Hardly Strictly

Hellman, after all, is the billionaire financier, venture capitalist and political heavyweight who tore up the Music Concourse in Golden Gate Park to build a parking lot for his monstrosity of a museum, just a short stroll away from the site of his Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival.

I had worked my way up to the front of the crowd, close enough to see the whites of Hellman's eyes when he introduced Emmylou. After the big hug, and after a couple of songs, I remembered that I really didn't enjoy her music that much either. So I wandered off in another direction, and ended up at the Rooster Stage listening to Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams, described in the festival's bios as "Hillbilly-Floyd, folk-pop and surreal Americana." They were a great act. Among other numbers, they did an audience-participation yodel song, a Who retrospective, and a rambunctious version of Dylan's "Gates of Eden." The guy on the electric slide mandolin really wailed. I also liked the young lady who played the accordion, and, occasionally, the cello.

Not once did Gandalf thank the great benefactor Hellman, but repeatedly thanked us for coming to hear a band we had never heard of before, while the rest of the world was off listening to Emmylou. They finished with a mummer's song, which they described as a Philadelphia New Years tradition to chase away evil spirits. The crowd gave them a huge ovation. I left feeling good.

But not for long. I joined the throngs of festival-goers waiting for Muni's 5-Fulton. One came by after a few minutes, with plenty of room for us, but whizzed by without stopping. Not a good sign. So I headed up to Balboa, to wait for the 31. The "nextmuni" sign claimed that a 31-Balboa would arrive in two minutes. Three minutes later the sign announced that a 31 would arrive in fifteen minutes. Inexplicably, an empty 5-Fulton drove by. So, I was off to Geary. An empty 2-Clement drove by. Finally, a 38-Geary pulled up, and I boarded the cattle car, through the back door of course. I got off at Divisadero. The "nextmuni" sign said that a 24-Divisadero would be by in just forty-two minutes. I walked down Divisadero, looking back over my shoulder for wayward buses. At McAllister, the "nextmuni" sign announced that a 24 would be by in just sixty minutes. So I walked home.

Maybe Warren Hellman could use some of his millions to fix Muni, in addition to throwing music festivals where they sing songs about poor folks.