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Jun 12, 2006 - 10:13 AM |
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South of 8 Mile |
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So, the Detroit Festival of the Arts was this past weekend. Since I still don't really know anybody in the area all that well, I just decided to go check it out alone. There were lots of awesome things to be seen, including musicians and art exhibitions.
Some of the things which stuck out to me in particular was the Australian music stand, where a guy blew out some awesome sounds on the digereedoo. The most impressive part was that not only did he make some remarkable sounds on that instrument, but he kept some elaborate rhythms with shakers on each of his legs and and large maraca in one hand.
The highlight, to me, were the musical exhibitions. When I first got there, I was just wandering around, getting my bearings, and I found myself drawn to a small uncovered stage off to the side of the festival where a strange mixture of djembe, electric and acoustic guitar and electric bass and assorted percussion produced what could only be described as a mixture of reggae, soul, and carribean music. I found out later that this genre is called "Honduran Garifuna Soul," which was performed by the Aurelio Martinez band. Definitely good stuff to check out, in my humble opinion.
I wandered around some more and inreasingly, I noticed some people with rather "remarkable" (if such a word could be used) hairdoos. Some people would have their hair spiked in massive cones, each with a different color. Others had foriegn objects stuck into their hair, probably used as supports for the Dr. Seuss-esque hair styles. Yellow hair which spiraled out in a variety of directions; pink hair that stuck straight up in a single column and ended in a tuft; flattened hair with circles painted on them, and basket-woven, bead-laced wires sticking in and out of it. I found out (also) later that this was some unique service being provided in one of the plazas on the Wayne State campus, where some German group would style your hair in ludicrously complex shapes just for kicks and giggles(and probably more money than it was worth to cast away your dignity). While they were styling though, the music that was blasting was a horrific mix of electronica and some South American music. I like electronica music, but this was was flat out awful.
Anyways, I spent the latter half of the evening looking for neat things which I could get for my Magic Box recipient (It doesn't help that I didn't know anything about the person in question, and he/she doesn't post that much at all @_@), and listening to some of the performances. I did find some neat, cheap things, and I hope he/she will be happy with them.
The performances were pretty good too.
The first one that I stuck around for was a celtic music/comedy group called the "Tartan Terrors." They were really fine musicians, even though their humor was more often than not rather grody. One interesting aspect of their performance was that the secondary percussionist on dejmbe would break out a digereedoo, and fill the area with a continuous blast of harmonized bass. I wonder how long it took them to find one which was just suited to match the B-flat tones of the bagpipes.
Anyways, after that jolly good time, I stuck around longer to see a talented blues group from Cleveland perform late into the evening. Very unfortunate for them, the first 30 minutes were fraught with feedback. The man who seemed to be in charge of the sound looked like one of those pathetic, poorly-groomed, washed-out old "rocker" men who sported long-dead hairstyles, and inappropriately tight clothing for their age. His poor performance as sound manager matched his disheveled look. But this was not the only negative aspect of the performance. With remarkable insight, it appears that the planning committee placed the event's dumpster/incinerator no less than 200 feet upwind from the performance tent. Most winds in Michigan go from west to east, and this was no exception. By the time they were finished fixing up all of the feedback problems, approximately 3/4 of the original audience was driven away by the cold, rancid drafts, and ear-piercing squeals. However, that remaining quarter was in for an absolutely fine performance of spirit and talent. After writing all this, I just realized that I forgot to mention the name of the group, which is the Wallace Coleman Band. The main singer definitely had a great deal of talent on vocals and harmonica, and I was often moved by their songs.
And now, reaching the end of the evening, and tying the title of this entry into the whole of the story: I was driving back home on Woodward Ave. when I swear I saw none other than the "YOU GONNA GET RAPED" man, complete with shabby beard, bulbous eyes, and grimy, hooded winter coat.
| Currently Playing: Bach - Cello Suites (Pablo Casals) |
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