Having reread Kim Rollins' account of solo festival-going a while back I wasn't too upset Friday when Sonya showed little interest in going to the Memphis in May Beale Street Music Festival that night.

"Stay home!" I said, "Relax! You take it easy and we'll go the next two nights, okay?"

Okay, indeed. When I left Sonya was happily watching Alien Resurrection.

So I went strolling down Riverside Drive, go-cup in hand, looking to move my extra ticket. I found a ticket guy who gave me five bucks for it. Sold!

My big Friday night goal was to see Big Star. They were playing at the Budweiser stage, right inside the north gate. I walked right in, stepped up to the barricade and watched the band tune up. At one point Alex Chilton came and sat on a speaker right in front of me, just chilling and watching the crowd. I was so not worthy. At one point Alex saw someone he knew in the crowd, waved him up to the front and gave him a backstage pass. Cool.

Big Star was excellent. They played all sorts of good songs: September Gurls, In The Street, Jesus Christ, Thank You Friends, Way Out West, Back of a Car, and a new one they'd written: Hot Thing. Chilton himself was wonderfully sloppy, slightly off-key but he seemed genuinely pleased to be there, grinning, jumping around and talking to people in the crowd. He's gotten a buzz-cut since the last time I saw him, and he was wearing what looked like thrift store jeans and a t-shirt. The man is too cool. They swapped out singing duties throughout the set; everybody sang at least one song. It was great.

After Big Star I went strolling through Tom Lee Park, vaguely thinking I'd find a bathroom. I saw that Fender had set up a little booth where you could try out guitars, so I went to check that out. They didn't have a Jaguar, though, which is my current fantasy guitar of choice, so I chose not to try out an axe. I saw Brian and Stefan of Placebo both playing them in Chicago last month and I was totally impressed with the sound they got out of them. I don't know if I need one, though. I was never very good at playing guitar; I'd hate to get one and just be totally inept at working what is quite a professional instrument. I'll consider it further.

Then I needed to pee, so I got in line at the porta-pot. Then I decided I wanted a beer, so I got in that line, too. Then I sat and watched the Bar-Kays do their thing for an hour or so. Being alone wasn't so bad, really. You want to do shit, you just do it. Neat!

The ground was cool and damp, though, from the torrential rains of the past week. And there was a nice breeze off the river. Once I finished my beer I was kind of chilled, so I started making my way towards the gate. I stopped for a while to watch Rusted Root do their hippie jam thing, which is pretty cool.

I've seen them three times now, each time unintentionally. They opened for Jimmy Page and Robert Plant a few years ago, and they were also at HORDE here in Memphis one time when Sonya won tickets. And then again last night when I was just kind of walking by. Neat, huh?

I had on my old Jim Everett jersey. Lots of people saw it and yelled, "Danny Wuerfful!" or "Heath Shuler!" I just shook my head and smiled, 'cause I know my Saints quarterbacks.

Saturday afternoon saw me and Sonya heading down Front towards another festival of rock and roll. As we walked in the recorded announcement said,

"The Beale Street Music Festival is sold out. Ticket holders should proceed through the gates on the left."

This pleased Sonya and I both. The festival tanked last year, due to changes in the format and ditching their longtime promoter, Mid-South Concerts. Things are back to the way they've always been this year, and apparently the public approves. 98,000+ people as of tonight. It's looking like a record.

The first band on Saturday's agenda: Cheap Trick. I love 'em. They're one of my top ten all-time bands, making timeless power-pop. They didn't disappoint, either, playing all their radio-familiar stuff (Surrender, Ain't That a Shame, Dream Police) and a few other tunes that the faithful would recognize. These guys can still rock, and I know 'cause I've been seeing them for the last fifteen years. During Southern Girls Art Alexakis from Everclear came out and sang along with the band, driving the crowd nuts. After that he and the rest of Everclear could clearly be seen backstage, singing and air-guitaring along.

Eveybody loves the Trick.

Also, Rick Nielsen, the Trick's wacky guitarist and frontman, flung a handful of guitar picks in our general direction. Sonya, using years of Mardi Gras training, promptly stomped one like a doubloon, claiming it for the family. You go, wifey!

Then we took a slow stroll down the park, stopping only for a delicious dinner of turkey melt (turkey, onions, peppers and that liquid cheese, all stuffed in a pita) and onion blossom. Then we continued on to the AutoZone stage to see G. Love and Special Sauce (he played the cold beverage song. I was happy. The kids seemed to love him) and Dr. John, who was in rare form. He's lost weight since I saw him at the fest in '95; tonight he was up and boogieing around with his tambourines.

The next band up on the AutoZone stage was Hootie and the Blowfish, which meant it was time for Sonya and I to leave. On our way out, though, someone went by me and yelled, "Harold Harold Harold!" I looked around and saw Marc Wilkins. Marc Wilkins! Marc was a good friend of ours in college; a fellow English major and journalism minor and an all-around good guy. Our communications with him have been spotty since graduating; it was good to visit with him for a while. According to Marc he's refused to grow up, which I can admire.

And now it's one-thirty on Sunday morning. I know I have some readers out there who are also mothers. Happy Mother's Day, y'all. It's a thankless job, and I'm glad y'all are on it.

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