During fall break, I was lucky enough to fly home to visit my family—an upper class luxury I might add. With just 48 hours in Charlotte, my family kept me busy as always. One of the main items on the agenda was the Blues, Brews, and BBQ Festival situated in downtown Charlotte. With the monstrous building casting shadows on the tired cooks and the confused tourists and the sweating musicians, my family enjoyed the night. The food was fantastic, as was most of the music. What I noticed primarily, given my hyper conscious awareness from this class, was the people at the festival.
The attendees were fairly diverse, though most were of a seeming middle class. My family ran into a few friends with similar upbringings and also met a candidate for judge out working the vote. There were plenty of whites, and a good portion of blacks, especially once we had gotten to the concert stage. I was amazed by the 
power of music in bringing together so many different types of people. With the threat of exposing some misguided judgments and stereotypes, everyone from “white color suits,” to “redneck bikers,” to “youthful gangstas,” to “fiery women,” were present. Yet, the labels were off for just a minute. The attendees at the concert watched with a critical eye, applauding the bands they felt deserved to win the competition. They danced when the beat moved them and sang when prompted. All in all, it was an inspiring intercultural affair.
However, I was more concerned by the white appropriation of both the BBQ and the Blues music. The Festival, was run by whites, marketing a very white town, but using cultural traditions developed out of black soul culture. There was hardly a black BBQ cooking team in sight and only 1 black blues musician in the whole competition—fortunately for the contest, he was the front-man of the winning band. I came to think that especially working a travelling BBQ team like that is an expensive gig. The start-up capital has to be sizeable, not to mention the flexibility of time. Speaking generally and statistically, whites are tended towards the higher socioeconomic classes lending them more financial capital and leisure time. When considering the blues musicians, whites have come to appropriate the music as a sign of refined “taste.” Some upper middle class people study wine and others play the blues. My dad is one of the latter and therefore even I admit to appropriating blues music in my guitar playing style.
Some may try to question why should it matter that whites now find an affinity for blues music. Music, like everything else in their lives should be “color blind.” For me, I desire to understand the context of the musician’s song or of the food am I eating. I can definitely write my own blues songs, but will they have the same impact as a song steeped in the trials of slavery and oppression? Can I develop a recipe for pork rooted in the context of my forefathers? Can my $600 guitar ever suggest equity with a battered six string from John Lee Hooker? No. No. No. But maybe that is okay. Part of developing intercultural knowledge and competency is the sharing of cultural traditions and experiences. As long as African-Americans and Whites are sharing in the experience of blues music and BBQ cooking, camaraderie can be developed and the city a more wholesome place. But they cannot just be standing together. What I failed was to talk with my fellow concert goers about the blues and our affinity for it. With that in mind, I missed a great opportunity to harness an intercultural experience.
Reflections of an Urbanist 