pt at large

Memorial Day in Westport, MA: A small town honors its men and women who served

Memorial Day,Westport, MA, May 28, 2012

Nearly fifty veterans, from the Revolutionary War to Operation Iraqui Freedom, are buried in Beech Grove Cemetery in Westport, MA. Today's parade route is from Town Hall to Beech Grove Cemetery then back on Main Road to Town Hall for closing ceremonies and refreshments for all. The event lasted approximately two hours.

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A Day of Celebration and Commemoration

A parade, especially the Memorial Day Parade, is the glue that holds this little town together. Westport men have fought in wars from The Civil War to Afghanistan. There are scores of red, white and blue flags waving in the gentle breeze at Beech Grove Cemetery today.

The Memorial Day Parade was the first parade that hundreds of today’s spectators marched in when they were kids themselves. Yes, they’d heard school lessons about the patriotic meaning of the day but it was really special because they got to wear their uniforms - band or baseball or cub scout or brownie - and hear cheers from their relatives and friends along the route from Town Hall to Beech Grove Cemetery.

Now grown, they are lining the parade route to snap photos of their own children, grandchildren and peers. They understand the excitement on children’s faces.

Understand this. In Westport, nearly everyone in public service and youth organizations marches. It’s been that way a long time.

Dana Reed born 1926, now 86, was in his first parade as an 11 year old with his Westport Boy Scout troop. “They lined us up and taught us how to march, they don’t march properly today,” Reed observed. He knows a thing or two about marching. A Navy veteran, he served in the North Atlantic for WWII and was called back to sea again for the Korean War. Today he was right on cadence with the men of James Morris Post 145 American Legion of Westport, MA.

The Beaulieu brothers, Douglas and Barry, standing with their families atop the stone embankment near the Friends Meeting House, have been coming to the parade since they were kids, heck, they marched in this parade when they were kids. One Beaulieau son is a policeman, one a fireman who served in Iraqui Freedom, one niece is in the band and their granddaughter’s third grade teacher who’s wearing his Cub Scout Leader hat today is leading his “pack”. There’s a sense of pride here. This will be a joyfully loud place to be when these Beaulieu representatives march by.

Veterans of WWII, Korea, Viet Nam, Iraq, and Afghanistan march. The Board of Selectmen marches. State Police, Color Guards from surrounding towns, firemen, police and auxiliary officers march. Like “the wave” at Fenway Park, a quiet and respectful applause ripples down Main Road as each of these groups pass the spectators. And about a hundred of those cub scouts, brownies, and “The Blue Wave” Westport Schools band march. Some day these kids will watch their own kids march.

As the procession makes a turn into the cemetery, the day’s mood abruptly veers from festive to solemn. Those granite headstones point to our ultimate destination, at least for those old enough to understand that life is a finite proposition. Even the children are a little spooked. They don't need much of a reminder to quiet down.

A hush descends upon hundreds of onlookers as they form around the tall white pole with its flag at half staff in the center of the cemetery. The citizens may argue about warrant items at Town Meeting but there’s no discord here. It’s time to remember those who served the country, and to be thankful for what we often take for granted.

Jerry LeBoeuf, entering his second year as Westport Veteran’s Agent after taking over for highly regarded Ron Costa, his recently retired predecessor, sets the tone by reading President Barack Obama’s Memorial Day Prayer For Peace.

One after another, men in uniform come forward. They understand the pain of families like those of Westport's Michael Bono who lost his life in Operation Iraqui Freedom. The cost of war is not a line item in the budget. It is blood.

Words like “the fallen,” “heroes,” “the ultimate sacrifice,” “died for our country,” echo in this cemetery and probably in thousands of burial grounds across America today. The words are true, the sentiment is right, but one of the last men to speak says in less than a minute the truest words I hear all day.

“War is ugly. I hate wars. Hate the war but honor the warriors.” David Cordier, a burly uniformed man in black beret, a man long on sentiment and short on sentimentality, Commander of the Vietnam Veteran’s of America Westport MA Post 207, hit the mark.

A lone bugler blows a mournful “Taps”. A contingent of the parade group retraces its route to Town Hall. Prayers are spoken. The flag is raised to full staff. This Memorial Day is history. Hundreds of spectators head to the rear of town hall to socialize with cold milk, hot coffee, doughnuts, water, juice and home made blueberry cake.

How American is that?

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Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

 

Jeanne Aquilla (photo Left) and Helene Hardin (photo Right) hand flags to spectators. Jeanne Aquilla’s husband Joe has been Commander of the James Morris Post 145 American Legion Post Westport MA for the past five years. “He’s giving his first Memorial Day speech today,” Jeanne says. Five area veteran’s groups rotate hosting the annual Memorial Day event. The Aquillas have lived in Westport for 32 years.

Douglas and Barry Beaulieu and their families (details in story) and Tillie of North Westport, her son and granddaughter.

Every man who served in the military is invited to march

A color guard precedes WWII decorated veteran Leo St.Onge

Longtime Veteran's Agent, recently retired Ron Costa photo at left

Three members of Westport's Board of Selectmen; State Police

Westport's Blue Wave Marching Band; Brownies, Girl Scouts, Cub Scouts and Scout pack leader "Mr. T", fourth grade teacher...

Beech Grove Cemetery...

The family of Michael Bono, killed in Iraq, returns to seats after laying a wreath at the flagpole

Veterans listen as Veteran's Agent Jerry LeBoeuf (former Marine) reads President Barack Obama’s Memorial  Day Prayer For Peace

Everyone at "parade rest"

Cub scouts, Brownies, high school children lay wreathes at the flagpole; a 21 gun salute

Back to Town Hall for flag raising ceremony

Organizers said the turnout for the parade was one of the largest in recent memory

Post parade socializing and refreshments

A busy line at the refreshment stand behind Town Hall; pt and Dana Reed, WWII and Korea Navy veteran


 

NYC: Twelve Blocks Up Seventh Avenue

Emerge into the sunlight from the depths of Penn Station to the hustle and bustle of NYC. A fifteen minute walk up Seventh Avenue through Times Square to W46th Street, a tiny window into the city at work and play... the avenues are long concrete and glass canyons stretched out to the vanishing point, taxis, buses, and cars whiz and honk, pedestrians obey the walk signs - not to would invite a calamity.

Streams of people pass silent protestors, lovebirds...

Powwows to determine what to see next... a photo opp with a cartoon character

Amateur photographers are everywhere as are human billboards handing out promotional material, and guys trying to navigate their handtrucks through the crowds.

Enormous digital advertisements add to the razzmatazz of Times Square...

so does a spash of nudity...a topless guitar player smack in the middle of Times Square

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

Jeff Kelly Lowenstein: My Walking Talking Lifetime Achievement Award

Jeff Kelly Lowenstein. Google the name. Ten pages worth of Jeff Kelly Lowenstein later, Google’s still rolling out his name. Impressive.

Let’s see. Award winning reporter for the Chicago Reporter; currently Database and Investigative Editor for the Chicago Tribune’s Spanish language newspaper Hoy (and is becoming fluent in Spanish while he’s at it); the 2007 Racial Justice Fellow at the Institute of Justice and Journalism at USC’s Annnenberg School of Communication; one of a handful of journalists from around the world to be selected in the Climate Change Media Partnership’s first Fellowship Program to send journalists to the United Nations Climate Change Conference in Durban (COP17) in November 2011; contributor to the Huffington Post; awarded a Dennis Hunt Fellowship in 2011; currently president of the Dart Society…I could go on. Run that Google search and see for yourself.

I’ve known him since he was nine years old. And I'm mighty proud of him.

“I want Mr. Tamburello for my fourth grade teacher,” he remembers telling his mom in 1974. Alice Lowenstein was on the board of the Parent Teacher Organization. Jeff was placed in 4T. He was one of the bright spots in a really interesting bunch of kids in my 1974-75 class at the John Pierce School in Brookline, MA.

Jeff (R) interviewing a classmate on the first day of school in 1974

There must be a gene that creates the ability to connect the dots that link human relationships. Jeff is a natural. He made friends with every kid in the class. His style was subtle and steady. Kids respected him, an act that mirrored what they experienced from him. His voice is deeper now but his style hasn’t changed a jot.

He’d stop by to visit me after school from grade 5 through his years at Brookline High School, then during vacations when he returned to the east coast from Stanford (graduated Summa Cum Laude). When Jeff’s mom and dad were involved in a terrible automobile accident after he graduated, his mother nearly died. Fate drew him back to Brookline.  Jeff and his brothers Jon and Michael shared home care for their mother’s arduous recovery and rehabilitation. It was a long road. Jeff needed some structure and a sense of familiar territory to hold his days and nights together. He walked over to the Pierce School.

“We are family,” was principal Alvin Fortune’s motto. A big man with a bigger heart, he offered Jeff a job, knowing that Jeff was not only a caretaker for his mother, but needed some TLC himself. Our teaching community embraced him.

After a stint of running our recess program and the less exciting task of shelving books for our two motherly librarians who fed him snacks every day, Jeff asked if he could sit in on my classes, maybe help teach for a couple of hours a day. The smartest thing I ever did was to say yes. The next two years were the most exciting of my 34 year career.

That summa cum laude from Stanford was not just an impressive certificate to hang on the wall. Jeff authored terrific American History lessons, engineered activities that involved every level of student. Kids loved his style. They knew he was present, a huge gift, and that his desire to teach was balanced by his desire to know who they were and what they needed to succeed. He learned to manage a class of ten year olds. Watching him teach was fun.

Jeff added a program to my series of “Life Talks,” which he called “The You Can Do Anything Program” in which he invited artists, musicians, writers – all friends of his – to talk about the paths that led them to their callings.

Talking with him after class about strategies for content delivery, class management, which kids looked involved and which ones needed help, where the lesson would lead tomorrow… those sessions were a gift. They gave me insight into the depth of experience I hadn’t realized I’d absorbed in my first 18 years of teaching. And I learned a lot by watching Jeff work a room with an inclusive style that made every kid feel like he or she was in the game.

Jeff was an astute observer. I asked him to write anecdotal comments about each student and used them when Jeff sat in with me when we met with parents for conferences about their child twice a year.  Jeff owns a memory that rivals a purse seine trawler for its capacity to collect (and retain) data. When he spoke about their kids, he included specific examples for everything he wrote.

Twenty-four looks pretty old when you’re nine. My students would examine photos pinned to my bulletin board of Jeff as a fourth grader in 4T, look at him as a grown man, then try to figure out how ancient I must be to have been his teacher in the olden days. It was a gas.

Over the past forty years I’ve known Jeff as a student, mentor, fellow teacher, and, for the past twenty-five years or so, as a friend. I’ve witnessed him embrace challenges through his first career as a middle school teacher and through his evolutions as a reporter. He brings an incandescent energy to the cause of social justice that inspires his colleagues. Honest to goodness, I’ve seen him operate with this vision since he was nine years old.

I call Jeff Kelly Lowenstein my “Walking Talking Lifetime Achievement Award.”

On May 17, I’m heading to New York City to the second annual fund raiser/auction for the Dart Society, an organization of journalists that works to tell stories about trauma and violence with sensitivity and compassion, and that also works to help journalists deal with the impact of doing that work. Jeff Kelly Lowenstein is president of the organization.  A perfect match.

Jeff and pt through the years

1974 Jeff learning about Japanese culture with classmates in 4T

1989 Goofing around  as The Dynamic Duo during Pierce School's annual  "Dress Up Day" ; 2001 recording commentaries for NPR affiliate WFCR-FM in Amherst, MA

B/W classroom photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

Elena's Ashes

Palm Beach Shores
April 17, 2012

 
If it fits, we ship. There she was. My mom. In that 4x6x2 inch US Post Office carton. Most of the rest of her ashes are interred next to my dad’s grave in Pittsfield, MA.

Way back before she died in 2005, she began telling me how she wanted her burial and funeral arrangements to go. A pillow in her den read, “I’m not pushy, I just have better ideas.” You get the point.

Outside in the real world, I was a successful teacher, respected by colleagues and parents in the community, an honest to goodness adult.

But every time I walked into the door of 15 Coltland Drive, I became an adult son, emphasis on the son part. You do what your mother tells you. I swear, some days I felt like I was standing in the kitchen in short pants with a bag of marbles in my pocket. So, when she told me she wanted to be cremated, did not want a wake, and did want me to throw a party for her after her funeral, that’s exactly what I did.

‘I want some of my ashes to go in the plot with your father,” She also said, “I want to wear a hot red dress for the cremation.”

“And I’d like to have some ashes scattered down at Palm Beach Shores at the Lake Worth Inlet.” I hunted around the house and found a pretty Japanese vase, a wedding present that had sat in the living room ever since I could remember.

“Perfect,” she said. I felt like I’d earned a gold star. The sense of approval from a parent never gets old.

Elena had spent a couple of months in Palm Beach Shores (Singer Island) every winter after she and my dad bought a condominium there in the 1970s. My dad, my mom’s sister and her husband, and my sister and her two young sons were in the annual rotation from January through March.

Elena was a regular at the pool, played cards with the ladies, and strolled around the beach. Late in the afternoon, her favorite jaunt was to head a half mile down to the Lake Worth Inlet, a deep-water canal for cargo and pleasure vessels bound to and from West Palm Beach. Over time, benches were built along a stretch of the inlet. Tourists, condo owners, and local fisherman would banter or just sit to watch the endlessly changing seascape

“Going there when my brother and I had school vacations is one of my biggest memories from when I was little,” says my elder nephew Chris. “I remember Poppi putting the bait on my fishing poles in the first years we went, and after that even Nonni did it for me. We used to fish way out by the abandoned water tower at the end of the jetty.”

A robust tidal current was always running. The water was that impossible Florida blue, the kind New Englanders dream about when they’re shoveling a foot of snow in January. Today, I wasn’t shoveling snow. I was keeping a promise. I was about to scatter Elena’s ashes into the canal.

The next day, the page would be turned on the condo at Mayan Towers North. My nephews had resisted selling the small unit and I can’t blame them.  When one of your fondest memories is being bundled up to fly down to Florida and spend time with doting grandparents who take you everywhere and show you off like prizes, it’s hard to let go.

I found a gold rimmed bowl in the condo, poured Elena’s ashes into it and smiled. She would have loved the synchronicity, another piece of her china used to hold her ashes. I’m not sure how she’d feel about the can of cold Bud Light I brought along to seal the deal, champagne was more her style for an occasion.  But I had no doubt she'd agree that a libation was part of the ceremony.

It took me an hour to work up the resolve to fling her into the onshore breeze. At 7:30 PM, the sun about to settle into the horizon, I timed the swells rolling down the inlet, saw one particularly determined one about to crest in front of me and flung Elena’s ashes from the delicate bowl. The fresh breeze held the powdery remains in a glorious translucent gray cloud that trailed along the inlet, the heavier particles spilling into the water at my feet.

Floating along in the dissipating cloud came the memory of my mom singing to me when I was little until I fell asleep.

I loved to watch trains of all kinds with my grandfather, who often took me to the train depot at the edge of town to watch what he called “the roundhouse,” a huge lazy-susan arrangement that would turn the locomotives around to send them down a different track. Sort of like the track I was sending my mother along with right now.

I was fascinated watching endlessly long processions of coal cars, ice cars, gondolas, tank cars, low riders packed with iron, cattle cars, boxcars in a metallic rainbow of colors, each bearing the symbol or lettering of companies from distant states that made me think of the wild west, and those funny looking cabooses and the grizzled men in railroad hats standing on the rear deck, who would, if I had a great stroke of luck, wave to me and my grandfather (Elena’s father), as we watched them from the hillside above the depot.

Elena knew these images ruled the rails of my imagination. After she tucked me into bed, she would sit beside me in the dark and make up songs about the colorful procession of freight cars…I could hear her softly singing those songs to me as her cloud vanished into the wind. 

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Postscript

When your mother tells you to scatter her ashes and make a party of it, you do what she says.

 

Festival International de Louisiane: A Sample of Sunday's Bands

Festival International de Louisiane
Lafayette, Louisiana

Sunday Bands April 29, 2012

Canailles (Quebec- Québec Roots), Scene Malibu, Fais Do Do Stage

I didn’t think I could be surprised by anything after hearing the Middle East band Lamajamal and the Slavic Soul Party on Saturday but in the midst of the 1:30 PM Canaille show one of the guys yodels ("J'l'hais" from http://www.myspace.com/bellescanailles)! When they patter with the audience, their English has a heavy Quebecois accent and inventive syntax.  Canaille means "scoundrel" in French and these kids fit the bill with their ragtag blend of country blues cajun and a big shot of garage rock played with guitars, accordion, banjo, standup bass, percussion, washboards and at least one kazoo!).

Most of their songs are originals.The girl lead singer has great pipes, has one style that sounds like Grace Slick who swallowed sandpaper ("Becik"  http://www.myspace.com/bellescanailles). The eight musicians (self-taught no less, which may account for their eccentric style) began jamming together  by chance in a Montreal park in 2009. Their set still has the feel of spontaneity. The music is raw, full of twenty something energy, feels like it could fly off the rails at any time and they'd laugh at the result.

Canaille VIDEO

Savoy Family Cajun Band (Louisiana- Traditional Cajun), Scene TV5 Monde Lafayette Stage
The Savoy Family Band - what a pile of talent on one stage. Marc and Ann Savoy should donate their DNA to the Smithsonian - their sons Wilson on keyboard and fiddle and Joel on fiddle  are immensely talented as are Marc on accordion (he builds them), Ann on guitar. Red Stick Rambler drummer Drew Simon is on percussion today. This is one of the royal families of Cajun music.

Marc's "Savoy Music Center" in nearby Eunice is considered holy ground by visitors from all over the planet. The brothers Wilson and Joel got into great fiddle duels that had Marc, usually pretty phlegmatic, whoop once or twice. This is the best kind of sibling rivalry. Listening to any of them tell anecdotes about a song they're about to sing is a treat. What's in store might be an old ballad they breathe new life into or a barn burner of a two step.

VIDEO
Dancing to the Savoy Family Band
The Savoy Family Band on stage

Chico Trujillo. (Chile – Cumbia/Punk/Ska/Chilean Folk), Scene Popeye International Stage

Today Chico Trujillo is working their magic at the biggest stage in town, Parc International, a permanent stage with a ton of paved space in front for people to dance and set up their camp chairs. Music and dancing happens so often around here that the city fathers and mothers realized it needed a public space in the middle of town to  accommodate it.

Today's music, like Friday night's, has a distinctive Latin flavor and the crowd is eating it up. The instrumental mix of trumpet, trombone, saxophones, drums, accordion, guitars, is a great platform for the singing. It may be in Spanish but scores of spectators have no trouble interpreting it in to dance moves. Judging by the size of the crowd, Chico Trujillo became a crowd favorite this weekend.Dancing to the Savoy Family Band

VIDEO: CHICO TRUJILLO

LeroyThomas and The Zydeco Roadrunners (Louisiana-Zydeco), Scene Chevron Heritage Stage

Five Louisiana acts perform at various stages today, the last day of the festival. Bands like the Savoy Family Band (Cajun), Andre Thierry (Zydeco), and Leroy Thomas (Zydeco) play for large crowds. The University of Louisiana/Lafayette Jazz Combo and the Destination Gospel Choir make happy music, too. Toward the end of Leroy Thomas's set, the last of the festival, Leroy steps up to the mic. Leroy's cousins are zydeco band leaders Geno Delafose and Keith Frank.

"I want to introduce one of the last living legends of zydeco. Along with Buckwheat Zydeco, my father, Leo "The Bull" Thomas are a couple of the only ones left."
Leo makes a statement standing still. His performance suits are electric pinks, royal blazing blues, and percussive purples and I mean from hat to shoes. So when Leo gets into his hit song, "Why You Gonna Make Me Cry?" dancers grab partners and dance anywhere they find room. He's earned his status as a living legend.
 

The Festival International de Louisiane was selected as Best World Music Festival in the 2012 About.com WorldMusic Reader's Choice Awards. The average attendance over the five day festival is 350,000. The fact that the festival is free, supported by the sale of festival pins and merchandise, and honors the region's Francophone roots, is a matter of great local pride. Spend just one afternoon or evening there and you'll feel it.

VIDEO: LEROY THOMAS

Photos and Videos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

Festival International de Louisiane: A World of Shopping, too!

Saturday April 28, 2012
Lafayette, Louisiana

If you wanted to shop till you drop while you weren't enjoying world class music, the Festival International de Louisiane obliged. Vendor space in both market areas was sold out.

The Marché des Arts featured arts and crafts chiefly from Louisiana: jewelry, sculpture, woodwork, photography, ceramics, original paintings and more.

The Marché du Monde featured African folk art, instruments and clothing; banana leaf art, baskets, seagrass hats, handbags, hammocks, purses, paintings, tapestries, dresses and a wild range of women's clothing and more.

Saturday afternoon, sunny, temps in the eighties, the vendor area was crawling with shoppers. I'm not sure how much they bought, but they were looking real hard.

  

 




   

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

 

Festival International de Louisiane: Gigantic crowds

Saturday, April 28, 2012
Lafayette, Louisiana

By 3 PM, you can probably see Lafayette from the space shuttle.

Lafayette's population is a shade above 120,000. There's a fair chance most of them are crammed into the heart of the city (above) and the spectator areas in front of the four major performance stages within a half mile of each other. Walking down Jefferson Boulevard the only difference from feeling like you're packed into a sardine can is that you're moving… sort of, in a crab-like sideways, forward, stop, shuffle, step, step, stop dance like a giant amoeba high on Bud Light.

You could probably extrapolate the socio-racial-economic profile of Lafayette by observing the shoulder to shoulder crowd. It looks like any midsize city's range of teens just emerging from the chrysalis of childhood to couples and families  of every demographic on the city's census form.

After a few minutes, you realize the island of empty space over the shoulders of the people ahead of you contains someone in a wheelchair, or a stroller, or a little red cart with a two or three little kids in tow.

There are absolutely no rules of the road - just put one foot in front of the other and smile. What's the rush? This is one huge block party. If you’re jostled, more than likely you’ll hear a “sorry” or “excuse me”. If you’re claustrophobic, it won''t be pretty.

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People everywhere...

in coveted areas in the shade ...

no matter where it was found...

on the sidewalk...

buying a party hat or figuring out which band to visit next...

hanging out with giants...

or with friends.

Festival International de Louisiane: A Sample of Saturday's Bands

Saturday April 28, 2012
Lafayette, Louisiana

Red Stick Ramblers, ( Louisiana- Swing/Cajun), Scene Malibu Fais Do Do Stage

...with their rambunctious ways, these are the wise guys of the Festival - irreverent, witty, recklessly spontaneous. There's no telling what any of them will say on stage.  The RSR''s music has a rollicking sensibility charged with the power of a crawfish boat that's scooped up every musical influence on their prairies - cajun, creole, even swing - and plays it out with their assortment of fiddle, guitars, banjo, drums, bass, and accordion.These guys began playing at LSU in Baton Rouge in the late 1990s. They throw a stick of dynamite into roots and country swing music and draw crowds wherever they play.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nnReIxupwOs&list=UUpO59RlFb0TWCXQLKYfisdA&index=2&feature=plcp




Vishten (Prince Edward Island, Magdalen Islands-Traditional Acadian), TV 5 stage Lafayette Stage
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FexsC0aeD8

Pastelle LeBlanc on accordion, her sister Emmanuelle LeBlanc on keyboard and Irish hand held drum (Bodhran), and Pascal Miousse on fiddle and guitar, play rural traditional Acadian music, all the way from Prince Edward Island and the Magdalen Islands in way east of Canada. Pastelle and Emmanuelle make a mighty, clattering, pulsing beat by rhythmically pounding their feet on the black trunks at their feet. Influences from France, Ireland, Scotland drive the music.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUeR0OZ5QUc

Once again people are on their feet dancing. The dances are jigs that require anything from simple stamping to complicated foot flying footwork in pretty much the same place, not partner dancing, but like Cajun or zydeco can go on for round after infectious round until the fiddler or the dancers are wringing wet with sweat and worries shooed out the door.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ql0e8EXhFtU

Pascal vigorously bows his fiddle, the more animated the crowd, gets the more feverishly the band plays. No surprise, people figure out some way to express themselves in dance, mothers with kids in their arms, and twenty-somethings who probably got jiggled around in utero as their mother’s danced well into their terms.

Mercy Brothers, ( Louisiana – Gospel/Hillbilly/ Blues), Scene Chevron Heritage Stage

Three guitars, one bass, a big ol' drum kit, and electric keyboard, this is rock 'n roll come to jesus music, maybe the kind that inspired the Holy Rollers. If you want a gospel blues rock 'n roll country band, covering everything from love to perdition, these are your men. Once again, little islands of people are dancing, the sound system is awesome, and I am in heaven.
http://lineup.festivalinternational.com/band/the-mercy-brothers

Khaira Arby (Mali-Desert Blues) at the Scene Malibu Fais Do Do Stage

Once again Lafayete embraces the exotic, the spectator area is packed, am I repeating myself?  Lafayette has become a musical tapas town where the idea is to sample music you’ve never heard of. Desert Blues sounds intriguing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dtci5CDZr9o

Men and women, as partners or solo, make up movement on the spot - trance, free form, or Martha Grahame with a world music twist. At the end of the show, the lead singer Khaira Arby introduces her band in Malian. We have no trouble imagining what she's saying and applaud when she talks about each of her two guitar players, one bass player, and the man behind a big percussion unit. Her two lead guitar players are whizzes. Her singing is enchanting and match her Malian nickname, "The Nightingale of the North".
 

Lamajamal (Middle  East/US-Gypsy Surf)  Scene TV5 Stage

This is the dark horse act of the day. From Vishten to Kaira Arby to Lamajamal one act tops another for sheer exoticism. Imagine the sounds the five of them make with a wild collection of instruments including mandolin, cümbüs (fretless Turkish banjo), drums, our, keyboard, guitar, melodica, accordion, clarinet, sax, flute, dulcimer and percussion.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPAySRTTt0o&feature=youtu.be

One of the musicians says he’s from the West Bank, that a popular dance there is the circle dance. He asks people to form a circle, hold hands, and connect in energy and friendship. Hey, we may be in Lafayette, but today this could be Istanbul or Ramallah, no problem, friends and strangers dance to the joyous music, if there’s one word I will wear out today it is JOYOUS.
http://lineup.festivalinternational.com/band/lamajamal



Texas Tornadoes at Scene Malibu Fais Do Do stage

"These guys are awesome," a guy tells me, obviously in some kind of rapture, "I've been listening to them for twenty years.The original members Freddy Fender and  Doug Sahm died recently but Sahm's son Shawn got the band rolling again. That guy playing the accordion, Flaco Jiménez, he's a legend!" With that he took his friend in his arms and began to dance. So it goes around here. Judging by the crowd, Tex-Music has a big following.

Slavic Soul Party (Balkans/US - Slavic Soul), Scene Malibu, Fais Do Do Stage

This is the greatest kitchen sink band, from one groove to the next they turn on a dime from the middle east to Africa to USA, often  mashed altogether, gypsy, soul, funk, with a collection of  brass, reed and percussion to pull it off. If you can imagine a New Orleans brass band with saxophone, accordion, trombone playing in a Turkish bazaar somewhere in Havana, you might approximate what these guys sound like. Once again, the crowd cheered them ferociously.

Photos and videos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.