Samba, Crosstown Traffic and Darth Vader

I’ve been looking forward to the West End Festival, and it’s finally here.

Last Sunday was “Festival Sunday” and the day of the Opening Parade. Banking on my superior walking skills, with a high degree of speed and accuracy, I was in time for the parade, waiting at Kelvin Way along with a jillion other people. A jillion is not a fake word, it’s real, Chandler Bing used it. It is an unspecified, large number, typically large enough to be “unfathomable by the average human mind.” My mind is still trying to fathom whether the number of people there was unfathomable, but it certainly was the hugest crowd I’ve seen in Glasgow since I’ve been here.

Here are some photos from that day:

This man was leading Samba Ya Bamba.

She looked like Sean Young, circa Blade Runner.

This man was with Muleketu, “almost certainly THE best samba-reggae outfit outside of Salvador and winner of the 2009 Concours de Paris.” More photos of them from the live music that followed.

This soldier was with Darth Vader; they are the United Kingdom Garrison of the 501st Legion. I wouldn’t want to mess with him.

This young man was so serious, he had an air about him, he was like a surveyor on a mission.

That’s a “G” he’s doing.

They are the Woodcraft Folk.

Isn’t she a beautiful sight?

She is bendy; they all are.

This girl makes me think of Little Miss Sunshine. They played Jimi Hendrix’s Crosstown Traffic, what a blast that was; they had electric guitars aside from the horn section, I had to shout when I heard it, extreme happiness, you see, and the crowd of a jillion shouted and clapped with me.

That was the tail end of the parade, and I left my spot, hoping to catch up with the front end and see more of the charming, delightful revelers. But, with a jillion people around me, that was never going to happen. My superior walking skills notwithstanding, I was reduced to following a group velocity dictated by lovers holding hands and children on the shoulders of their fathers and people with their dogs and dogs with their people.

But that was good too.

He was camouflaged.

He had a tent all his own.

That’s a bipod, “a support device that is similar to a tripod or monopod, but with two legs. It provides significant stability along two axes of motion: side-to-side and up-and-down.”

*Music from Top Gun*

“Climate change kills people too.”

What better way to find your friends than have a magnificently muscled statue shout out their names for you?

She had a very nice sun hat on.

Live music followed.

After what seemed like quite a long time, I was free of the group velocity and my superior walking skills kicked in again, bringing me to the front of the stage that had been set up in Kelvingrove Park.

They are Bombskare.

They are the Brass Monkeys.

By that time it was 5:30, and I went to meet Jacq by the Highland Light Infantry Monument (1906), which “depicts a soldier or army scout of the Highland Light Infantry straddling a rocky eminence and is memorable both for his jaunty pose and for the attention given to the costume detail.”

A young man was walking around waving a flag, which amused this other young man.

We went back to where the music was, and after a short while Samba Ya Bamba were on, playing their first number for a very shiny Darth Vader, the third greatest movie villain according to the American Film Institute. Dr. Hannibal Lecter is No. 1.

“Clareees… Don’t you feel eyes moving over your body Clareees? And don’t your eyes seek out the things you want? Clareees?”

It’s true. With all my heart, I agree, he is the greatest villain there is, next to Mrs. Arroyo. I am petrified of him. That man cost me several nights of sleep in 1991. Of course, nothing of the sort will ever happen to me again. Ever. I’m much stronger and braver and have lots more courage now. Plus I steer clear of films that have even a remote possibility of costing me any number of nights of sleep in whatever year. Like The Ring (Japanese) series, which I have on VCD, yes, I know, it was a long time ago, but which will remain unwatched except for that one time with Ringu, which was brought about by a deadly combination of five hours of driving, enhanced brain activity and peer pressure, mostly peer pressure. That act of foolishness cost me several nights of sleep in 2003. Of course, nothing of the sort will ever happen to me again. Ever.

He was standing at attention the whole time they were there. He had nice gloves on.

The children were amused, naturally. Was she drinking beer?

And then the Imperial contingent left, and the music was on again, and this man really danced, along with several others.

Muleketu were among the crowd by then, and they really danced as well, which should not surprise anyone.

This woman was a bundle of energy.

Samba Ya Bamba.

I wanted him to have a halo.

To me, her expression sums up the exuberant mood that afternoon.

Then Muleketu were on, and although I’ve never heard samba-reggae played before, that I was aware of, I thought they were quite definitely nothing but fabulous at it.

For a panic-half-filled moment that thankfully quickly passed, I found myself sandwiched between the stage and Samba Ya Bamba, who were reassembling right in front of the crowd. Then Muleketu went off the stage, and the two merged with each other, a “Bolt in!” manoeuvre worthy of the Super Electromagnetic Machine Voltes Five himself, and the both of them played on, a duet if you like, and it was frenetic and beautiful.