Music and the Girl with the Purple Tee

Memphis in May begins with the Beale Street Music Festival, three frenzied days and nights of live music in Memphis City Tom Lee Park, straddling the Mississippi River. From 1PM to 12:30AM, rain or shine, bands perform non-stop from three monstrous open air stages and one smaller tent covered stage filled with 1000 folding chairs. With the park only steps away from our house and a daily entrance fee of $30 a person, it was easy to dive into the festival.

Within minutes of getting on site, we found ourselves listening to blues, rock & roll, 70's funk, hard rock, soul, and rap. Sometimes we just tasted, walking from stage to stage threading our way through the crowds. Other times was stopped and indulged ourselves in a complete set. Between shows, we refreshed with beer and great "bad" food. Think rib eye steak sandwiches with meat popping out of a soft soggy bun, Thai chicken on a stick, and mounds of Saratoga fries -- potato chip thin, crispy, hot and salty right out of the deep fryer. After two days my body rebelled, demanding green food. I started eating at home again.

The estimates of 30,000 people a day were reasonable from our elbow to elbow experience. During the day, before the hoards of youth descended, families and couples could easily sprawl out on blankets, staying put to listen and see complete performances. However, at night, standing was the best survival technique if you wanted to get anywhere close to a stage. The closer you were to a stage, the thicker the mass of humanity. Every so often someone would move and we'd be able to catch a light breeze from the west over the Mississippi. Lines of people, holding hands so to not get lost from their companions, weaved into and out of the crowds.

It was a fabulous scene to be part of. Speakers blasted sounds out into the audiences at each stage without stepping on each other. The audiences danced, whistled, screamed and held their hands high into the air as they clapped to engage in the music and show appreciation for the performance. It was a great feast of warm affection for music. Whether an ol' coot smoking that sweet little cigarette while tossing back a pony tail of long time gray hair or a teen trying to look cool with baggy pants, black tee, sunken chest and fuzzy face, there was music to be enjoyed.

Despite the heat and masses, people were pretty much okay with each other, constantly saying "Excuse me" and chatting up those next to them. Even when teens and twenty somethings danced in mosh pits close to the stage, it all seemed fairly respectable, despite the sweat, beer, dirt and late hour. There was the occasional screaming young drunk, but they were smartly quieted by his pals. One guy yelled at me, "Are you having any fun Grandma?" I wished I'd had the presence of mind to yell back, "You only wish you could have half the life I've had, honey," but, of course, I'm never that clever nor quick.

The biggest dust-up happened the first night when Jerry Lee Lewis halted his show twice to break up a scuffle near the stage between a couple of bare chested and amply tattooed, crew cut guys who were less than coherent. Lewis commanded the crowd "boo" them -- and we did. Like the Calvary, security arrived to remove the offenders. They left with their heads down, with a good dose of chagrin.

On Saturday night we listened to Taj Mahal play their jazzy Caribbean music at sunset. Taj Mahal has been around since the 60's so we were surprised at the many nests of young kids around us. Teens in one group could not have been more than 15 or 16 years old. Three of the five boys looked like they had just sprouted up. They were tall and skinny with hair looking suspiciously Paul McCartney or Ringo Starr like. The other two, muscular and squat, sported crew cuts with bodies fit for contact sport. The group included two girls - one, had an underdeveloped body, shy and sweet looking expressions. The other was the opposite - overdeveloped, devilish and teasing. Her boobies bubbled under a loose purple tee. Her brown hair was swept up off her neck. But, she was shorter and rounder than everyone else, a plump 5 feet. Her freckles and eyes gave her a pleasant demeanour but she was not beautiful by teenage standards. Parents would call mature looking. She darted into and around the group keeping the boys focused on her, not each other or the stage. She lifted her shirt up to wipe the sweat off her forehead. She started a dance-like behavior by squirted mouthfuls of water in the boys faces, then batting them on the head and shoulder with the empty plastic bottle. She followed with sweet talk, "I didn't hurt you did I? You know I was only fooling," then wrapped herself in a big hug around the boy who stood straight, enduring the embrace. If the group started to drift apart, she'd herd them together for a group hug with herself in the middle . If a boy sat down, she sat down in front of him, knee to knee, plunging her face into the boy's chest. She ended up on the shoulders of the largest boy, pressing her thighs against his neck, directing the others from her perch.

The boys tolerated her. They would talk with her, but they were definitely not enchanted by her. I glimpsed several sets of "rolling eyes" amongst the boys which the young vixen did not seem to spy. As I watched her, I thought how hungry we can sometimes be in our thirst to be part of the group and to be wanted and loved. Her behavior made me wonder -- where would she end up tonight? Was she just testing her new sexuality or was she really desperate for attention? Would she end up with one of those boys? Would she end up alone because the boys would eventually find a way to evade her charms?

By Saturday midnight, we were exhausted. We could not endure beyond 11:30 when the Bar-kays finished up so we walked home, missing Steely Dan. However, on Sunday, John recuperated and was undaunted, even after the 4 PM downpour. He joined others was they streamed like lemmings toward the park for the last night of music. He did not return until the end at 10:30PM. I plopped myself down in front of the television, ate Bonn-Bonn's (just kidding!) and watched Sunday night Cold Case and Without a Trace. It was a good, an outstanding Memphis weekend.