It's Not Fair

I went to the State Fair of Texas this weekend. Cradle of the corn dog, tallest Ferris wheel in North America, largest collection of art deco exposition buildings in the United States, giant white cowboy pointing north as if to say, "Leave! This is the worst freaking neighborhood in Dallas! Run fool!"

Dallas' Fair Park is 277 city-owned acres smack dab in the middle of the city's largest collection of whores, crackheads, and gang members. Every year the people who live or own businesses right across one of the 4 or 5 streets surrounding the fair all go out and buy little orange flags and waive them around trying to attract people looking for a parking space. So the choice you have is: iron-gated, police patrolled city parking, or the front yard of a condemned house with 14 people living in it who normally panhandle but this is their working vacation. Parking in one of these yards is like presenting your vehicle as part of a burglary buffet; a smorgasbord of shanghai, if you will. And every year, people are lined up waiting to pay the measly $5 for the privilege of having to file an insurance claim for broken glass and stolen CD's. Tourists.

As an aristocrat, I park, eat, and am entertained well at the fair. I was enlightened, nay overjoyed and down-right rocked by the music of the Rob Hunt Band, who was scheduled for 3 shows, but later re-scheduled to one. Luckily, I got there in time to see the one show and also caught the end of 38 Special, who played a stirring and well-reproduced version of Hold on Loosely, among others. The kicker was that the 8 o'clock show was pre-empted by the unbearably shitty Kraig Parker (that's not a typo; the asshat spells his name that way). His claim to fame? He is the only Elvis impersonator that the colonel's widow has ever gone to see (that's Tom Parker, not the chicken dude). And this hairy-chested, big-haired, unoriginal bastard started loading crap onto the side-stage area before Rob was done with his set. Not only that, he drew a crowd bigger than 38 Special and Rob combined. Jimmy H. Kravitz, what the hell has gone wrong in this world that people would rather watch a larger-than-life caricature of a long dead icon (for what reason? The world may never know) make an ass of himself than listen to one of the best blues guitarists in Dallas regale them with the music of the common man?

I've heard it said that jazz is the only American art form. Those that make that claim either lump blues in with jazz or fail to recognize the beauty and art of the blues, neither of which is a fair assessment. How many Dallasites know that Deep Ellum is one of the birthplaces of blues music? I shudder to think how few. As a former blues performer, I may have more of an appreciation. But what music fan isn't aware that Stevie Ray Vaughn, arguably the best blues guitar virtuoso of his time (if not all time), honed his craft in Oak Cliff? People like Rob, Andy Timmons, and Jimmy Wallace are carrying on that tradition, and it's dying a slow death caused by apathy. If appreciation is oxygen to the blues, somebody get the intubation kit, stat.

Oh, well. Whatever. My 3 decades, if nothing else, have shown me that good music is never appreciated by the masses. The lowest common denominator is the brick that paves the streets leading to Bentleys, Beverly Hills, and gold bullion. I love alliteration. And without a fucking Swiss bank account, you really can't enjoy the fair. Which brings us full circle. Somebody kill me.