Back to the comforts of home...
So it's back to the comforts of home for all the artists and crew of Bluzapalooza leaving behind our new friends and fans. After Monday night's phenomenal experience we were told that the action was too hot for us to fly out. These guys always thought of us first and they weren't about to let this now-beloved troupe to be in more danger than necessary. This probably became most real to us when we were in the bunker on Monday night during the rocket attack. A young soldier whose job it was to guard us explained the two reasons why they pushed us deep into the bunker while they stood strong at the open door: first, they are the ones who know the codes of the sirens and alerts. But second he humbly told us that it was their job to take the hit first protecting us, the citizens. And there wasn't one of our escorts who wouldn't have been standing there if it was their turn. Man, if that shit don't smoke your soul you got hole in there!
So after the show we made our way back to out camp not knowing what was going to happen. There was talk of gigs that might be missed and families that might be a day further away. But all the fretting became for naught as Captain Riley burst into our quarters at 6 a.m. saying we were cleared to move out in twenty minutes. We jumped up and pulled on whatever filthy clothes we had nearby, donned our flak jackets and helmets, and headed for the bus for the last time.
At the airport we had some time to chill out and were provided with some snacks, basically chips and some weird meat products in little cans. We helped to "palletize" our gear for the plane and made our way to the C-15, a cavernous plane filled with canvas strap seats on the sides and all kinds of palletized gear piled in the middle. As we took off we were all surprised by the riffs of "Born Under A Bad Sign" that filled the windy belly of the plane. As I leaned forward I saw that we were all smiling at each other and giving a big thumbs up to the sergeant seated at the front of the plane wearing a headset and flight suit. With a big smile he gave us back a thumbs up and proceeded to serenade us with B.B. King and other Blues classics. In this weird Apocalypse Now-like moment we all were reminded personally of the mission of the Blues, to fill the empty parts of souls. Just like we had done all week.
We landed back in Kuwait City and were treated to a night at the Radisson Hotel. We slept and ate and had what might have been the best shower of our lives. That night some of us sat on the beach of the Arabian Gulf (they don't call it the Persian Gulf here!) had Cuban cigars and coffees and talked of life and love and the business we all love and hate.
Our flight out wasn't until late the next night so in the morning we boarded a bus to visit the Old Market in Kuwait City. The caverns of commerce were filled with little shops that weaved around with somewhat common themes like meat or fish or vegetables or just general weirdness that intrigued us and we had a lot of fun wandering around and talking with the venders, who were world-class salesmen. There were cool murals at the ends of the hallways that visually described what we sold within.
Many of us bought beautiful Muslim prayer beads and bags of dates and pistachios were passed around. We were all relaxed and clean and happy. We also had fun stepping into a hookah house and getting pictures of us holding the mighty smoking utensils.
At the end of the vegetable hall we came to an open square where we sat in a café drinking delicious mint tea and passing around flatbread, dates, and nuts. We tried the hot sauce and found it lacking to our western taste so our waiter came back with a bowl of blood-red liquid with pepper seeds floating in it. The waiters stood in a little crowd to watch the effect of their concoction. They were mighty surprised when we snarfed down the tasty stuff on the flatbreads. The Mississippi contingent knew their hot sauce and said that those boys should come down south for some barbeque!
That night we took the bus from the hotel and Steve Simon expressed his appreciation of everyone and reminded us of what we had done. We then wandered through the snarl of Kuwait Airport and were finally sitting on the plane to Dulles Airport outside of Washington, D.C. It took awhile for all of us to wind down and when the place left Kuwaiti air space our first drinks were served and we were a pretty jovial group. We were headed home. Addresses were exchanged and goodbyes offered around.
When we landed in Dulles we all went our different ways on different planes. We were exhausted yet sated with the knowledge that we had all shared something among ourselves and with the troops. Only a few of us were heading home, Billy Gibson and Janiva and her boys were headed to Tampa for the Tampa Bay Blues Festival where all had a great time telling our stories to everyone and hearing some great performances. Billy opened up the festival on Friday and did his usual exhilarating show. Janiva didn't play until Sunday but she moved the crowd there just like she had in Kuwait and Iraq. Of course she did!
As I sit in my local a week later remembering it all I am smiling. As the last member of Bluzapalooza to get home I got to have the last Bluzapalooza experience. As I was standing the restroom in Memphis Airport a soldier in uniform saw my jacket and asked if I was coming or going. I told him and then asked him the same. He was going. There was only one thing I could do. I dug down in my pocket for my last Bluzapalooza coin and passed it to him with a handshake and said, "Thank you." As I walked away, he called me back and put out his hand. With his handshake I received a coin back. It was from the general for whom he worked and he said, "I know the general would want you to have this. I can't wait to see you in October!"
And Steve Simon and John Hahn are already at work on the next Bluzapalooza. As we all watch the news at home I am certain that, like myself, all the members of Bluzapalooza see the news from Iraq in a different way. It is very real to each of us, but never as real as it is everyday to the brave Americans who are standing on the wall there. And as much as we all want them to come home safely, we know that it may be a long time before that happens. For some of them it will be never. So as long as they are there it looks like there will be Bluzapalooza. Long live the Blues!
I hope that you have enjoyed my scrawlings. There may be more but for now I am closing up shop and begin working tomorrow on the next tour. Of course I will regularly be writing here about the blues (like I have a choice!) I also hope that maybe you saw something in the writing that gave you some idea of what is going on over there. That was the common message we received, that the troops believe that we at home don't know or understand what is going on and what they are doing. I hope that came through to you. And I hope you also got some understanding about how much the troops loved the blues they heard. The medicine that is music did its work, if only for a little while. My thanks to Steve Simon and John Hahn for making this important work happen; you guys know that I will be standing next to you whenever you ask. Wherever, whenever. As I have said before, we all live our lives in the music everyday, but sometimes it is more than the music; sometimes it is righteous and holy work that touches peoples' lives. Like it touched mine.
Chip Eagle is the publisher of BluesWax. He may be contacted at blueswax@visnat.com.
