SunFest - Days 2-4
Hello from the day after SunFest.
This is what I feel like right now, but with more red lipstick.
In the past four days, I've walked/danced 27 miles, drank entirely too much Malibu Coconut, practically dislocated my hip shimmying to the musical stylings of Pitbull and lost my voice from shouting lyrics at the top of my lungs.
My body is basically screaming, "Hey asshole. Remember vegetables? And water? And the fact that you have an autoimmune disease which makes everything hurt all the time?"
But, it was worth every moment and tonight - my plan is to cuddle up on the couch with my boyfriend, my dogs and a very big salad.
So, let's move onto the important stuff - the music.
The Vedas are Hindu religious texts which speak of a connection between eternal life and gold. So, much like the Knights of the Holy Grail who sought out the chalice of Christ, Indian alchemists chased the notion of everlasting life through the shimmer and sparkle of sona.
It's a nice idea but I'm a firm believer that if you want to live forever or at least feel like you're infinite, you've gotta call on the brass.
Specifically, the warm brass of a horn section. Nothing will make you feel alive more than the wailing of a horn. Ask anyone who has ever set foot in New Orleans or seen James Brown live.
Personally, I'm a sucker for a sax. I have been ever since I was a little girl and heard Glenn Frey's The Heat Is On.
Sidebar: Beverly Hills Cop is holds up to this day. If they ever remake this movie, I will burn all things down to the ground.
A sax is capable of a kind of magic that no other instrument is. A guitar will scream, sob and howl like a keening wolf - giving voice to your pain or your passion. Case in point - Eric Clapton's Layla.
Drums? Well, a drumbeat will quickly replace your pulse and bring all the blood rushing to the surface of your skin, but a saxophone?
A sax solo will punch a hole straight through to heaven. I mean, hell. I don't believe in the afterlife, the good place nor the bad place but I've seen Springsteen and the E Street Band when Clarence Clemmons was still alive and I swear to God, that sax solo blew an intangible, ephemeral something wide open and I've never really felt the same way ever since.
And Nate Rateliff and the Night Sweats' horn section? Those boys could turn the walls of Jericho into dust with their raise 'em up, raise your voice raise the dead revival of soul, blues, Americana, folk, rock and gospel.
Seeing Third Eye Blind brought me back to being a teenager.
I must have listened to the self-titled debut album and their sophomore effort Blue a million times in my childhood bedroom. It was definitely a surreal moment - I first listened to these albums a few miles west of here and now, I'm seeing the band live, in the arms of a man who sat near me in high school English class. Thousands of miles and over a dozen years to bloom where I was planted.
Closing the festival was Mr. 305 himself - Pitbull.
The women in my family have a weird love for Pitbull. Mom loves him because he wears nice suits and when I texted my sister a picture of him performing, her response was simply, "TELL HIM I LOVE HIM."
As for me, I love the guy and I love the guy's music.
Pitbull passes the test.
You don't even know how many Pitbull songs you actually know.
He is every wedding I've gone to where I've kicked off my heels and danced with reckless abandon, sloshing my champagne and tangling up my hair. He is balmy summer nights where the air is heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine, Fabuloso and garlicky-oniony grilled chicken.
He is sitting in traffic on 95, watching steam rise from the asphalt and rumbaing in your seat because the dude next to you is playing Calle Ocho at a stupid loud volume.
Pitbull is the joy of living in South Florida.
This year's SunFest felt more like home than any one before. I bumped into people I knew, I listened to the music I grew up with and the music I love as an adult and I really celebrated that this magical fucking beautiful celebration of music and art and community happens in my hometown. A mere three and a half miles from my front door.
360 days until Sunfest 2019.
I can't hardly wait.