TWO TAKES ON THE WINTHROP BLUES FESTIVAL
There's still hope for a crash landing
back into the throes of life...
I'm in love with Polly Okeary, in love with the energy in her eyes, her bright-red satin blouse, her pounding bass guitar, and the vein on her neck when she screams out her blood-curdling vocals.
A Friday-night street dance in Winthrop to kick off the weekend-long annual Blues Festival. Five women welded together for an hour set--sax, drums, keyboard, lead guitar and Polly. Good God Almighty,I dance my shoes off and ate my heart out and doubted I'd hear anything to top these ladies all weekend long.
Afterwards I drove out to the Blues-Ranch beer garden where some of the weekend performers were having a midnight jam, my harmonicas in a day pack. I listened for awhile and then stood at the side of the stage and played along, one hand cupped to my ear so I could hear myself. Polly Okeary leaned that mean bass guitar of hers down close to hear what sort of sounds I was making.
"What's your name?" she called out over the music, her face up close.