It was a huge honor to play the 42nd Annual Smithsonian Folklife Festival on the grounds of the National Mall in Washington, D.C. In addition to spotlighting NASA and the country of Bhuthan, the program that year also featured a celebration of the culture of Texas - in particular our food, wine and music. As a self-professed music nerd, I own pretty much every Smithsonian Folkways recording that's ever been released, so I was in hog-heaven to be part of their annual event. I gotta say, though, that when I think back on it, it was hard work!
The tents were not set up correctly, so they didn't vent properly to allow air to circulate. As a result, it was sweltering on that stage - so bad in fact, that my pick guard on my Gibson had melted and lifted up! But regardless of the heat, we played several times a day - every day. I was so pooped, that by day's end, I'd have to practically drag myself to the main meeting place to catch the bus.
Catching the bus.
This was turning out to be an adventure. We shared the bus with anyone having to do anything with the festival, and were all staying at the same hotel - so it was always crowded! We'd form a single-file line, and bake in the afternoon heat as we waited for our ride. We'd wait. And wait. And wait. More than just a little envious of the lucky souls who'd made it in line earlier than us, as they filled bus after bus. While waiting in line, I'd fantasize about the cold AC blasting back in my hotel room. I'd think about anything but the waterproof mascara running down my cheeks and the sweat stains that trailed from the pits of my arms to my waist.
One afternoon, while eagerly anticipating the bus, I struck up a conversation with the legendary bluesman, Texas Johnny Brown, and his band. I marveled at this man's stamina! At his age, he'd performed not only in the heat, but also in a long-sleeved, purple polyester suit! But he did look spent, frail, and weary. He was clutching a small silver suitcase in his hands. He looked up at me and shot me a crooked road-weary smile. This old man needs some rest - he's flat tuckered out, I thought, shaking my head in worry.
It wouldn't be long, I reassured myself, because finally, we were first in line! I marveled at our luck, glancing back at the line that now trailed to the end of the block where the Bhutanese were gathered. I studied them in polite curiosity. Mostly practicing Buddhism and Hinduism, the people of Bhutan were - according to my fact sheet in my festival program - a peaceful people. Many of the men were bald and looked like monks. Both men and women wore robe-like garments that wrapped around their bodies, came to the knee or lower, and fastened at the waist with a cloth belt. Most wore colorful woven shawls and sandals made of rope that tied around their ankles. "The Bhutanese are sweet and shy people," we had been told. "Honor their customs and try to respect a culture that's very different than ours." Watching them chatting amongst themselves, I had to admit that, though they certainly looked different, they did indeed seem at peace - and totally oblivious to the oppressive heat pounding down and baking them into the sidewalk.
I was just about ready to try and snap some photos of the Bhutanese when I heard the roar of a bus. Our bus! Finally! I picked up my guitars in anticipation and watched Texas Johnny Brown's band ready their gear, too. But then I noticed that just where the actual bus stop was had suddenly become very confusing to the driver. This was due to the fact that the Bhutanese had miraculously managed to make the line - the one that we were at the front of - "flip" in their favor, by all turning around in the opposite direction. It didn't help that they were leaping up and down in the air in their sandal-clad feet pointing for the driver to STOP. To make matters worse, a volunteer from the festival rushed to their defense towing a "Bus Stop" sign with her. She plopped it down. The bus stopped. The Bhutanese loaded up. And the bus took off. And we were just flat stunned! It had all happened so fast, that we'd had no time to blink, much less object!
I looked at Texas Johnny Guitar Brown. I looked over at Lloyd. They each looked mad. "Uh-Oh," I thought. In a matter of minutes, a whole new tribe of Bhutanese gathered at the end of the block, joining those that had not made the last pick up. I watched them carefully, and waited. After another 40 minutes or so, melting in the heat (praying that my Gibson would live through the day), I heard the next bus approaching. Our bus! I said to myself, teeth clenched - seething.
In a sea of maroon Bhutanese smocks, an old legendary bluesman in a bright purple polyester suit is gonna stick out. And he did. We all jumped, howled, and pointed to where the REAL sign was for the bus stop. The Bhutanese jumped up and down too, trying to force the bus driver to look their way and see their own "sign." We watched with a sinking heart as the bus slowed and rolled to a stop where the Bhutanese were standing. Then, all of a sudden the bus lurched forward and pulled up to our corner! We shouted out with glee - until it kept right on rolling, past us and to the corner farthest from where any of us were standing. We heard a cry, and next, we heard the shuffle of at least fifty Bhutanese running toward the bus. Our bus!
But we had the lead! Texas Johnny Brown drew his suitcase to his chest and elbows out (ready to knock someone over if need be), sprinted toward that bus. To my amazement, that ol' cat was a flash of purple. I couldn't keep up, lost sight of him, and was soon engulfed in a swarm of Bhutanese.
I don't care where you come from, but there's a universal translation to body language. And I could just tell that the Bhutanese were fully aware that what they were doing was wrong! They shouted in glee, egging one another on, and seemed more than willing to trample us to get their way! So, with an instrument in each hand, I simulated the "chicken-dance" I'd done every year at Wursfest, in New Braunfels, Texas, and flapped the Bhutanese out of my way. I'm telling you, they were tough!
When I finally managed to squeeze onto the bus, I did so with at least four Bhutanese piling in at the same time, all of us practically spilling onto the lap of the driver - who was clueless to our plight. Lloyd shot through the door next, reaching the end zone with arms extended and instruments tucked to his sides. With relief, I saw that Texas Johnny Brown had made the bus, too. His silver suitcase once again clutched to his chest. He lifted a bony hand and gently smoothed down the jacket lapels on his purple suit. And the look on his face?
Priceless.
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