Blogger for a Day: Musings on the Queen

Charlotte, the Bible belt buckle, where there’s no parking excepting Sunday, when if there is a church near, you can park. In the City of Churches, one is always near.

I spent my formative years here, minus a 12-month distraction that involved passing out in a puddle on a Chinatown street corner. I’ve tasted the finest bologna sandwich in town. I love this place. Of all the many places I’ve laid my head, here it has rested longest. I met the Creator here, and it wasn’t in a building called Church.

StockCar always says to me, "QC, there is nowhere finer, than Charlotte, North Caroliner." He’s right, of course. We be very much in the now here. This isn’t some futuristic and magically fabulous land like San Francisco. Neither are we living as far back as Mississippi, or our two slow friends to the south. And thank little baby Jesus we are not Florida. We hover over the mud pit in the tug of war of life. We are the zeitgeist, and that is awesome.

Like butter on your brain biscuit, soak it in.

People other than StockCar always say to me, "Bro, the music in this city sucks." They’re right, in a way. The drone that destroys their eardrums when they crush some Platinums before crushing some bunnies does, in fact, suck. Let me break it down for ya, brah.

You’re doing it wrong. Those electric blue cans are stupid and that is not beer in there. You are in a city with award winning breweries, and you drink the sweat off a Clydesdale’s nuts? Weird.

Further, you’re wookin po nub in all da wron pwaces, so sayeth the Great Gumby. If local music is what you seek, it’s here in abundance; don’t look in the EpiCentre, start with NoDa and Plaza Midwood.

That’s the thing with which I most struggle in this giant intersection of a city; the awesome stuff happening here is so underground that almost nobody knows about it. We spend a great deal of time looking outward for the next big thing to hit Charlotte, when we should be growing what we have here.

But there are some bright lights that get it, and maybe it’s just me, and I don’t quite have a grasp on what it means to be underground from Charlotte, being that I wasn’t born here. Perhaps, being that I am a carpetbagging Yankee interested only in profiting off my master plan to transform the underground arts scene into Charlotte’s identity as a city, I don’t know what I’m talking about. Maybe it’s that I’m not interested in self-serving liberalism, or weird solely for the sake of it.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it. This world needs the freaks and the dreamers, heck, I even know a guy who willingly calls himself a poet. Publicly.