you. It's the realist form of musical love, something I care a lot about.

Point is, I feel like the relationship story I will have with Grimy Styles will begin like this. Too bad I can't find any of their music downloadable online. Maybe I will actually have to (gasp!) buy their album. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. :)

I also got to see The Skatalites after them. (like that smooth translation?) I am ashamed to admit I didn't know anything about these reggae legends either. I know now that they've been around FOREVER, and rocked it like band that deserved decade-old** success. They were amazing. (I'm sorry my reviews will be unprofessionally vague. Awesome, amazing, and rockin are all synonyms and they all apply) I got the coveted front-and-center spot to dance in due to waiting around almost an hour between sets***, and the trumpet player pointed at me after a song. (!!) Twice, according to my roomie. I remember seeing him walk out of a porti potty before the show dressed in jeans and a Marley shirt. I remember having a thought about how intelligent he looked (and it wasn't just the glasses) and wondering if he was in a band that played that day. Then I thought they must have better bathrooms for the performers, that it would be pretty shitty (no pun intended) if they didn't, and wondering how I could get access to those bathrooms, and if waiting after the show to talk to the band would be the way to go. Funny, if I had, I bet I could have hung out with em a little bit, or at least get a cool conversation. Trumpet man obviously dug me.

*God willing, unless Alzheimer's Disease or some freak Memento-style memory loss takes my past before I'm gone.

**I like how hypen-filled this blog is. See? Did it again!

***I should note, out of respect, that most of the waiting was done by my amazing roommate. I took a porti potty break. I should also note this was only the second concert I'd seen with my beloved roomie, after Saul Williams last October. Hopefully, they'll be many more.

Story

The sweat starts in pearls bubbling up on her forehead. It runs down the canyons formed by her furrowed bows until it drips like snot off the end of her nose. The rhythmic puff of air blown out through her teeth sends each drop flying into the air in front of her face. She doesn't notice.

She doesn't notice the sweat river down her face, or the pools forming under her arms, or the lakes rising in the cups of her bra. She doesn't notice the sun in her eyes and how the squint it's glare gives her makes her look both confused and angry. She doesn't notice the street her body carries her down like a balloon, or the houses she passes and all the secrets trapped inside each one. She doesn't see the double-take from the good looking blond she passes, and would have stepped right in front of the moving van if it's loud horn hadn't snapped her out of her jogging trance.

But only for a second. And then, again, she looses herself in the rhythm of her feet. Her heart and mind live in her knees, air born for a second that lasts a lifetime... weightless and free... and then, as her feet connect with the concrete, compact like a spring. The purple and orange soundwaves echoing from her feet is the music she runs to; her ipod exists in her head. Her shoulders swing like a pendulum, her arms move as if they were controlled by someone else.

"Steady, Jessica...''

Her target, the reason for her run, slowly pulls her out of her jogging trance. Focus comes back, and her peripheral vision clears. As she watches what is currently just a dark green dot, she slows a bit. As details clear and the green dot forms the shape of a park bench, Jessica takes one deep breath, as if to gather her entire being, all her strength and every thought into one ball into her chest. With a woosh, she frees it all and breaks out into a sprint.