The couple in front of us in the line for Tom Harrell were like a bad trip. The woman was dying to talk, to anyone, and there we were. I tried to give detached answers to her questions but when she asked me if I needed help threading the cloth lanyard through my jazz pass I just said, “No,” in a scolding tone.
Behind us a mom was helping her son set up a busking station. She even chummed the waters or primed the pump by putting a dollar bill in the open trumpet case. She probably dressed him too because he looked like he had stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting. As he warmed up his lip the guy in front of us said, “Maybe he’ll use the money for lessons.” The kid played the theme to an Ellington song and I clapped. The guy said, “Don’t encourage him.”
See more Jazz Fest notes by clicking on this year’s pass.
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