By Jim Magdefrau
This is about the time I head to Columbia, MO, for the Roots N Blues Festival. I’m still grinning from years of musical experiences. Emmylou Harris walking on stage to team with John Prine for “Angel from Montgomery” is the top memory. Charles Bradley singing soul. Dr. John’s famous opening to “Right Place, Wrong Time.” Our friends, The Bottle Rockets, teaming up with Marshall Crenshaw. Here Come the Mummies stage show. Booker T. Jones and his Hammond. And the big brass sound of The Mavericks.
That’s why I shook my head when a member of The Mavericks and a friend of his were kicked out of an establishment near Nashville recently, and then beaten up for conversing with each other in Spanish.
The festival celebrates the cultures that combine to make music.
If people are going to be punished for speaking Spanish, there’s a few words, names and phrases we can say goodbye to, according to my research. California, Colorado, Montana, Florida, Utah, Arizona, Las Vegas, San Antonio, buckaroo, corral, desperado, lasso, ranch, rodeo, stampede, breeze, canyon, tornado, alligator, barracuda, bronco, mustang, macho, patio, plaza, tango, cargo, embargo, bonanza, cafeteria, platinum, suave, and page full of foods and drinks, including oregano, chili, chocolate, cocoa, tomato, and vanilla.
Texas. This comes from tejas, which is an indigenous term meaning friends or allies. Nice.
What else is Spanish? America.
Speaking Spanish. It’s communication. There’s probably nothing more American.
And our best to the Mavericks.