Livin' Large

After a dozen or so years, I've got the hang of the Down Home Family Reunion.

Truthfully, it couldn't be simpler. The festival takes place two blocks away and all it requires is carrying a chair and a beverage.

I got there just as the organizer was chiding the crowd about their fixation on the headliner, which she saw as a lack of respect for all the other performers. Okay, fair enough.

Next to me, a woman with a Wells Fargo fan began complaining about the humidity and lack of breeze. "I want to go home and take a shower and sit in the air conditioning," she whined.

Rather than listening to live music? Clearly we have nothing in common, friend.

Instead she hung around for comedian Micah "Bam Bam" White, although she was unimpressed, observing, "He's not very funny, is he?"

Actually, his humor about the difference in how historically black colleges hold a football game versus white colleges was pretty hilarious to me. He did an imitation of a half time show and mocked how black vocalists, unlike white ones, never just sing the words on the page. According to him, they testify, they bend notes, they stretch things out.

Yep, and that's what we like about it.

Next up was Full Power Blues, a D.C. blues band led by a woman named Mama Moon, who welcomed the crowd, saying, "Welcome to full moon music!"

And, just as Bam Bam had noted, she and the band testified, they bent notes, they stretched things out.

After they finished, a lone singer named Shep (who will apparently be performing at the Folk Fest this fall) came out to do "A Change is Gonna Come," making for one of the more moving parts of the evening.

In between sets, a DJ played music that defined the demographic of the crowd: "One Nation Under a Groove," "Super Freaky" and "Higher Ground." I know because I sit squarely in that demographic.

A guy came over and sat down near me, striking up a conversation by asking if I was having a good time. Sure was. While the Elegba Folklore Society's performance group played, sang and danced (its leader proclaiming, "If you can walk, you can dance!"), he went on to explain African drumming to me as each drum beat meaning a different word.

When I said I did know that much, he changed tactics. "Do you smoke weed?' he asked blithely despite the cops a few feet away. I guess since I already knew about African drumming, he just assumed I was cool that way, too.

Or maybe it was that I was still wearing sunglasses after dark. I'd tried taking them off, but the park was lit too brightly and the whole scene looked less tawdry with shades on.

What I'm saying is, no one needs to see a fryer lit up. "Someone left their phone at the funnel cake booth," Bam Bam announced between sets. "If you left your phone, go get it now!"

It wasn't me, so I headed down to the row of Porta-Johns, where I found an entirely different party going on. A row of motorcycles, many strung with LED lights, was holding court near the outdoor bathrooms and Prince was blaring from a boombox.

Clearly they didn't need any stinkin' live music.

As the stage was being prepped for DC go-go/funk band EU (Experience Unlimited for the uninitiated), Bam Bam came out and announced that activist Dick Gregory had "transitioned." I've never understood using euphemisms for death. The man died, so just say died.

A collective groan went up from the crowd.

The members of EU showed up onstage wearing all white and ready to party. Leader Sugar Bear began exhorting the crowd immediately. "Get up, Richmond! Y'all got to get up!" We did.

Weaving in classics such as "Family Affair," "Shake It Like a White Girl" and "It's Your Thing," the 7-piece band showed off their smooth choreography, still strong voices and vintage showmanship. Even better, they looked to be having a ball doing it.

When they got to their set closer and biggest hit, "Da Butt," you better believe we - young and old - were following Sugar Bear's directive to, "Shake what your Mama gave you!"

No regular at the Down Home Family Reunion has to be told that twice.

Give Up the Funk

You've got a real type of thing going down, getting down
There's a whole lot of rhythm going round

I can always tell when the Down Home Family Reunion starts because I can hear it through my open windows.

After all, I'm only two blocks from Abner Clay Park.

I'd invited a non-family member to join me and he arrived with a picnic, so we took our chairs and dinner and walked the short distance toward the sound.

The Down Home Family Reunion isn't like any other festival I've been to, which is exactly what I love about it.

Besides the fact that it's two blocks away.

You see people dressed up at this one.

Like a leopard print jumpsuit.

Jean shorts, a red t-shirt and red and gold pumps.

His and her black leather chaps.

Skintight paisley bell-bottoms and a purple polyester shirt and hat.

I don't even try to compete with the likes of that.

Settling in with our picnic, the emcee said, "I wish y'all could see what y'all look like from up here!"

I'll bet the two of us looked starved, considering how we dug into roast chicken, caprese salad, bean and olive salad, hummus and peach pie.

We took a break to move closer when the Kenya Safari Acrobats took the stage.

Part dance, part magic, part gymnastic, part yoga, they amazed.

One condensed his body to almost nothing in the way they were taught to do in Kenya and Tanzania when confronted with a leopard.

Another got on a table and proceeded to bend his body backwards until his feet were resting on his head.

He even removed his hat with his toes.

There was a limbo dance (done to win a wife) with a stick on fire, making it essential to go as low as the limber, brave man could go.

He did.

For their final act, they created a human pyramid using a woman as the base.

It was significant because no acrobatic troupes there will use women because the men presume a woman will drop them.

Aminia, the female base, went on to support all kinds of men in various configurations, even walking a short distance while supporting them all.

The entire act required such skill and precision as to have been absolutely Olympic-worthy.

Meanwhile, I ran into a friend (and pianist for the Richmond Symphony) and caught up with his escapades (turkey burgers! Chopin! Pocahontas Park!)

And that's exactly what's supposed to happen at the Reunion.

I spent over six hours behind a woman who was serially greeted by no less than thirty people.

It was impressive to see.

A girl asked me to take a survey about the festival, inquiring about how far I'd come to see it, how much I might spend and if I'd been before.

I'm always happy to share my opinions.

Next onstage were NYCE, a local group who wore matching salmon-colored outfits while executing synchronized steps and singing '60s and '70s R & B.

Stuff like Bill Withers, Stevie Wonder and the Temptations, but not the Top 40 stuff.

Their set got people in the mood, like when a man walked by, spotted a friend and did a synchronized dance move in front of him before saying hello.

The Elegba Folklore performance group played drums and danced while a costumed figure on stilts moved through the crowd.

"If you can walk, you can dance," the group's director shouted.

I would have broken it down even more basically than that.

Periodically, the scent of incense wafted by.

Once the sun went down and I lost my companion to work, I was glad I had a blanket to drape over my legs.

"You had the right idea with that blanket," a man said to me when he saw me getting cozy.

By the time the big names arrived, the crowd was large and feisty.

Original P, comprised of four of the original members of Parliament Funkadelic and eight of their siblings and children, took the stage like they owned it.

"We're ready to party like it's 1975!" leader Calvin shouted to raucous response.

Almost at once, a freaky-looking guy started walking through the crowd with a large sign saying, "One Nation Under a Groove."

A guy came by to check on me. "How you doing?" he inquired sweetly. "You look comfortable! Enjoy yourself."

Of course the twelve piece had a big horn section and an array of back-up singers, but I was unprepared for the keytar.

Damn, we were taking it all the way back.

The crowd went wild for "We Want the Funk," but they also went crazy for tales of booty patrols and an extended psychedelic jam that had people dancing in the field.

By that point, audience and band were feeding off of each other under the night sky.

"Richmond Vee-Yay in the mother-fu*kin' house!" the bandleader yelled as people waved glow light swords and hands in the air.

I alternated between staying in my seat (where a guy came over to ask if I was okay by myself over there) and standing closer to the stage to enjoy the sheer spectacle of so many musicians clearly having a ball.

"If y'all don't get up off your asses now, I'm gonna be forced to get mean," we were informed.

It only took one warning for everyone but the oldest and most infirm to follow P-Funk's advice: "Free your mind and your ass will follow."

When the band finally ended, it was only because the organizers told them they had to.

The band made it clear that they wanted to keep playing.

Danced out, the crowd resignedly started packing up.

Original P serenaded us as we made our way out to the streets of Jackson Ward.

If you're not gonna get it on
Grab your date and take her home

My date long gone, it looked like I wasn't going to get it on.

But my answer to the final survey question had been confirmed in spades.

Would I come back to the festival next year?

Hell, yes. We want the funk.