Himmershee Village

Last night I went and saw local blues guitar slinger Albert Castiglia downtown in Himmershee Village. A couple of my buds have been trying to get me to see him play for quite a few years now. He played his little heart out. Certainly a fine player in this vast wasteland of no respect for talent South Florida. Albert plays that kind of electric blues that attracts the middle-aged white-collar crowd. You know, the same kind that hold down respectable jobs during the week and play biker outlaw on their custom Harley’s on the weekend. Albert has a lot of soul. A very fine player. On a bizarre side note, in his third set, Dennis Rodman walked into the bar and wanted to sing a song. Albert consented. To make a long story short, Rodman wouldn’t get off the stage and screamed and puked into the mic for about a half and hour and made a total ass of himself. It was embarrassing…. Mostly for him, although I’m sure he didn’t realize it or would even care if he did. The downtown barflies gawked. Something you wouldn’t see in New York. There no one would give a shit. The whole scene reinforced to me just how much I don’t fit in here anymore. Not that I really fit in anywhere. ha. Listening this morning to Blind Willie Johnson-”Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground.” It’s got to be the most soulful piece of music recorded in the 20th century.