In which I glare on behalf of Walla Walla
Today I was unlocking my bike from the rack outside the Patisserie and overheard two people chatting about the musical scene in Walla Walla. Or what they thought was the scene in WW. One — whom we’ll call PA for ‘pretentious arsehole’ — asked the other if Other was doing any music these days. He replied in the negative, and PA said, “Yeah, people around here just don’t appreciate good music.”
I turned and looked in a very Miss-Manners-ish way, not quite believing my ears. Have you heard our symphony? Have you been to the chamber music series? Hell, even the senior recitals around here are pretty good. And jazz at Merchants and Backstage has been good, and I’ve even heard a good fiddler in downtown playing for tips. Hence my look.
He continued: “And I think it’s a disservice to music to play what people want to hear instead of what is good.” Other said something I couldn’t understand; PA said, “All anyone wants around here is butt rock.”
This time when I turned and glared, I made sure he saw me. He had the grace to look uncomfortable and lower his voice. Arse.
I would bet good money that both these guys are Seattle-area transplants, not native or recent Walla Wallans. Sure, we leave potholes in our streets and have a century-old sewer and water system that no one wants to pay to upgrade, but dammit if we don’t like all kinds of music in Walla Walla. And gentlemen, it doesn’t take balls to come into a community and [wrongly] criticize it; it takes ignorance. Fuckers.