10:06 a.m. - 2008-04-07
Free Your Mind And Your Ass Will Follow
OK. You will never guess who we saw this weekend. Nope. Not him. Or her.
We saw George Clinton and Parliament. Or whatever they call the current version of Parliament. It was at an event to raise cash for New Orleans music programs and it was a full city block of food, fun and music that featured two stages and about twenty bands that ran from 10 am to past 11 at night. We arrived around 3:30 and it was summertime hot when we hit the gates. The wife had won four tickets to the event from a radio station (she is either a persistent caller or having a fling with one of the DJ's). I scalped one of the tickets outside the gate for additional beer money and through the gates we went.
Since it was a Louisiana themed party they had all the Cajun food you could want. I tried fried alligator. It tastes a little sweet, like monk fish. Also enjoyed a catfish po-boy and of course we had to share a funnel cake.
We had a celebrity sighting too. I recognized the dude as I was in the beer line. His bleach blonde pointy hair was a stand out and I knew he was a chef from some TV show but I did not know his name. He drifts off with some chick into the crowd and I patiently wait for my round of beer. When I make it back to the wife I tell her of seeing the chef and she recalls who I am talking about but she does not know his name either so she calls the daughter. The daughter watches all of the cooking shows and must know who I have seen. The daughter comes up with the first name of "Guy" and says he is on a show called Diners and Dives. About ten minutes later we see him behind the fence with the performers. Not once but twice he comes out in the crowd and poses for pictures. Both times the wife and I line up only to have him dart back behind the fence when we are the next in line. I don't think we looked like convicts. But I was in full fun mode so maybe I did. Still don't know what his last name is.
On to the music. Most of the bands were playing zydeco, which is fine if you are very drunk or live in far East Texas. I was neither yet and one band morphed into the next with me paying more attention to people watching than band watching. The first band that caught my attention was Cowboy Mouth. Fun, fast, funny. The drummer was the frontman. He was pear shaped and a little sweaty but he had the crowd hopping. A definate recomendation.
About the time the sun was going down a burlesque show began on one of the stages. They put one a good show. Six or seven girls of average build and looks having a good time as they exposed themselves to the crowd. All pasties were firmly attached. Next up was a second burlesque troupe. Large women. Very large women. 300 pounders. This was painful to watch. One of the large women dropped her top and began swinging her massive boobs and on about the fourth revolution one of her pasties flew off her breast right into the crowd. She did not miss a beat. Just cupped her nipple with the palm of her hand and kept on bouncing. A true professional.
Much "mind freeing" and dark beer consumption continued until the funk master George Clinton's crew mounted the stage. I admit I am a closet funk lover. Coming of age in the late 70's/early 80's I was a heavy metal rock n roll die hard. But when I was alone at the compound I would often jam on funk and R&B. I blame the Isley Brothers and the Brothers Johnson for leading me down this path.
For the first twenty minutes I thought the fat black dude wearing nothing but a canary yellow leather jacket and a cloth diaper with a bad head of mangy looking dreads was George Clinton. The yellow jacket eventually came off and I was having doubts. This guy was so fat his belly button was sticking out. Let me tell you, a fat black man with bad dreads, a diaper and a guitar will let you know this is not going to be an ordinary show.
About twenty minutes into non-stop music (there were no breaks between songs, one flowed into the next, the rhythm never fading for two hours) a large hooded figure makes his way onto the middle of the stage. As soon as the hood is pulled back and the yellow and fuchsia hair is revealed there is no question that this is THE George Clinton. Grey beard and all.
I counted ten people playing instruments and six singers on stage. One was a hott skinny blonde wearing a skin tight black and white leopard print body suit and silver cat ears peaking about an inch out of the top of her honey blonde hair. She was the exact fantasy object from when I was 17. She was curved perfection. Near the end of the show she changed into a skimpy white vest and black shorts that exposed half of her ass. Her legs sported fine fishnets. And of course she enjoyed bending over and showing off her perfect body for the crowd. And it would have been a regal fantasy if she had not done this final act during the last song. She twirls on center stage and pulls of her long blonde wig revealing long permed brunette hair. Sure, she was still a cute desirable body, but the fantasy of my 17 year old self vanished into a blaze of brunette hair. The dream was gone.
As for George Clinton, he let his performers do most of the show. He just kind of floated around, speaking into the mike for the hook lines. The music was spectacular. It never stopped. It never slowed down. It was a Funk Fest of the first magnitude.
