Crossing the Rubicon

Let the die be cast with
I tend to repeat myself like a scratched record sometimes, but some things bear repeating. Although the Thursday Night Market is a great event that brings thousands of people downtown (good work, DCBA!), the Saturday Farmers’ Market is more my cup of tea. While busy, it is not nearly as well attended, and that makes it less claustrophobic, which makes being the social-phobe I am more manageable. There is a greater selection of organic produce at reasonable prices and a more concentrated populace of happy, shiny people with smiling faces.

Last week, like most weeks, the band Seckund Naychur played a five-hour set in the parking lot, running their amps off of car batteries and attracting crowds more consistently than any band in town. It’s a three-piece (two guitars and a didgeridoo), so you wouldn’t think it could weave such an intricate blend of soundscapes and unique patterns, but Seckund Naychur knows how to deliver what is at times a haunting background to the commerce of market and the cries of local children playing. There was a moment where their Middle Eastern sounds gave me an epiphany: After this war is over, the American people need to bring massive amounts of joy to the Iraqis. If we could only transfer the entire Saturday market to Iraq to bring some love and compassion and health to what is a country of 16-year-old men, women and children. I don’t care if it sounds lame, it’s up to each of us to help repair the damage. What’s the point of liberating somebody into poverty and squalor?

In the local scene, cross-over hip-hop rock band Pyrx won a unanimous vote in the America Lung Associations Battle of the Bands. Maybe it was as judge Empty Mynd rhymed, “They passed my test by being better than the rest.” Or perhaps it was, as judge Claudette De Versailles crooned, “That they should change their name to Tupperware to seal in freshness.” But judge Jack Dammit INT’L summed it all up with, "Pyrx … grumble … something … bahhhh." All in all it was a great free event and proved that 16-year-olds would rather be cooped up in old theater all night watching bands then sitting at home watching other 16-year-olds blow each other up on CNN. We’ve got good kids in Chico, and it’s high time we start treating then with the respect they deserve.