The Beach

The wind is in from Africa, last night I couldn’t sleep

Inspiration.  That’s what Joni Mitchell got in the Grecian Isles.  Ain’t it funny about creativity, it doesn’t happen when you sit in front of the computer, but in the shower, in a foreign country, in an alien environment, when unexpected circumstances confront you and EUREKA, you feel alive!

After hanging around the hotel all day, we commandeered the van and went in search of…the sunset?

Christopher had been here before, it was near Lenny Ibizarre’s place.  And we’re turning left and right and finally we see a parking lot, and around the corner a cove…with a vertical rock standing alone, out in the water, a beacon for those looking out and those coming in.

And after eating some helado, ice cream for the uninitiated, better than anything Ben & Jerry’s purveys, some sort of toffee flavor, we scrambled over the rock beach for a peek at the descending sun and I viewed a topless woman, rolled on her back, waiting for her boyfriend to drip a concoction into her mouth.

And then there was that guy with dreads like Derek Sivers, emanating only from the back of his head, covered in tattoos, hitting on some young girl, or was that his daughter?

And what drew us all in was the drums.  The beat.  The primal source.  The beginning.

About ten guys lined up in front of a hut, executing a rhythm that got this woman dressed up like a tiger to writhe.

And they passed the beat to one another.  Endlessly.  To the point where I was infected too.

And another woman, covered in tribal tats, lowered her top and fed her three year old.

And I wasn’t sure whether a photo was appropriate or dangerous.  Whether I was breaking the code or the players were proud to show off.

But then I noticed some Anglo tourists flashing their camera as their child was drawn in, deciding whether to boogie, and I realized I was safe.

You never really know in this world.  Danger or opportunity.  Or, as Joni says, laughing and crying, they’re the same release!

And I was crying tears of joy, as the sun set in the west, nine hours before it would do so in L.A., as these people who would never get a record deal, but were more riveting than the acts that appear in Live Nation sheds, were playing for free.

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