Roosting in the Treehouse, I’m contemplating my next move when an email arrives with a ticket confirmation for a concert I thought was sold out. Graham Nash is headlining an evening concert, his only gig in Scotland, at Southern Fried Festival in Perth. My seat is in the last row, but I had selected the aisle…room to groove.

The apartment building overlooking North Inch Park

My former apartment on River Tay is booked, but the luck of the Scottish finds me a last-minute rental overlooking the leafy North Inch Park, and only a five-minute walk through the park to the festival venues. Perth Concert Hall has an intimate capacity of only 1200 and will host ticketed day and night performances of the festival. The main stage, hosts daytime acts and is set up in a spacious outdoor square between the hall and art museum. The Salutation Hotel ballroom and various bars host late-night gigs. When I am invited to a Friday show beginning at midnight, I politely decline with a chuckle at the difference in my former and current festival timetables. In our early New Orleans Jazzfest years, our days at the fairgrounds would be gin with a splash of the stuff poured atop a lime Sno-cone. After noon, a dose of gin replaced sugar in Rosemint iced-teas. By the time the last act started, it was straight from flask to finish. Tom and I would steady our tandem bike home to shower (ourselves not the bike) and head out for dinner and more music — dancing until somewhere between 2 and 4:00 in the morning. How on earth did we do it?! Oh, I remember — love, youth, and drugs! Today, the timetable shall include the last two acts on the main stage (4-6 pm) while limiting libations in order to make it through the ‘late-night’ concert (8-11pm).

Live music

Southern Fried Main Stage

Scottish Lads

It’s time to get Southern Fried! I stride through the park with a skip in my step. The day’s bands are described as country, blue grass, billy goat or whatever– not my usual preference, however, it’s LIVE music! And that, I wholeheartedly support. Rarely do I pass a busker without dropping in a pound (unless they’re plugged in and singing karaoke). To hear a musician playing an actual instrument … like an artist painting brush on canvas….that’s Creation. Ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby.

I enter the square and the band is in play. Conviviality permeates the air. I overhear friendly chitchat, especially in the line for beer and wine. Eye contact is accompanied with a nod and a smile. ‘Security’ persons stand in welcome and hand out flyers. Tables and chairs occupy where I would have expected a ‘dance space’ in front of the stage, but folks here are more inclined to tap their feet, clap their hands, and bop their heads in, and out of rhythm. S’wonderful. And surprisingly, I’m diggin’ the music! (I wish I had kept the program to render credit to the bands and members.)

The last act has finished and I have one hour to to freshen up, make a little something to eat, and remember my ticket for the Graham Nash concert. There’s a wi-fi sound system in the rental and I’ve been listening to his new release, “This Path Tonight”. I also ‘Googled’ his name to see what was happening in his world — ‘where he’s at’ on this night in Perth. There were scandalous articles about his recent divorce and about his currently dating (possibly engaged to) a woman half his age. As I walk through the park to the apartment, I’m grateful to be revisiting Perth. It’s familiar. Skies are blue. Sun is shining. People are pleasant. In the distance, I spy a tall figure dressed in black with a distinguishing characteristic — a head full of silver hair. To his side walks a female with short blondish-brown hair. They approach… NO WAY. Yes, it is. It’s Graham Nash and ‘his girl’! They’re almost upon me; I don’t know what to say but I want to acknowledge appreciation somehow…I stop. I stand upright, look directly at them, and raise two fingers to my forehead in a peace sign salute. The girl is nonplussed by my stance. “THANK YOU! I’ll see you tonight!” I said. With a grin he replies, “Yes. You will.” As they carry on, I sing-song one word in their direction, “LooOOOoove.”

Graham Nash & Co.

I am over the moon giddy from the encounter. Two girls, in their early twenties perhaps, are sitting on a park bench nearby. Far too enthusiastically, I interrupt them, “Did you just see who walked by?! That was Graham Nash! You know, Crosby, Still, Nash and Young? He is a rock and roll LEGEND!” Judging from their cocked heads and blank, disinterested expressions, l may as well have been their seventh-grade Algebra teacher, lecturing in Russian. At least in the concert hall,

Gathering before the show   Perth Concert Hall

those of similar age waiting behind me in the beverage line, relish the story of my chance encounter. The bell chimes and it’s time to climb to my aisle seat. Behind the last row, a wide corridor runs the expanse of the hall, decidedly suitable for dancing with myself. The two security girls are doubtful when I ask, “‘Do you mind if I stand? I’m not blocking an exit — if it’s a problem, I’ll sit.” After a bit more small talk, they acquiesce. I never sat down. Before intermission, Graham Nash dedicated a song to ‘the looove woman in the park’. Just kidding. He dedicated “Myself at Last” to his fiancée. On second thought, she does resemble a young Joni Mitchell. Graham Nash, Shayne Fontayne, and Todd Caldwell, harmonize and play for two and half hours. It’s astonishing to me, that at age 75, Nash’s music, lyrics and voice still resonate with musical relevance. VIDEOS:  Myself at Last Winchester Cathedral Our House Teach Your Children

It’s Sunday after noon. The last day of the festival. My pace through the park has gone from a skip to a shuffle. Must have been the intermittent wine, I mean the wine at intermission. Music has filled my cup; today is about the food. Behind the sound stage, to my delight, a chef is sifting confectioner’s sugar atop three beignets. “Oh YES,” I squeal. “I lived in New Orleans for twenty years, I adore this food!” He offers a taste. “Ohmygods, the texture is exquisite and the flavor, divine.” Martin is pleased. When I ask if I can take his picture, a photographer standing nearby says, “Now, there’s an exception. He hasn’t smiled for me in eight years.” Martin suggests I meet the woman behind all food Southern Fried.

Chef Martin

(Her Majesty)
Peggy Brunache

She moves on a beam of light, but once you catch her, Peggy is extremely approachable. “Martin told me to introduce myself. I lived…really lived, and loved in New Orleans; it’s my spiritual home. Bless your heart, I can’t wait to wallow in your Southern cooking!” Now, she opens wide. “Ooo girl, I want you to try everything and tell me what you think!” I sample. “Spoonfuls of heaven. Better than I remember, Peggy. Thank you.” Through the crowd, we walk, we talk…like we’ve known each other for years. “How did you get here?” I ask. She shares a rapid-fire history of her inspirational journey. “My husband is from here. I’m from Miami. We met at South by Southwest (Austin, TX music festival). Andy’s interest and work is with music. I studied historical archaeology. My doctorate thesis recognized slave cooking on the sugar plantations as the starting point of Creole and Soul food. I moved here and married Andy in 2006. This festival is about sharing our passion for music and food! Come for the music, enjoy the food. Come for the food, enjoy the music.” I walk to the dollar store and buy two baskets. Back at the festival, I place my order to Sheena: “Two green gumbos. Four red beans and rice. Three sides of greens. Two squash casseroles. And a slice of Peggy’s key lime pie. To takeaway, please.” The other girls working behind the counter overhear, pause, and look at me like I be crazy… then we all break out in giggles. My baskets filled, I stroll back to my apartment on the park. I got me some Soul for days…

You’ve got to love the way this dude speaks…what’s that you say?!  VIDEO: Farewell Southern Fried

Where do I go from here?

“And the question haunting me

Is my future just my past?” – Graham Nash, “Myself at Last”