Love the one you're with

Here’s why I love the rise of the local music festival. It gives you second chances, or in some instances, next best things.

Like last year in Little Rock when I got to fulfill a whacky teenager’s long ago dream and see Huey Lewis and the News (you can’t judge me!). Okay, yeah, I’m one of the old chicks reliving her youth (or the youth I wish I had), but the benefit of being an old chick is that I don’t give a rat’s rear what sweet young things think, and I’m going to dance.

And this year’s Wildflower Fest here in the Dallas Metroplex this weekend is going to give my niece and I one of those next best things, on something we never had a shot at the original on. For me, it’s the Wailers. Bob Marley died before I discovered his genius. And the fact that I’ll never actually get to experience one of his shows has always been a big loss for me. But seeing his old backing band (in I’m sure some sort of “frozen juice concentrate” form, but still) is about as close as I’m going to get. I’ll take it. I’ve got my fingers crossed for Redemption Song and 3 Little Birds.

For my niece, there will be Bad Fish. Reputed to be the best Sublime tribute band going. She finds it equally (if not understandably more) frustrating that Bradley Nowell ODed when she was 4. Really quite careless of him. I think she’s also a little pissed that she wasn’t taken to a show when she was 3, so that she could at least say she was there. Careless of her mother not to plan ahead. I find it kind of funny that she’s digging on music from my heyday. You know. The old stuff. Classic. Anyway.

We’re both going to scratch some very old itches, as best as we can. Remember what we never knew. Like smelling madeleines and remembering Proust. We’ll take what we can get. Sometimes the next best thing is the best medicine.