Not Strictly Bluegrass

After a Friday and Saturday at the CTA Leadership conference, Susan and Kathy dropped me off at the corner of 19th and Lincoln in San Francisco. Busloads of people poured from buses to join the hoards in the park for the Not Strictly Bluegrass Festival. After a half hour of waiting I walked across the street to call Donna and find out what delayed her- Message machine. When she arrived at 12:30 she said, "I've got to ask Truckee how to work this cell phone. I didn't hear the phone until after you had left a message. We parked at 25th and Lawton and walked to the park.

Four venues have top acts from around the United States, all funded by a rich man named "Helman", apparently of Silicon Valley fame, not the manyonaise fortune. We climbed down a steep embankment to join the hoard at the arrow stage and Booker T- or is it Brooker T- Gravely voiced singer and rock band. We put ourselve close to a center corodor at this stage just in back of the sound man. Crowds of people were sitting on tarps, blankets, beach chairs and jackets. A sound booth blocked the view for a few small plots of green. At the break I could see the stage except for a tall man in black leaning against a large speaker. "Do you think that you are going to sit down when the show starts?" I asked politely. "No" He answered. Let me try it again. "Do you think that you are going to sit down when the show starts, asshole?"

We heard Rodney Crowell sing his pointed songs about love lost and family conflicts, his brother a twin, who became a "rent boy" on Hollywood Boulevard. Then we stood in the food booth lines. The booths were severing great food at reasonable price- but the Cajun Garlic Fries were gone and the line were long, but friendly. One of the cooks tried to stir up the crowd, "Hey, Isn't Bod Dylan playing at 1 PM?" (He wasn't there.)

We walked over the far stage- the chicken stage to hear Mavis Staples- one of the daughters in the famous Staple Family Singers- who led many of Martin Luther King's rallies around the United States in the sixties. We caught the end of rollicking gospel band and pushed ahead to be within about 50 yards of the stage- close for us. We eyed a tarp and a small blanket and a small green area that filled up quickly. A tall young woman sat down next to us, but as soon as the band began she stood in front of Donna, at four foot eleven, a humorous scene quickly remedied by Donna moving in front of her.

Mavis's voice, at one moment smooth and low, the next horse and gravely. Levon, Eyes on the Prize, numerous songs by "Pops Staples" and a few favoirites from the seventies. The guitar player had a rough but fluid style- the back up singers had meliflouse voices especially the one male singer. The sound of the huge crowd obviously excited Mavis and pushed her to perform at her peak. She told stories of the civil rights movement and the family band and got the crowd singing at the top of their lungs. Donna called Anna in Alaska to give her a taste of the show. The noise was so loud, Donna didn't know whether she had gotten through or not. Later Anna called and said, "I thought that the call was a wrong number."