Now and then I hear it coming in from the distance here. It’s not the usual horrible pop country music (the big act this past summer at the Warren County fairgrounds was Montgomery Gentry). It wasn’t even one of the great country singers (Merle Haggard, who played the fairgrounds right before we moved here). No, it’s a sound that reminds me of the streets of DC, a sound which, in fact, began there: Go-Go music. It got louder and louder as I sat outside the Daily Grind on Main Street and started bobbing my head up and down.
The first time, it was a Sunday morning, and inside the coffee shop was a crowd of people who’d just gotten out of church. It was the usual Front Royal Sunday: some clean, mostly nice and polite folks, neatly dressed. Here and there you’d see a teenage girl wearing a frontier dress and looking like she’d never spoken a single word in her life. Of course maybe that’s just me reading into it, but that was why I looked for a seat outside, and that’s when I heard it, as the rusty brown Pontiac GTO got closer and closer:
Can we drop the bomb on the south-east crew?
Drop the bomb, drop the bomb
Now south-east crew, now whatcha gonna do?
Drop the bomb, drop the bomb…
It was the sound of Trouble Funk, infiltrating a quiet Main Street morning. And the bomb they were singing about was not a weapon of mass destruction.
I see and hear the Pontiac GTO every now and then, and it’s always go-go blasting from it. Sometimes it’s Trouble Funk. Other times it’s Experience Unlimited or Chuck Brown, the Godfather of Go-Go. But whatever the song, I always feel a little bit less lost when I hear it coming, and it always makes my day.