Many Wisconsinites have no clue what a gem their state capital has become. I confirmed my appreciation for Madison during a recent five-day sojourn (May 14-19). Now, after a Memorial Day afternoon spent drinking in Racine at a weird backyard concert-cum-foodfest for the over-60 crowd - ironically, next door to the former home of Victor DeLorenzo’s (the Violent Femmes) parents on Markridge Circle - I felt like many former Madison residents who reside here in (what used to be called) the Belle City: as though I’d been exiled from the Land of Oz for some unfathomable Kafkaesque reason.
The cover bands that host John hired for this geriatric gathering in Mt. Pleasant were serviceable. A duo called Mississippi Blue played songs by Bob Dylan (“Visions of Johanna”), Jackson Browne (“Running on Empty,” at my request), Steve Earle, the Eagles et al. Milwaukee’s Freddy & the Cruisers, a tight 4-piece oldies band featuring a great female drummer who owns a groovy customized 1959 Morris Minor work-van to haul her kit. As much as I dug talking with the musicians, I met just one interesting person in the audience, a bearded boy who interned for Will Allen’s inner-city Milwaukee community-garden project in 2010.
By contrast with the vitality I’d observed in Madison, the holiday scene in Racine was on life-support. In one case, almost literally. As I approached to get a brat, the geezer tending the dual grills appeared to be stroking out. I could not rouse him from his glazed unconsciousness as he slumped in a lawn chair. “It’s only 12:15 and already there’s one fatality,” I thought. But I’m glad to report that the glazed gent recovered; he did not die at his duty-station beside the sizzling meat after all.
Meanwhile, I prefer to recall my extended weekend in Oz (i.e Madison). Arriving on Wednesday afternoon, I met my friend Tony (aka Sky), a state office worker, at his westside home. We walked his border-collie Dylan in a rustic neighborhood woods with freshly sculpted mountain-bike trails (Rocky Bluff, just north of Hoyt Park). Then we settled in for refreshments on the sunny deck of his nicely landscaped backyard.
Sky & I have known each other since 1966, our first grade at St. Edward’s elementary school in Racine. We remained friends throughout Catholic high school (St. Catherine’s), but lost touch, reconnecting after Sky’s post-Peace Corps move to Madison in the late 1990s. I’ve lived in the liberating mini-metropolis of “Madtown” several times since my undergraduate days at the University of Wisconsin (1980-86). I even served for eight months as an Assistant City Attorney there in 2001. (Prosecuting traffic & underage-drinking cases proved too stressful - yet, paradoxically, too mundane - for me.)
My mission for the next five days was twofold: (1) to sample Madison’s delicious & diverse mid-May cultural offerings; and (2) to find a female lover. (I’ve been involuntarily celibate for so long now that my condoms have expired.) I regret to report that I failed to achieve my second goal, despite heroic attempts at dancing, flirty conversation & smoldering eye-meets. I did, however, succeed at savoring the essence of this city of colleges, music-clubs & interesting restaurants built upon an isthmus straddling Lakes Mendota & Monona.
You might’ve heard that Otis Redding, as well as several members of his backing band, the Bar-Kays, died in the shallow waters of misty Lake Monona on December 10, 1967. The tragedy was due to a mysteriously doomed flight (cause: officially undetermined) from Cleveland. Sadly, it’s true - there was one survivor & six victims. For more details, see: http://host.madison.com/news/local/doug_moe/doug-moe-years-later-questions-still-remain-over-otis-redding/article_c4101fa0-4236-11e2-b870-0019bb2963f4.html.
But at least those legendary recording artists gave their lives for a good cause: they were bringing hot soul music up from Memphis and sharing it with the many Stax/Volt fans awaiting their arrival at the Factory on Gorham Street in Madison, anticipating the charismatic Redding acting as a sort of tall black swivel-hipped Santa Claus. You can watch his riveting perspiration-soaked performance at the Monterey Pop Festival (June 1967) in a documentary film of that name.
So now it’s Wednesday evening on State Street, downtown Madison during graduation week. Model-hot young folks are strolling past everywhere you look. Sky & I head for the Orpheum Theater, a vast vaudeville house turned ornate movie palace turned occasional music hall, to catch Neko Case & her band in concert. She did not disappoint her adoring fans, delivering a solid soulful performance of her many brilliant songs (e.g. “Margaret vs. Pauline” & “This Tornado Loves You”).
Backed by four middle-aged white guys (maybe there’s hope for me after all) plus harmony vocalist Kelly Hogan, who proudly announced that she lives in Evansville (Wisconsin/USA) Case delivered the musical goods - as well as some funny lines of banter. The only sour note was struck by some moron yelling “Fight harder & show us you love us!” in a belabored allusion to the title of Case’s 2013 album The Worst Things Get, the Harder I Fight, the Harder I Fight, the More I Love You. Neko graciously ignored the wiseass remark.
Suddenly it’s the weekend. My pal Dave, unfortunately, is too tired from teaching high school all week to go out on Friday. The evening before, Dave & I dined on carne asada & a Bad Breath Burger, washed down with refreshing Lake Louie pilsener beer, at the Weary Traveler gastro-pub, located next to a tattoo parlor & Star Liquor at 1201 Willy Street. So I venture out solo, guided by the ample music listings in Isthmus: there are 40 venues in metro Madison featuring live shows that Friday.
My first stop: Bandung, an appealing Indonesian restaurant & bar at the foot of Williamson (aka Willy) Street - next door to Madcity Music Exchange, where I’d traded eight vinyl jazz & hip-hop albums for $7.00 that afternoon. Located within a stone’s throw of Lake Monona & a mere kilometer from the site of the famous citizens’ 2011 Rotunda Revolt against Gov. Scott Walker’s evil Act 10 (gutting most civil-servants’ hard-won union rights) inside Wisconsin’s historic domed 1900-era limestone state capitol, Bandung offered two musical acts that night.
The first band was called the Oudists, an exotic trio of oud-player, hand-drummer & a woman singing in Arabic, rendered even weirder by a pair of 40-something blonde Caucasian-American ladies belly-dancing. The headliner stunned me: a duo from the larger Brazilian-music group Samba Novistas, featuring Rio de Janeiro native Anapaula Strader on vocals (alto) & Madison native Jeff Alexander on a sensitive tropical-wood acoustic guitar. (A pair of amateur guest percussionists barely enhanced the sound.)
I felt privileged to be among the dozen patrons digging this swinging samba duo's melancholy yet lively repertoire of Brazilian songs, originals (in English as well as Portugese) & covers, including Dylan’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” Anapaula may have botched Bob’s lyrics, but her emotional interpretation of that resigned dirge was spot-on. Jeff & I shared some medicinal herb on the patio after the gig (marijuana was decriminalized decades ago in enlightened Madison: you’re legally allowed to possess up to one ounce at home).
Saturday in nearby Stoughton (Wisconsin/USA), a Norman Rockwell-esque town of 13,000 souls, it was Syttende Mai. The 17th of May is a national holiday in Norway & Stoughton is rotten with beautiful blonde Norwegian-Americans. On this date in 1814, Norway ratified its first constitution, cementing independence from Denmark. Dave, his elderly but still fun parents I checked out the local Edvard Grieg (male) Chorus, some gorgeous pieces of rosemaling, a folk-art style of painting on practical wood products) & a craft fair. We sampled tasty Swedish meatballs & ate some lefse, a simple tasty pastry, in a 1930-era Art deco-style armory, at a benefit for the local Norwegian Dancers.
On Saturday night, back in Madison, Dave & I plus a few friends caught VO5, a disco-era costumed curiosity, on the UW Memorial Union Terrace. Drinking a pitcher of local craft beer with a friends on the comfortably packed terrace was pleasant, but the throbbing music impeded our conversation. So I joined the crowd of ecstatic dancers instead, eventually dancing with Lulu - an immigrant from Mexico City - and her knockout Spanish friend to covers of ABBA, the Bee Gees & other disco-era hits. My body & soul both got a revitalizing workout under the stars.
Sunday brought the WORT-FM (listener-sponsored idiosyncratic "community radio") Block Party at a new location. Thanks to a few whiny neighbors on Doty Street, the party had to be moved from its usual perfect shady spot on the block alongside WORT’s studios. Jim Goronson & the Madison Homebrewers & Tasters Guild slogan, No Crap on Tap, was still credible. I drank a Grumpy Troll (Mt. Horeb. WI) Belsconsin, compliments of the enigmatic yet generous Johna Roth, who was visiting from Portland. I chatted with friends & stood in the sunshine outside my old workplace (Office of the City Attorney). The music was mostly mediocre, but the weather was spectacular. To cap off a perfect afternoon, the kind lady who owns the Banzo falafel food-truck shared some yummy hummus & warm pita bread with me.
Returning to Racine was a downer after my adventures in metropolitan Madison. But I’m trying to make the best of it here until my next visit to Wisconsin’s fantastic capital. If you’re still skeptical, go see for yourself how amazing Madison can be in the warm months. You will not be disappointed, unless you're already dead inside.
[© 2014 by J.C. Mrazek]
