Stranger in town

by Greg Levrault

I'm in the red light district of Cape, a virgin screwdriver in one hand, a pen and pad at my other, a Supersonic sugar stick in my mouth, and I'm ready for my next article to show up... anytime.

I should have known better. I'm supposed to write something to coincide with this year's City of Roses Music Festival. I can't reminisce about something that hasn't happened yet, something still a glimmer in so many people's eyes. I can't fondly recall festivals past with only six months of townie-ship under my belt. And I'm certainly not accomplishing anything by sucking down orange juice at draft beer prices in a bar that's one van-load away from empty; they don't need the police to shut them down, just a strong wind.

And then the jukebox kicks in. Maybe it was the old Allman Brothers; maybe, the new Chili Peppers. But by the time Roger Daltry's reminding us that "we won't get fooled again," the bar seems perfect. Not another person's walked through the door, but the lights seem brighter, the wood smoother, the laughter louder and true. Even my orange juice, suitable for designated driving, tastes suspiciously sweeter. For the next few minutes, it goes down like sacramental wine in this church of sound.

Cape Girardeau is about half the drive between St Louis and Memphis. Many call Memphis the "birthplace of Rock and Roll," the patch of ground where Elvis first made himself known, and where he rests today. But what about St Louis, home of rock's inventor, Chuck Berry, who still puts on brawl-starting rock shows (when he's up to it)? St Louis has Tina Turner and Nelly; Memphis has Al Green and Justin Timberlake. Up and down the Mississippi, music travels like any other commodity on the river, and it touches the harbor of Cape Girardeau, like everything else. Why wouldn't music be a part of this town?

The most concise portrait I have ever received of this town is "The Cape Girardeau Song." It was a staple of Cape radio when Rush Limbaugh was going by the name of Rusty Sharpe on KGMO, playing Country Joe and the Fish. "The Song" has a game show/lounge-type sound, with the same chorus that did all those radio jingles in the 60's and 70's. I found it on the Internet, and it echoed in my head for a week. Now, I know that Cape was founded back in 1699, there's eleven parks in town, and "we're here because we care."

Point is, music's important to this town, and its best showcase, for better or worse, is the City of Roses Music Festival. At least, that's the impression I got when I talked to several local bands (helping Leroy Grey pick up the slack; read his column this month!) City of Roses, be it in the Battle of the Bands or on one of the plethora of stages over the weekend, is a rite of passage for Cape's music community. Some of my favorite local acts met or debuted at a City of Roses. Festival memories from past years are so strong for so many, it fuels the nervous anticipation for this year's festival.

For most bands, the City of Roses isn't just a big show; it's the year's big audition. In front of the town - and its bars and restaurants -- unproven bands get a shot to prove that they can keep a crowd enthralled, and bands with original music can prove that their unproven songs won't scare patrons across the street. The competition isn't with each other, as much as an indifferent audience, most of whom just want something that doesn't kill their buzz.

Not everyone's happy about this year's festival: some say it's underfunded, understaffed. Others worry that it's too last-minute, too scaled-back, too alcoholic, or just too old. Whether they dream about the City of Roses being like the good old days, or like Memphis in May, everyone's anxious for this festival to just happen, just let the music play... When I look at the situation, I think of Geoffrey Rush in Shakespeare in Love: "Strangely enough, it all turns out well. No one knows why; it just does." Too many people want it to turn out well. My hope is that the civility I've come to expect in this town, combined with that desire, will see the festival through.

Regardless, I'm going to check out the show when it comes - and not just to see if Christopher Cross needs an extra backup singer for "Ride like the Wind." Music, the philosopher said, makes the people come together. Maybe it's my own imagination running away with me, but I'd like to see the town dance - or the ladies, anyway.