Jazz Festival

I like to say that my taste in music is eclectic. Let's just put it this way: if I could choose one band to see right now, it would be Flogging Molly. A close second would be Clutch. If neither of those sound familiar, and you're too lazy to follow the links (you should totally follow the links; they will open your world of music), allow me to sum them up for you -

• Flogging Molly = Irish Punk Rock; Fave Songs: Pretty much all of them. . .
  
• Clutch = Heavy, Yelling Metal; Fave Songs: Space Grass, Big News From the Party Boat 1; 10001 (yes, that's the name of a song. My thoughts are that its binary code. . .)
  

Anywho, so jazz falls somewhere on my like-o-meter, and I managed to talk myself into going to the festival they were having in my hometown. I bought a four dollar funnel cake and a two dollar root beer; I hung around with friends, one of which is a musician and probably appreciated the music far more than I did; I tried not to get a contact high from whoever thought lighting a joint was a good idea in a place where they had real cops and not just security guards (Dudes, if I can smell it, so can the cops. . .); I checked out motorcycles. I got home a little after midnight.

I thought it would merely be a little jazz, but it was a full blown festival, with three different stages, many booths selling everything from turkey legs to jewelry to cowgirl hats. It was so crowded, I actually had no problem dancing with myself, hips moving to the rhythms the entire band was feeling. Because if there were so many people, no one would be watching, right? RIGHT?!

It was an all around, basically good time, and if there is one thing I've come to discover over these past few months, it's that music can turn a bad mood around; dancing soothes the soul; singing allows release for emotions that would otherwise be pushed away. Music, in all its many forms, can help one heal piece by little piece.