The Fever Done Gone and Passeth

What do May 12, July 6, July 11, and July 17 have in common? They are all days, in 2009, on which I saw the Indigo Girls. Sacramento, Boulder, San Luis Obispo, and Grass Valley. Before I left yesterday for the WorldFest in Grass Valley -- which is still going on and won't wrap up until Monday -- I looked at the tour schedule. There are still tickets for tonight's show at the Saratoga Mountain winery (anyone want to go?). Then drove up into the Sierra Foothills for a big ol' hippie-fest. Or part hippie, part neo-hippie-fest. There was no order to the camping and no campsites: just find a place for your car and put up your tent. I did not have comfort or aesthetics in mind, knowing I would just listen to the music, get a little smitten, and then try to find my tent to sleep for a bit before driving home. The cute boys next to me were all about the commune and were there for the duration -- saving spaces for their more employed friends.

It's a bird, it's a plane. No. It's a drum circle. Go figure. One of many, actually.
I got to the main stage about 4.5 hours before the show, thinking I'd save my seat and go meander. Here's the scene I came across:
All these chairs are other people saving their seats -- but many of them have been saving since Thursday. You can go up, put your chair there, and leave it there for 4 days, coming back to see the music when you wish. There was no one there when I got there, so I did a little squishing and scootching and put my little crazy creek on the edge of the third row. Then I walked around to look at the dread locks, organic cotton, and dirty children. There was music playing all the time on any of the many stages around the fair grounds. Some of it better than others. Lots of impromptu drum/flute/spoon sessions. Lots of vendors selling things no one needs, but that look pretty dang fly in a haze of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and marijuana smoke.
I mean, who doesn't need a hand-painted lightbulb?
I thought these folks were kind of neat-o. I'm not sure if the wagon is to bring their instruments around the fairgrounds, or if they hook it to one of those bikes and travel that way. There's a band that does that, but I hope that their wagon-mechanism is a little more evolved than this.

First band up -- Del Castillo. I think that's Spanish for "Latin Machismo Incarnate." They were selling part-music, part-sex, and they had an air about them that made sure everyone knows that they know that everyone wants to have sex with them, and they are not choosy, but will have to finish their set first.

It took me a minute to figure out why I took this picture. But if you'll look in her right hand, you'll see that she's waving around a lit stick of incense.
You can tell a lot about people by their shoes.

And their white-boy dreads.

The folks above showed up for this band:
Apparently they've been playing together for over 40 years. It was interesting how the crowd changed with the bands.
This woman was rocking out and using her belly as an effective prop in her dancing.
Finally the sun went down and Indigo Girls came out of hiding from their bus:
And took to the stage. Truth be told, this was not my favorite among their shows. And I speak from experience. But Amy was digging that the people on the edge of the crowd were up and dancing -- she commented on it a couple of times and came over to 'our' side of the stage to rock out with us. Myself included. It was liberating to be at this concert, outside of my comfort zone, among a bunch of strangers, with no friend or companion or external-check. I danced like no one was watching. I know some of you know that I don't dance, but I kept reminding myself that whatever my inhibitions are, it didn't matter much. What did I have to lose? I looked like an idiot? I sang too loudly? I have no steps or rhythm or coordination or grace? So what! I was standing in the dirt with a bunch of people who were certainly not interested in what I was doing. Except for the man who gave me a talking to ("I have a ruptured ear-drum and you're going be the last straw to make it go." I don't even know what that means, but I guess he didn't like my whooping). And the girl who thought I was too tall to be in front of her.I think it was the only time I've been to one of their concerts and the audience was packed with a handful of people who were singing every song, a larger group of people who were into it, but just because it was good music, and a still larger group that didn't get what all the fuss was about -- and actually left early.
Oh, so the point. After all this. I decided that driving down to the South Bay for yet another concert on my own is too much. Though I would have liked to end my summer of the Girls at a better show, I think it's enough now. Enough.

But there are still tickets available. . . Aye.