As I wandered up the hill on Mabel Street a couple of hours ago on the way back to my apartment, I was reminded, yet again, why the Bessie Smith Strut remains my favorite event of the festival.
It was seeing Boots Roots occupying his usual corner near the M.L. King Stage telling us all, with his usual faux curmudgeonly attitude, to drop some money in his tip jar because, “I’m working for a living.” I regretted leaving my wallet at home when I walked past him. He can be a grouch, but it’s so easy to love that guy.
Or maybe it was running into Chico, another downtown musical staple, looking super suave in a full-on white suit (complete with long tails on the duster), black hat, red satin bow tie and, for good measure, a pair of Hawaiian leis around his neck. I don’t know how he managed to smile in what must have been a fairly uncomfortable get up, but he was grinning his way through old-school Hank Williams and Elvis Presley covers like the heat was a non-issue.
Then again, it might have been that first breath-full of the Strut’s trademark intoxicating aroma soup, courtesy of dozens of barbecue joints or the absurdity of the ice cream truck blaring out a tinny version of “Jingle Bells” when we’re six months and several dozens degrees shy of Christmas. Or seeing the entire team of the Chattanooga Roller Derby Girls in full battle regalia grooving to the sweet sounds of Bourbon Street jazz with the Soul Rebels Brass Band.
Clearly, it’s not one thing that won me over but a veritable patchwork quilt of memories drawn from an evening of fierce strutting up and down M.L. King Boulevard. The Strut brings together such a diverse group of people that it seems like every corner was displaying some aspect of oddball behavior or kitsch that warranted a mental snap shot. I don’t know about you, but there wasn’t enough film to document all I wanted to remember.