Reggae recap

Saturday was a beautiful day and it seemed all the stars were alined. I had enjoyed a wonderful morning shooting photos of the brilliant fall colors. I had a handfull of coupons and found major bargins on an afternoon shopping trip. Everything was just fitting into place so nicely. It was a chocolate mouse without any calories, sunshine on your shoulder, wind in your hair and no limit day!

The evening was gorgeous! I was all excited for the reggae festival on Saturday night. What a wonderful evening for an outdoor concert. I arrived between bands and waited patiently for the music to start. I anticipated a Jamaican sound with provocotive percussion in 4/4 time with A-minor chords producing a kind of repetative and hypnotic sound.

After a seemingly extended period to set up, a 3-piece band took the stage. With the first chord of the guitar an explosion of electrical feedback pierced my eardrums. "Oh, ah, sorry, dudes," the lead guitar player said.

And I was. Sorry, that is.

The music reflected nothing I had anticipated. I was completely dissappointed.

I met a couple of wonderful people, tho. Which is probably pretty good odds considering there were only about 30 (pronounced tirdy by my new Jamaican friend) people in view at any one time. One of my new aquaintences told me the next band would be better. I should stick around.

I did. I gave them all the benefit of doubt. Certainly the band could not be any worse. And I enjoyed talking with some fascinating people while I waited.

I met Rasta Ziggi and Sterret Morrison, two charming Jamacian men currently residing in the Twin Cities. They were sharing a vendor booth - one of the two vendors set up at the festival. Sterret was selling jewelery and T-shirts with impressions of Bob Marley screen printed on the front. Ziggi was selling wildlife wood carvings, each with intricate details. Both of the men had personality unmatched by any folks I have met, well, since We Fest in August. Both men were highly entertaining.

"It's not easy to play reggae," Ziggi told me. "People try, but most don't get it." He was rolling his own cigarette as he spoke. Tabacco. Regular, not a green leafy substance, but perhaps it was imported.

"You ever been to Jamaica, mon?" Sterret asked.

"No. I have been to Wisconsin," I told them.

Apparently Wisconsin is not anything like Jamaica.

"You get your lily-white (mule) down to Jamaica, mon. You hear real reggae. This is not. They need a Jamaican to teach. See, it is backward, forward, backward, forward like 'dis," Ziggi said. "You try."

We all laughed and Ziggi sang a song - reggae style - he made up on the spot about me - "the camera lady who take a 'de pictures. "

A friend of Ziggi's stopped by the vendor booth. I apologize, but I cannot recall his name. They said they would make sure next year's festival would be better organized and publicised, perhaps even advertised. Time will tell, I suppose.

The guys said the next band would be better and they were. Quite good actually. Still not exactly what I had anticipated, but then after the first band I heard, the second was a delight.

The fire dancers would not be performing until around midnight, but they were running at least a half-hour behind schedule, I was told. Every person I talked to said the fire dancers would be worth the wait. But, quite honestly, I had had enough of the festival. I just had to leave.

"Come soon, mon," Ziggi said.

The evening was not a total loss. I can't say from experience, but I heard the next couple of bands were excellent. I enjoy meeting new people and there certainly were a handful of characters at the festival. Sometimes, it only takes one or two people to make an evening somewhat remarkable. Certainly unforgetable.

I haven't given up on reggae music. It is fun to listen to. And I haven't given up on trying the next festival.

"Backward, forward, that is all."