As a young person I attended the First Baptist Church of Clarks Grove, Minnesota, where my namesake grandfather was the pastor at one time. In the 19th century before the big church was built, outdoor services and baptisms were held north of town at the Narrows of Geneva Lake. Times have changed. The beautiful oak wooded peninsula is now Harmony Park, a campground/outdoor music venue where neo-hippies gather to listen to music, laze in the sun watching the pelicans wheel across the sky, and smoke their herbs in peace. A few years ago I went out one beautiful Saturday afternoon to kickback and listen to Bela Fleck and the Flecktones. I looked at the gentle people smoking, drinking and dancing in the late afternoon sunshine and thought, "Damn, those old dead Baptists gotta be rolling in their graves". For them I threw in the Flecktone's bassist Victor Wooten playing Amazing Grace.
This is irritating as hell, the yuppies trying clap along with a improvised jazz piece. They couldn't clap on the backbeat on a bet. Why on God's green earth would they have the balls to think they know where Victor Wooten wants to go with this piece. All they can do is distract him and screw things up. He ranted.