Stick a fork in us. We're overdone. Like Mom's trademark Sunday dinner. You want anarchy, Short Guy? Try this: by the last day of our big blues binge, the sound reinforcement professionals twisting the little coloured dials on the multiplicity of mixing boards strewn across the site were pretty much all deaf, and their therapeutic remedy as a cohort was to CRANK IT UP REAL LOUD ALL OVER... Oy.Our frenetic sprint through the finale of Ottawa Bluesfest had highlights: witness the big, blazing Detroit Women ensemble, preceded on the Rogers by vivacious economy-sized former pornstar Candye Kane's very credible barrelhouse blues -- and the sudden huge thundering (all-male) herd of 'official' shooters aiming real big, long telephoto lenses up her feathered and spangled mini....
But before the tail-end of it, the Independent Observer and I were both ready for it to be over. We took in Sam Roberts' superior power-pop, then surveyed our options for the big windup. Solid Gold Dance Party, featuring some twisted remnant of the Village People on the Main Stage? Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings on the Blacksheep? Alexisonfire on the River?
Nah. Done. With all due respect to their brilliance - and we're huge Dap-King and Alexis fans - we'd hit the very tippy edge our human and canine limits. We called Aggie's Big American Taxi Service and whisked off to a quiet debriefing. Well outta earshot...
