I enjoy outdoor music festivals, especially ones that are small enough to be able to see the performers.  It’s great when they take place in the fall, as that’s when Indiana weather is at its best.  Being able to sit on the lawn is great as it gives you space to get comfortable and relax.  But the most important thing is that you have room to dance.

The Sunday of Indy Jazz Fest was a beautiful sunny day with a bit of a breeze.  There were several performances through the afternoon and into the evening.  The first group were high school students, and I was glad to see young people carrying on the jazz tradition.  The second group was heavy with steel drums, which wasn’t quite to my taste.

I could compare and contrast this with the Rocky Ripple festival I went to a few weeks before.  One of the acts was a punk band of teenagers.  The lead singer didn’t look any older than 14.  The music was a bit too frantic for me to truly enjoy it, but I did appreciate their earnestness.  The festival also had a drum circle with a distinct hippie vibe.  This music was repetitive but I could tell the members were having a good time.

Back to jazz.  By mid-afternoon, the group I came to see took the stage:  Rebirth Brass Band.  This parade band from New Orleans plays traditional jazz, which is my favorite.  I was up dancing for the entire hour they performed.  I was disappointed that nobody else in the audience seemed to be as excited as I was.  How could anyone sit down during this music?

Later on a woman approached me and said that she could tell that I’d been feeling the groove for the entire afternoon.  I made a sheepish comment about being really into this band.  She summed up with the advice “You do you.”  I interpret this as an affectionate way of saying that you’re kind of a weirdo, but I approve, and you should continue on.

After all the dancing, I decided it was time to check out the food trucks and their unique offerings.  I was drawn to the one serving Jamaican food, found an entree that sounded appealing, and grabbed the container when it was ready.  I think it is a testament that the food is good when you are halfway through devouring it before you realize you got someone else’s order.

I’d love to report that the last act of the evening was an outstanding event headliner.  I listened intently to the music and really tried to appreciate it.  But I started to get really annoyed.  I felt this is the type of jazz that gives the rest of it a bad name.  Specifically, this is why I have a difficult time getting people to go with me to jazz shows.

It was weird, atonal space jazz.  Trying to pay attention to all the cacophony was a lot of work.  It reminded me of the joke from the movie This Is Spinal Tap, about a fictional heavy metal band.  After one of the band members left, the other two were trying to reinvent themselves.  Their show was a complete flop.  The title?  “Jazz Odyssey”.

I tried to last until the end but finally couldn’t tolerate any more.  I still had a drive home so I thought it prudent to make my way to the exit.  That’s when I found out that port-a-potties tend to be really dark at night, adding another layer of challenge to my evening.  On the upside, I finally got through an outdoor festival without accumulating any bug bites.