Music in Ocean Park

Last night I took my son and our babysitter for an evening of Boston Pops, Branford Marsalis, and Natalie, all performing in Ocean Park. The music was middling, although Branford Marsalis was the best part of the show. What was so enjoyable about the night was being able to sit in this gracious park on our blankets, feasting on a picnic of fried chicken and shrimp cocktail, as the sun traversed the sky, headed westward.

Ocean Park, nothing more than an expanse of grass, buffeted by homes around the perimeter and the ocean on the east, is what Griffith Park could never be. It is the place where children and adults fly kites, where families gather for a game of whiffle ball, where teenagers break into teams for tag football, where people sit on the grass enjoying just being still, where everyone is welcome. No one claims the park as their own, even the home owners whose houses line the perimeter. Those without money, those with money, those with homes, those without, all come to this park on a windy day to watch the sky decorated by the flutter of kites. Unlike Griffith Park that seems relegated to those without--no home, no yard--Ocean Park is really the island's park. And in truth, its simplicity is what makes it so inviting. There are no elaborate jungle gyms, no baseball diamonds, no barbecue stands, no picnic tables, no designated soccer fields. It is simply an expanse of emerald colored grass, circular in design. Perhaps its simplicity is what invites so much creativity. Or perhaps it is in its openness is the invitation that propels all of us there to linger, to pass an afternoon.

The concert in the park last night was what the Hollywood Bowl, I imagine, had envisioned when it first came into existence. Any concerts in parks means blankets, beach chairs, wine coolers, picnics eaten outside, seating just a scramble on the expanse of lawn, the music really just a backdrop to an evening spent with friends in the open air, the stars the main attraction. The Bowl, with its "boxes" and those horribly uncomfortable benches, took this ritual of summer concerts and created a hierarchy, again designating those who have and those who do not. And this arena is what constitutes for concerts in the park in LA.

The music was not spectacular. Natalie Cole trotted out her mawkish 'duet' of "Unforgettable" with the eery black and white video of her father playing on the large screens. What was unforgettable about the evening were the large numbers of people standing outside the gates, placed around the park for the event, enjoying the music despite not having purchased tickets. For those homeowners, whose houses ring the park, they sat outside on their porches, sipping wine, listening to the music coming from the stage.

My son exclaimed, "This is so much fun," as he tore into his third piece of fried chicken. For him, the music was secondary to the whole experience of being in the park at night. The only part of the show that got him excited was the song I described as mawkish. He thought it great that Natalie Cole sang with her dead dad. The evening was capped off with a surprise appearance of Carly Simon with her son, singing a duet of a song she had written about the Vineyard. The three of us walked back to the car, the drift of music fading as we made our way through town towards our car, the evening a success for the other reasons other than the music.