The Great Speckled Bird  vol 2 #26 pg. 14

hot grease

Sunday in the Park. Coo] breeze, light rain, sun – shine, sweet air and green, summer held motionless before fading gently out. People filter down and come to rest around the pavilion, inhaling the pleasant sounds of a folk-rock trio named Robin. More people materialize, exchange greetings and mill about while Robin leaves the stage and the Hampton Grease Band begins to bring up equipment. A couple drops mescaline because they know this will be good; the music will be a gift to them.

The band is set up then and they begin a long instrumental riff, relaxed and feeling out the day, getting themselves together and the audience together with them. Harold Kelling’s long easy guitar notes climb up and soar out over insistent rhythms working though bass, drums, and second guitar. The music is alive and the audience is getting behind it now as the band finishes out the number and Bruce Hampton takes the mike, tightens the tempo and starts to take care of business, laying down hard driving lyrics that soon have the crowd swaying, clapping and then some are up dancing.

And on. The music and the gathering went steadily up from there. Shouting and stomping vocals. Beautiful stretched-out instrumentals, silver singing guitar solos beating against the raindrops. “Gonna Let My Love Light Shine.” Blues. Soul. Rock. The drummer leans into it. Incredible counterpoint guitar work between Glen Phillips and Harold Kelling. perfectly matched, pushing each other on out, exploding in sound, exploding the people who are following the music now like a jazz audience, applauding riff after riff.

An afternoon of music. People radiate out from its center, circling the pavilion, populating the hill behind it. An afternoon of life, peace and consciousness, a still center in Piedmont while our brothers get castrated in Taos, heads beaten elsewhere. We needed it. They’re some of the best things we’ve got, these afternoons. Space to breathe. And live. We need our musicians.

Look for another one of these medicine shows around the middle of September. They are free, because music and medicine and people and expression should be free. Musicians have to eat, though. Maybe we can do something for them, too, next time?

—Clifford endres