I’ve never wished Bob Dylan “happy birthday” – but it’s his 80th and I’m catching up. I’m still not a fan, but I’ve come to really respect his writing as an interesting combination of seemingly stream-of-consciousness poetry crossed with a powerful synchronicity that truly provided the right voice at the right time.
Metaphorically speaking.
Ain’t nothin’ right about his VOICE per se.
Of course, with a voice like mine, who am I to talk?
Sunday I dragged my exhausted, sun-mauled, slightly desicated-self out of bed and took shower 4 for the past 26 hours, brushed my teeth and threw myself into action. Loading out and loading in, 10.30am set up in Takoma Park for a Bob Dylan tribute with Billy Coulter and a nice list of local performers. My car has started making a noise (I shall render unto Caesar yet again before the month is through) that is new to me and so I kept it under 80 in an abundance of caution, all the while dreading that the thermometer wouldn’t be showing the same courtesy.
96 degrees and sunny. The cicadas swarming. Bob Dylan tribute on a Sunday afternoon in Takoma Park? The place was PACKED. Unlike the show yesterday I knew few of these faces, and perhaps 2/3 of them were masked so even the faces I knew I was only seeing 2/3 of… generally… Dave Eisner impressed me with his ingenuity with getting us an ethernet cable from across the street and we were able to stream MOST of the show until a dancing child stepped in JUST the wrong place. The music was great, the sound was great (thanks John Charry!), but man… Takoma Park doesn’t have ANY of the communication skills that yesterday’s crew did.
Packed into the shaded spaces near the Old Town Gazebo whereas Saturday’s crowd showed respect for communication and consent, Takoma Park operated under the assumption of assumption and of course the close-talkers are also the ones who operate unmasked. I only had to physically back one man off and he was massively affronted, but I’m really back and forth as to which new normal I’m more ready to embrace.
I guess the Takoma Park reality was a little more… real… since it also mostly didn’t involve any hugging. I think I may just be grumpy!
In any case, the music was great and good times were hand. The cicadas (86 decibels in my backyard) were sonically well-behaved but physically invasive and I spent any and all downtime removing their crawling forms from my bags, cables, laptop, person, hair, cameras, tripods and occassionally those around me. Unfortunately, with how crowded it was there was no good place to FLICK them. Brian Simms sat on one. David got one on his neck. I put one on Tony Denikos’ leg. Good times were had.
Came home. One followed Kristen in doors and she sat on it and its annoyed buzzing went unrecognized for a while and sent her searching her new phone for notifications.
I LIKE cicada summers. Brood X is a welcome disruption in both the new AND old “normal”.
Happy birthday Bob Dylan. Here’s a couple of trillion little bugs and they’re here to party.
