Wednesday marked 56 years since the day in 1970 when raza activists planted the Chicano flag in protest of a planned CHP station in Barrio Logan.
San Diego’s Chicano community has come together every year since then to celebrate with music, food, dancing and, of course, lowriders. The day maybe isn’t technically meant to be a party but rather a commemoration of a struggle spanning over half a century which continues to this day — but the people are going to party, struggle or no.
I caught the bus over to the park and despite a lane closure we were over the bridge in what felt like seconds. Unfortunately the southbound National exit was closed to traffic which meant looping up the 5 North into downtown, back around onto the 5 South and then waiting seemingly forever while the endless lowrider parade cruised down the street. Finally our bus driver had enough and simply stopped in traffic—not that it represent much change in velocity—near the fire station.
Insane turnout at this thing! The streets were absolutely filled with people and it took a solid fifteen or twenty minutes just to make my way up the two blocks from the fire station to Aztlan, dragging my guitar all the way. Thankfully I was borrowing Lewis’s stack again and he had very wisely already loaded the gear onto the stage the night before.
Julia Mae was serving up her Unapologetically Blaxican soul food at Aztlan and I knew I had to get in line before the Hennessy precluded any further cooking. I still didn’t make it in time to get the catfish tacos but my fried chicken arrived just in time for me to take it onstage and scarf it before our set. (Plus she tossed me some fried shrimp while I was waiting. Queen!)
A couple members of the Aztlan Youth Brigade played an acoustic set including covers of “Everlong” and my beloved Far Apart’s “Hazel.” Go cry, emo kid!
I broke a string rehearsing for our last show and never replaced it so this was all a five-string gig for me, which only presented a mild challenge in mimicking the piano sample on “Sit and Listen.” I spend most of the rest of the set assaulting the strings with pieces of metal so it doesn’t really matter how many there are. I swear this time I tried to play more, um, “musically,” but how well that translated to the crowd is, as always, an open question. I’ve pretty much stop used any pedals in this band (just my Walrus Audio Descent for the occasional reverse reverb) and switched focus to making the ugliest sounds I possibly can purely through mechanical techniques, usually with my house keys and a carabiner. From the recordings of this set I heard, it’s still a hell of a racket.
A wide cross-section of homies at this show: Roger and Tony, my mother-in-law, Esteban of Monochromacy fame, Christina the worship leader from the church band I sort of joined, even Temoc who I haven’t seen since Tall Can’s baby shower! My Very Good Friend Alicia Keys gave an impromptu rooftop performance at Arts and Rec.
(She and her husband used to come into my first bike shop to rent, always wearing big hats and sunglasses to stay incognito, though every time they planned on coming in they’d phone ahead to check availability and the caller ID always read BEATZ, SWIZZ. When they’d return, my cretinous coworker Joel would always sniff her seat. When I moved to Bird Rock they switched over to my shop there and bought half a dozen bikes for their kids. Nice people!)
While everyone else prepared their various post-show consumables I elected merely for a churro, then on the walk to Roger’s car I grabbed a TJ dog. Thus the problem any time I play in Logan: I cannot help but become a consummate snacker around this much great food. Let me say, no comestible compared to the relief I felt simply sitting down after the set.
Anne and I sat down in the back of the car while everyone else said their goodbyes, and we both agreed despite having only been out of the house for an afternoon it felt like an entire weekend had elapsed. But that’s the joy of a 4:00 showtime: I’m still writing this before 10:00.
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