This post started out as a 7 paragraph over-detailed rant about the West Indian Independence day parade/festival here in Hartford's Bushnell Park. Why this to start the blog off? Well, it's totally objective for me. I can't sprinkle it with personal bias and my own warped opinions about music. Anyhow, I managed to condense it down to four paragraphs and a semi-punchline.
I missed the parade, so I ended up going to the festival around 6pm. The only music I witnessed was vocal/electronic and it happened on the main stage. A lady named Jim Meyers (yes I thought she was a man too!) sang Whitney Houstons, "I have nothing", and a bunch of other reggae songs that mostly sounded the same. The choruses changed each time she sang them so I couldn't get a grasp on what the song titles might be. Many of the songs accompaniment were synthesized keyboard, bass, the occasional trumpet, and drums. Several of the performers took the liberty of stopping the DJ and demanding the crowd to dance and participate. I don't think I heard more than 1 minute of each song. To top it off, there were several tents playing similar (but slightly different) music simultaneously, a cacophony of sound. I felt like I was in a strobe-sound show; its a wonder I didn't have a seizure from auditory overload!
There were many people peddling CD's, but nobody seemed to be buying. I found myself wishing, against my own good judgment, that there were a few live reggae bands there. There wasn't an acoustic instrument in sight, not even a toy. After staying for about an hour, I came to this conclusion:
This was not a music festival. However, music and dance were the primary entertainment. I earned that West Indians go out of their way to get people engaged, even if it means stopping the music 50 times to remind the audience to relax and have a good time. However, If by some stroke of bad luck, a deranged smart person decided to disable the power grid in the city, this festival might be a little different. I don't doubt their ability to improvise; perhaps every trash can would be turned over and they'd turn it into Stomp Live, West Indian style. Somehow, though all I can imagine happening is the numbers dwindling rapidly, and by sundown nothing would be left but a single smoking grill, a trail of party promo flyers, and maybe a single tumbleweave.
Finally, I have to say that the food was very tasty (thats a bias, I love West Indian food!), and they had vendors from New Jersey and Brooklyn in addition to the locals. There was lots of luscious brown eye candy, especially the West Indian dance company. To the pretty girl with the awesome gold purse shaped like a guitar, you are officially an inspiration to my ever-changing fashion sense. Kudos to the west Indies for a nice festival!
