Friday Night in Philly

I have been back and forth between the coasts of this country for the past 3 weeks. What I am left with is an overwhelming urge to make something again, or rather, to comment on/engage with everything that I have seen, experienced, and been moved by since the beginning of it all.

Most recently I landed in Philadelphia, a city I was incredibly surprised by. Ever since I can remember I have been chasing the city of my dreams; the city that I remember I dreamed before I understood the difference between waking life and that of deep somnambulism. The narrow streets and 3-flats of the Phila streets took me back to this place I remember. The proximity of residents to the streets evoked that feeling of home, the one that eludes me despite how many streets I walk down in the middle of the night. Around every corner were monuments to men and moments that exist in the far corners of my memories from high school American history. Statues and gardens helped make bearable the sweltering heat that forced rivers of salt and water out of my pours from 9am until late into the evening. I'll admit that I licked my shoulders at one point, curious as to whether or not I tasted like Mediterranean sea salt or just good old-fashioned Morton Salt from Chicago. The result: neither really, just odd looks from the people walking by me on the sidewalk.

I was lucky enough to come across a small break-dancing circle off of South Street while I was dining at a fabulous middle-eastern restaurant. A band was setting-up in a blocked-off street just off South when we sat down for dinner. After ordering our meal (and a bottle of wine from a man on a cell phone who assured us that his delivery boy could bring us a decent pinot noir) this jazz band started playing. Or rather, a 13 year-old-boy started soloing on the drums like a seasoned pro. He just took the lead for a good 5-7minutes or so, drawing in a crowd intrigued by his ferocious rhythm and rather small stature behind the drum-set. After finishing his solo intro, the rest of the band came in with a funk-jazz sound that drew in a few dancers. As the young men began to dance the bassist turned-up the funk, giving the young men (not women) a solid bassline to get down to.

Black, Asian, White--all young--took to it on the street. On their hands and backs as well as up in the air, these boys threw-down like nobody's business. As they got hot, a crowd began to form around them. It was sparse at first, but filled out after the first 10minutes, without a space left by 15minutes into the street performance. The crowd cheered them on and held out their digital cameras and flip-cams to capture this joyous moment on a hot summer night in Philly. As the crowd thickened the moves got flashier: one kid on his left arm, body up in the air for a full 30seconds which seemed like hours, another kid throwing windmills for a good minute or so, and the crowd eating it all up.

A good 30minutes passed until it all finally died down. The boys moved on and the crowd lingered as a young lady from the street took to the mic to perform and impromptu "At Last" for the last remains of the sidewalk audience. Little by little it died down. Within the hour the band had reached their limit and the street moved on. But for a moment there, all of Philly seemed to radiate out of the soul of that street corner. That is why she'll always have a special place in my heart.