The last time Tobacco Road was visited by so many Seminole Indians, it may have been a trading post on the river and the indians may have arrived by canoe. These days of course they drive like everyone else -- some of them down from Broward County, others from the middle of the Everglades. It was good to have them, and a good number of people showed up to take in the act.
If anyone was expecting tales of how the Great Spirit created the world or how the bobcat lost his tail, however, they were mistaken. Paul Buster and his cousin Andy had more down-to-earth tales to tell. Each in turn strummed his guitar as he delivered rambling monologs about growing up in the Everglades and about how it is to be there now. They delivered songs in the style of Delta blues and the Grand Old Opry, gently picking in the manner of some of the originators of these forms (were some of those old guys indians, I wondered?) and crooning words that were simple but powerful.
I was particularly struck by the repeated line, "It's Saturday night, and it's raining in the place where I'm at ..." I remembered driving home from Naples one late afternoon on US-41 when a thunderstorm swept over the 'Glades and created a booming gray tunnel for me to drive through, and I imagined the people, ancient and modern, over whom those storms have passed for centuries, sometimes with little to protect them.
One of Paul's stories was about the way drought acts to cleanse the Everglades. When the land dries, bacteria die, then are flushed away when the water returns. He visits this theme of renewal in his songs. The droughts even gave him his nickname. He used to visit the places where animals went to die, and his father began calling him "Cowbone."
Luckily, he has tapes and CD's available for those who missed this performance. For ordering info, follow the link above to his page.
- Steve Donachie