This weekend was a jazz festival - a very rare occurrence for us as we normally play dances (my preferred method) - one which we actually blew a chance to play some years ago. This was before my bandleader got help for his adhd and he never answered any calls or emails from the organizer; a groveling apology later and we were hired for this year. There were many positive things about it - some friends came, so it was fun spending time with them; the mostly elderly audience was very receptive; I enjoyed time walking around the quaint little Victorian town by myself and shopping when I was stranded with no car. But. I can honestly say the whole experience kind of bummed me out, and not for the reasons you’d think. Mostly, it was being in this charming little town that has clearly been completely wiped out by meth and opioids - the meth zombies were literally everywhere, and there was a constant feeling of menace everywhere we went - it was actually pretty shocking. I mean, the desert is like this, too, but for some reason that feels different to me; when I think about the desert areas we go to, I think about interesting people moving out there to do interesting things. I suppose people do that in this town, too…I don’t know. Maybe it was the combination of PNW rain and fog plus meth that had me just feeling gross. It was like living in the movie River’s Edge. I couldn’t wait to get back to cloyingly sunny happy Los Angeles, I gotta be honest. Anyway, most likely we’ll be invited back, so I guess I’d better get over it.
There’s a whole circuit of these small town jazz festivals that most of these guys (and they are all pretty much white guys, let’s be honest) go to. Technically we should be in that loop, but for me, I have zero interest. I spent some time last night ineffectively explaining this to the H. I don’t know how to explain how not fun these situations are for me. There’s a lot of sitting around and waiting, followed by frantic setting up and breaking down and terrible sound because there’s no time for sound checks. And I’m not a “real” musician like these other folks - the concept of jamming out doesn’t really apply to me, as the girl singer, and one who has zero interest in inserting herself into other people’s spaces (and it is a completely white male space, which, as much as these guys are all neurodivergent nerdy types and therefore mostly lacking in bro-y toxic masculinity, I still don’t feel comfortable there). So I find it mostly isolating and boring. At least at a dance event I know everyone, can maybe dance a little, or make small talk with like-minded people. I don’t know. It all just makes me want to run away and watch Korean dating shows on my phone.
The boys seemed to have survived their weekend of farting and burping and making messes with dad in control; I won’t be leaving them again for some time. It’s a relief, because these trips make it hard to focus on anything at home. The boys have their own doctor appointments next week (after Theo’s urgent care trip for the flu last year, we’re getting flu shots this time, dammit), and I need to start a few house cleaning projects (it’s time for a kid clothing cull and game closet cull). Fall is here and I’m digging it. Especially SoCal fall which means it still occasionally dips into the 90s. I’m here for it.
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