Even cowdogs get da blooz
posted by coyote
Quite a week at Bluesfest. Except for Rihanna's extended Ashley-Simpson-does-Milli-Vanilli-on-Saturday-Night-Live moment (if ya were there, ya know what I'm sayin'...) it was usually amazing. But that mainstage grand finale? KC and the Sunshine Band? Sister Sledge? Tavares? Gloria Gaynor?
I'm an old enough semimythical coyote to remember the first Prairie Chicken Dance. (inside joke, there...) I also recall in gruesome detail the first incarnation of disco. And (declaring a personal bias here) managed to completely avoid the sweaty taint of suspect synthetic fabrics draped across my oh-so-natural fur while being blinded by flashy lights in the floor and deafened by giant JBL monitors with a, um, slight bias toward the bass end of things.
So I can say without any qualification whatsoever that disco sucked.
And having attended on Sunday night, I can also safely say that -- even with the eyebrow-arching layer of self-aware hipster irony attempted by way too many people who are not as skinny, cool or jiggle-less as they thought they were, back when they first greased themselves into them slimy white polyester bellbottoms -- recycled disco sucks on turbo!
Gimme a big, loose sloppy ol' Chicago blooz band any day. Fortunately, there were one or two about. Okay, I'm done now. I need to suck back a whole buncha slough water and take a weeklong nap in a shady chokecherry patch. G'night.
(image: panama red music)
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3 comments:
Aggie, I think what the poor hound is saying is that he loves disco but can't admit it.
In any case, it was probably safer for him that he wasn't at the New Pornographers. You weren't there when I almost got lynched.
The band did the walk off and wait to be called back for an encore thing. (In contrast, didn't you love when Danny Michel said he could walk off and all that, or he could just play an extra song?) Then when he came out again, the NPs lead singer began bantering with the people close to the stage. "What?" "What's that?" "No, that one's too hard." "Maybe we'll play that one in five minutes."
You know I get testy when I'm bored. "Shut up and play what you were going to play anyway!" I yelled out.
You should have seen the nasty looks I got from the hipsters.
With a hard edge in her voice a woman behind me asked, "Do you know who this band is?"
I smiled and said yes.
I think they could tell that while they might have outnumbered me, a charged-up dwarf will still inflict major hit points on other combatants.
Especially down low, Short Guy.....
And what is all of this virtuoso obtusity, people? Did I say that I wasted quality time on ersatz nostalgia?
I partook of Controller, Controller (lotsa energy), the Chicago Blues Reunion (that big, sloppy Chicago outfit I mentioned), Big Sandy and His Fly Rite Boys (old school rockabilly to the max), Dave Alvin and the Guilty Men, and yes, Aggie, Tony D's Power Hour.
Not a polyester bellbottom in sight.
Stick a fork in disco, it's done. It's not so much that the genre was bad, it's just that it's, well, ... over. And for those who wanted to jiggle through the last day of Bluesfest, the infectious rhythyms of Ottawa's own Hilotrons were just the ticket.
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