Saturday, April 26, 2003
It is a warm day with cloudless skies. Splotches of pastel colors have emerged encircling the branches, filling the new leaves with chartreuse and flower buds with lavenders, plums and whites. A pair of pink-billed field sparrows walks down the back hill and working in tandem they zigzag down the slope and onto the flat before flying back to the bushes. Flycatchers take positions in the branches and scan for spots in flitting motion.
The University of Wisconsin student radio station, WSUM, is sponsoring an afternoon of live music in James Madison Park on Lake Mendota. Buddha's Belly is scheduled to play on the east stage at half past noon, however, we don’t arrive at the park until just before Sweet Potato Project from Minneapolis starts setting up for their three thirty show. James Madison Park is on the north side of the isthmus between Madison’s two large lakes, and thus forms the south edge of the largest lake. A few boats float in the distance.
Lola and I pack in beach towels and bottled water and stake claim to a patch of grass between the beach and the sand volleyball court where we have clear view of the stage. In the past, we both lived on the isthmus and are comfortable with the mix of college kids and want to be sixties hippies comprising the crowd. Free music and glorious weather have enticed hundreds of young adults out from bed and living rooms. Cloth of every color is being worn and the constant motion is like the tumbling inside of a kaleidoscope.
The park is named after President James Madison, elected in 1808 at a time when the American government he helped create was thirty-two years old. It was a time when the generation born just after the revolution was coming into fully responsible adulthood. The European powers of Britain and France were acting with disregard towards the fledgling secessionist colony, to the point where commercial shipments were stolen and American individuals imprisoned. Madison listened to the debate between the war hawks in his party and the Federalists in opposition, then decided to pursue the war of 1812 which resulted in the burning of the White House in Washington D.C. by the British.
“Federalists championed commercial and diplomatic harmony with Britain, domestic stability and order, and strong national government under powerful executive and judicial branches.[1]” These core values obligated the Federalists to oppose the war. American military forces were for the most part vastly inferior to Britain’s, however, Andrew Jackson managed an important victory at New Orleans. The increasingly large and growing population outside of the New England area considered the war necessary and successful. The Federalist’s, based in the northeast, never recovered from this national judgment on their opposition to the war and soon dissolved as an effective political party.
Sweet Potato Project is playing and some people are watching the activity on the stage. Some people are watching their friends, and being young, many are watching strangers. From the top of the pavilion over looking the stage, I observe Lola as she guards our place. I wonder if anyone is watching the sky and who else understands that they could be sunning and relaxing or dancing and playing, while effectively under the microscope.
It is a warm day with cloudless skies. Splotches of pastel colors have emerged encircling the branches, filling the new leaves with chartreuse and flower buds with lavenders, plums and whites. A pair of pink-billed field sparrows walks down the back hill and working in tandem they zigzag down the slope and onto the flat before flying back to the bushes. Flycatchers take positions in the branches and scan for spots in flitting motion.
The University of Wisconsin student radio station, WSUM, is sponsoring an afternoon of live music in James Madison Park on Lake Mendota. Buddha's Belly is scheduled to play on the east stage at half past noon, however, we don’t arrive at the park until just before Sweet Potato Project from Minneapolis starts setting up for their three thirty show. James Madison Park is on the north side of the isthmus between Madison’s two large lakes, and thus forms the south edge of the largest lake. A few boats float in the distance.
Lola and I pack in beach towels and bottled water and stake claim to a patch of grass between the beach and the sand volleyball court where we have clear view of the stage. In the past, we both lived on the isthmus and are comfortable with the mix of college kids and want to be sixties hippies comprising the crowd. Free music and glorious weather have enticed hundreds of young adults out from bed and living rooms. Cloth of every color is being worn and the constant motion is like the tumbling inside of a kaleidoscope.
The park is named after President James Madison, elected in 1808 at a time when the American government he helped create was thirty-two years old. It was a time when the generation born just after the revolution was coming into fully responsible adulthood. The European powers of Britain and France were acting with disregard towards the fledgling secessionist colony, to the point where commercial shipments were stolen and American individuals imprisoned. Madison listened to the debate between the war hawks in his party and the Federalists in opposition, then decided to pursue the war of 1812 which resulted in the burning of the White House in Washington D.C. by the British.
“Federalists championed commercial and diplomatic harmony with Britain, domestic stability and order, and strong national government under powerful executive and judicial branches.[1]” These core values obligated the Federalists to oppose the war. American military forces were for the most part vastly inferior to Britain’s, however, Andrew Jackson managed an important victory at New Orleans. The increasingly large and growing population outside of the New England area considered the war necessary and successful. The Federalist’s, based in the northeast, never recovered from this national judgment on their opposition to the war and soon dissolved as an effective political party.
Sweet Potato Project is playing and some people are watching the activity on the stage. Some people are watching their friends, and being young, many are watching strangers. From the top of the pavilion over looking the stage, I observe Lola as she guards our place. I wonder if anyone is watching the sky and who else understands that they could be sunning and relaxing or dancing and playing, while effectively under the microscope.
A Rastafarian white boy sells me a newsprint publication out of Milwaukee named either Rastamon Times or eXpressions Journal. For a small fee, individuals are encouraged to publish their poems or pictures or prose for the rest of the readership, and for the archival historical value of a project to record common thought. The publisher explicitly states that authors retain U.S. copyrights to their work. Two of twenty-eight pages are devoted to singer Peter Tosh who was murdered September 11, 1987 in his Jamaican island home.
I own Tosh’s music on digital compact disc. I own Tosh’s music on analog vinyl albums. “Peter Tosh was born into this world without a father, or mother with the responsibility or the time to raise young Peter.[2]” In the worst kind of third world slum, he found his voice. In those slums he met Robert Nesta Marley and Neville O'Reilly Livingston, and the three founded the Wailin’ Wailers, and gained international recognition. In time his path in life went on without them as his music increasingly focused on justice and oppression. Of his many lyrics there is this one: “I don’t want peace. I want equal rights and justice”. He was known as the stepping razor and there is no real doubt the authorities killed him.
On the west stage, Wookiefoot is singing a mixture of righteous and satirical songs to the last of the day’s crowd, occasionally exhorting everyone to observe and enjoy the April sunset as it drifted down across the water and behind the hills on the far shore. Lola and I try to recall the last time either of us was in outside air at the end of the daylight. Earlier I enjoyed a Wisconsin Bratwurst and Lola ate Thai curry, but now, however, it seemed time to find something additional to eat. We had parked without permission in her dentist’s office lot, but she had left a note consisting of just her name. She is his second longest patient and that should allow for some consideration for the transgression.
Driving the short distance towards the capital, we first go into the Old Monastery, only to find it filled with a combination of prom night couples and wedding party entourages. I am dressed for an afternoon in the park with the hippies and the contrast with formal attire is dramatic. We settle on Tutto Pasta Cucina Italiana on King Street. Sitting at a table in the bar next to the hostess stand, we dine on appetizers of shrimp and cheese with a shared dessert of raspberry chocolate layer cake with frosting. Lola orders one glass of Involtini and one glass of Barbera for wine. We have the Barbera for the second round.
Talking in rough draft language, I attempt to explain why I believe the ambiance is slightly pretentious. We had watched a home remodeling program on cable and I try to explain the difference between purchasing a look, as opposed to developing a look over time from the assembled artifacts of your own life. We both understand that a lot of people are afraid of making independent decisions, and that the reason there are leaders and followers is that following is a true freedom from having to make difficult choices.
I slip a small advertising flyer for a Groovulous Glove show at the Annex onto the hostess stand as we leave. I’m betting that the bus boys would simply toss it away according to their training, and conclude there is a slightly better chance the hostess will give it a puzzled look and hold onto it, at least until she made sure it wasn’t something her boss had left for her. Next door at the Majestic a parked ambulance is all lights but no action.
[1] http://gi.grolier.com/presidents/ea/side/fedparty.html
[2] http://www.geocities.com/wailingwailers/Ptbiography.htm
