THE DAILY GRIST…
”You’ve gotta dance like there’s nobody watching,
Love like you’ll never be hurt,
Sing like there’s nobody listening,
And live like it’s heaven on earth.”
— William W. Purkey
The first time I saw Dancing John was about fourteen years ago at live Oak. That’s a festival in the lower part of the state close to Solvang, a festival where you’re likely to hear most every kind of music from bluegrass to Chicago jazz, from rockabilly to cowboy music, from folk to gospel.
John was hard to miss. He was standing by the gate that held back the crowd from the audience area of the main stage, sporting a long, thick black beard, a red bathrobe and a wooden staff. I asked him what he was doing. He said something to the effect that “I’m Moses getting ready to part the red sea and let all the people pass over into the promised land.”, and sure enough he did, at the crack of, or around 8:30 A.M. pulling back the fence and holding out his staff to let the people pass.And I saw him every day of the festival, up front, to the left of the stage, from the time the music started, to the time the music stopped, Dancing. Dancing like a well oiled machine, legs pumping like pistons, arms swinging in perfect time.
And as I began to attend every festival I could find, I saw John everywhere. Dancing to Dave Grisman group at Wild Iris, to Flo and Eddie at Kate Wolf.
I saw one of the Bands pull him up on stage with another dancing girl at Plymouth, bluegrassin in the foothills,” where he got to shine in the spotlight for a short time, still pumping those legs like pistons and swinging those arms in perfect time.
I’ve seen him at grass valley when it was hot enough for serpent to seek out a refrigerator to keep from shriveling up and dying, still dancing like a Wildman, sweat dripping down his shirt, holding a gallon water jug to drip on the ground to keep down the dust.
And It really didn’t matter where the festival was or what kind of music was playing, he doesn’t care. He just dances.
And I’ve got to know him over time. Gotten to know that he has gone to hundreds of festivals. Gone there to listen. Gone there to dance.
And for some folks, it just ain’t enough to listen. To some folks music is not just an intellectual past time, or a heart expression. Some people just feel it all over and can’t contain it. Like that old gospel song that the central valley boys sang…
God’s not dead he is alive
God’s not dead he is alive
God’s not dead he is alive
I feel it in my hands
I feel it in my feet
I feel it all over me
I was down at Tres Pinos at the good old fashioned this month, and I watched party Patty the massage lady dancing to the right of the main stage after working hours. She danced with the joy of total release. Danced with every fiber of her being, shaking off the dust of this hard life, periodically shouting out like Bob Wills in a jammed dancehall.
….and over there, on the other side of the front of the stage was dancing John, a little older, maybe nursing a few overworked tendons, but feeling that music right down to his bones.
Keep on Dancing, John, keep that fire burning.
