Music in the Streets: One Man's Observation | Eastern North Carolina Now

    I step out into the quaint, picturesque neighborhood of West Second Street in front of my downtown apartment. The early evening sun beams down through a vanishing mass of nimbus clouds, illuminating the facade of houses and freshly blossomed dogwoods that line the street. Seeking relief from a long week, I draw from my thermos a generous swill of a full-bodied beverage and begin my leisurely trek towards the heart of downtown Washington.

    It is the evening of Music In The Streets, a monthly, community-based arts event that allows local musicians and performing artists to showcase their talents through interactive presentation along the streets of historic, downtown Washington. Moreover, it provides the members of our community with a plethora of entertainment and an amusing change in pace from the humdrum monotony of small town living.

    Immediately, as I cross the intersection of Main and Bridge Streets, the sound of a rhythmic drum beat faintly thumps from a distance. As I near closer and closer to the festivities, the rustic melody of a bluegrass band fills the air, followed by the visual of a drum circle of at least thirty unbound souls, liberating their minds and spirits through an improvised cadence of pulsating beats. One man, presumably a Native Indian, hops and dances wildly about to the percussion in full aboriginal dress, chanting and whooping in an ancient tongue. All walks of life, in fact, are present at this juncture, expressing themselves vibrantly and joyfully in their temporary escapes from the daily grind.

    Moving on from the drum circle and further into the bulk of the crowd, I come across more of the typical sounds, smells and sightings that are prevalent at such animated events. Small children run in circles around their mothers and fathers, playing games of tag and chase. Others walk about the streets with faces buried into heaps of cotton candy.
Picture by staff member David Winstead
    Moreover, a flood of familiar faces beckon and greet me as I pass by; more so than desired. On occasion, I feel as if I am posted on a swivel; talking, turning and waving in every direction, making little to no advancements in my wandering passage throughout the longevity of the event. Additionally, an overwhelming odor of pungent perfume, cigarette smoke and funnel cakes saturates the atmosphere, choking my natural right to fresh air and stirring a pang of discomfort within me. Fortunately, the contents of my thermos begin to circulate through my system and to my head like an effervescing gas, providing me the necessary antidote for soothing such anxieties.

    Continuing on in a modest state of euphoria, I bare witness to other stimulating spectacles. The main drag of downtown Washington embraces a variety of acts; some worthy of an attentive audience while others beg for a bombardment of rotten tomatoes. On the corner of Main and Union Streets, a jazz pianist bangs away on the keys of an electric piano, crafting delightful tunes for all to hear. On an adjacent corner, a group of spry and lively elderly women sing, swing and "jazzercise" on a makeshift dance floor to catchy, yet extremely loathsome melodies such as: "Macarena" and "Mambo No. 5". Further along, a man juggles bowling pins and a ventriloquist entertains children with a cast of bizarre hand puppets.

    As I arrive to the intersection of Main and Market Streets, I take notice of a sizeable stage surrounded by the densest accumulation of people thus far. On stage an exuberant older man gratifies the crowd with enthusiastic and well-worn jokes. He introduces eager, young volunteers, one-by-one, to the microphone to commence in song. The youthful individuals step up, sing and make fools of themselves. The process continues on and on throughout the event's entirety. This particular exploit, known as Beaufort County Idol-, is, by far, the leading crowd pleaser of the night. Although, the sounds resonating from these poor, misguided folks correspond to that of either a dying goat or a cat in heat, this act never fails to amuse.

    As dusk consumes the remaining vestiges of daylight, I begin to stroll in the opposite direction, through the increasingly dying crowd and back towards my starting point. I have seen and heard such an extensive variety of musically inclined and not-so-talented performers. From a decent Blues Rock n' Roll band, to a group of Ragtime raggamuffins, to a crafty magician, many were exciting and pleasant to watch. However, none of them would compare to the character I was about to witness.
Picture by staff member David Winstead
    There she is, fixed in the middle of Main Street, bobbing and weaving jubilantly to the rhythm of her solo act. She wears a baggy, black and white pin-striped suit, a funny hat, an oversized pair of basketball shoes, an abundance of extravagant make-up, and an exceedingly flashy smile. She stands apart from everyone and everything like a diamond in the rough. It's the one and only, overly elated, accordion playing clown! Like metal to a magnet, I am lured closer to her, enthralled by the peculiar aura which radiates from her eccentric, clown-like manifestation. Playing unrecognizable, yet satisfying songs, she is always a primary focal point and can be enjoyed at most Music In The Streets events. I, in particular, am enchanted by the hilarity and mystery of her nature so much that I encourage others around me to join in with her song and dance act. As it has done in the past, this almost always triggers an explosion of laughter and sheer disorientation from the surrounding bystanders. Moreover, this usually serves as the highlight of my experiences at Music In The Streets.
Picture by staff member David Winstead
    As I continue my journey home, I take notice that most of the once-colossal crowd have disengaged from the merriment and most of the performers have packed up their instruments and vacated the premises. The drum circle continues to echo through the streets, though it has become much fainter. Likewise, the Native Indian continues to dance, although he appears to be much less charismatic than before; as seems a music box when it begins to wind down.

    As the muffled sounds of music finally fade away, the police remove the retro-reflective barricades that once blocked off the segment of road in which the festivities took place. The streets are opened again to automobile traffic, and even the most minuscule crowds of people are no longer. I safely arrive back to my domain. A clear, quiet, tranquil night has befallen the once-thriving town. The pale light of a lone orb casts its luminescence down from a pitch black sky, dampening the once-radiant colors of West Second Street to a ghostly, grayish white. Such vitality and vibrancy will remain pacified until Music In The Streets returns again next month.