“I’m just an old conga player.” “Why am I supposed to meet you?” “Marta sent you? You have a car?” “Yes and yes.” “Maybe I do have a clue. Can you give us a lift?” “Who’s us?” “Meet my friend Ghost Wakefield, piano player from the Crescent City.” “I thought it was you ticklin’ out of ‘Yardbird Suite’ and into ‘Blues for Alice.’” “What makes you say that?” “It reminded me of how you slipped out of ‘Bloodcount’ and into ‘Come Sunday’ with the Brothers Grip---stunning stuff.” “That little blue bridge, you dug that?” “I haven’t forgotten it. Your tribute CD to Duke and Strays changed me. “Oh? How so?” “It’s why I’m here: to go ride the music. My name is Ganga Ghose, vocalist.” While they shook hands, the padre got back to working it, “Ghost sat in with us as a favor to Marta. He flew in from New Orleans to play with that acid jazz band with the human beat box and the baritone sax in from Oakland. They’re the feature tonight.” “What’s the name of the band?” “Go Ride the Music.” “I might if I knew what their name was, reverend.” “Go Ride the Music is the name of the band.” “Is this a joke? Are you guys making fun of me?” “Let’s talk in the car. We’ve some festival business at Aguas Calientes.” On the ride out to the hot springs, Ganga didn’t press it. Instead of small talk, she asked to hear American folk music. When the padre pulled out a handful of CDs, she chose Bob Dylan’s John Wesley Harding. She loved the title track and before it was over, the reverend connected it to Woody Guthrie’s “Pretty Boy Floyd” and said Dylan had lost his moral compass with rock and had returned from his motorcycle accident renewed in folk and blues roots which allowed him to tell such beautiful parables in simple but moving song forms. Each tune gave
Page 68