Wind Me Up: Savoring Go-Go's Regional Reach by Sheldon Taylor
Let’s go back. Way back. Back into time. A sea of young’ns groove to percussive drum sounds that go on forever. Chants and call-and-response pepper the air like gunshots. Rapid-fire handclaps and sexy gyrations keep time to the beat. It's a vibe and a syncopated ride that feels instinctively familiar. In my mind’s eye, I see women in Santeria white and pristine Sunday best catching the spirit in sweaty ciphers and church revivals. Now I’m toiling in southern cotton and tobacco fields where people endure hard times during the day and exhale in steamy juke joints at night. The music transports me to a world of lilting tropical rhythms and Trinidadian pan drums, delectable sights of winding beauties in Jamaican dancehalls. I soak up the excitement of packed Bronx park jams or Brooklyn block parties. Now I’m in Atlanta or NOLA bouncing to hypnotic beats. Back to life. Back to reality: it's ‘87 and I’m at the Capital Centre in Landover, Maryland and DC's Celebrity Hall. Her