Only in the City...(and Happy St. Patrick's Day)

A St. Patrick's Day that was wonderful and again wonderful.

Sharon & Lucy came to pick me up at work just before noon. We swung out and got a bite to eat, and then it was over to the Landmark Center in St. Paul, where the Irish Music & Dance Association was hosting their 25th annual St. Patrick's Day festival. It was a great event, except for initially finding parking (St. Patty's Day is like a mini Mardi Gras in that city, which has deep Irish roots). We walked around & saw various vendors & artisans, passed on the $4.00 a stadium cup-Harp Lagers (not sure if I would have even bit on a better, traditional Irish beer at that price in a cup like that, but for sure not a Harp), but got by far the most enjoyment out of the Irish dances & music. I couldn't believe how fired up I was during these live performances; the energy, rhythm, and fun festive atmosphere was absolutely infectious.

There was one particular moment in a traditional music set when a bodhrán (that goatskin drum with the little dumbell-like mallet) player suddenly set down his instrument and flew to the middle of the stage to engage in a flurry of dance steps that grew increasingly intense until the crowd was brought to cheers, whistles, and nearly to its feet. We also saw some kids performing from one of the (more than one, apparently) Irish dancing schools in the area (pictured). A lot of fun, too, making me wish at that moment I had some sort of single or double generational ethnic heritage to flout at such an event, rather than my stinking "date back to the 17th century on both sides" -bull shit lineage I'm stuck with.

Lucy was tired to begin with and started fading & getting grumpy. Though I did not imbibe at the festival, I was driven to the point of needing a drink by the time I got home. Luckily, I picked up a six pack of (much, much better than Harp) Smithwick's Irish Ale earlier this week. Sorry I don't have a review up yet, it's coming soon. Lucy & Sharon both hit the sack shortly after supper, then I went out by myself for phase two of "Only in the City," as I walked a few blocks south and listened to a small jazz combo play at Camden Coffee Company for one of their increasingly trendy and attended Friday music nights.

I've never been a big fan of jazz, having always felt it was a bit inaccessible and lacked general "musical progression." All I can say now is that three or four live performances I have seen have opened my eyes. The piano player in this group is a regular there that with whom I'm somewhat acquainted. During tonight's break, he kind of broke it down for me finally, explaining that the beginning and end of the song establish the melody and are pretty much reproduced as written, and then there's essentially just tablature in between; root notes or chords around which you just take turns improvising and jamming. Where pop music makes me think of places, people, moods, events, & stories, jazz just makes me think of color and of waveforms. It's almost like the inside of my head turns into one of those "vizualizations" in a computer's media player. I just relax, chill out, and get into it. A great closure to a great holiday, and another reminder of how deep in me the hooks of the urban life have truly set. Could I/would I give it up? I would like to think I could, but I think I'm beginning to believe more and more that such a decision is not something I will come to through sitting on a pinnacle of stone, or by checking out stacks of books, or through hours of endless internal debate. It will come to me, if it is meant to be, and I come to a place in my life where I am compelled to migrate. But there is no hurry.