Thanks Dad

Matthew Covey Issue: Section:

One cold winter Minnesota night when I was probably five or six, my father woke me in the middle of the night, bundled me up in my pajamas and a parka, put me in the back of our blue Plymouth Valiant, and drove his sleepy little boy over to  the Carleton College chapel. He whisked me up the back stairs to the balcony and we took seats behind a man working an amazing space-age console covered with lights and nobs (which I later learned was a mixing board). I remember that below on the stage an incredibly loud band played under incredibly bright lights. I have a vague recollection that the leader was playing a horn, but mostly I was dumbfounded by the spectacle of the scene. This is the first concert I remember. 

Fast forward... a couple of years ago I mentioned to my dad that I was working on a Hugh Masekela tour, and he said, do you remember when we went to see his concert... 

I saw Masekela last night at the South African Arts Fest in L.A. (where he was introduced by his son). I feel so lucky to have had a second chance to see this legend. And I feel even luckier to have a dad who introduced me to such great music.

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