And you might have a point. But it's really, really hard to concentrate on stuff like that, what with Ferrer bouncing across the stage like a child half-crazed with glee. His raspy-smooth voice tells of heartbreak with authority. It's hard to ponder the authenticity of bassist Orlando Lopez 's killer cool and poise. Above and beyond the bursts of applause and the cheerfully dorky dancing, a sense of awe prevails.
People seem to hold their breath a little, astonished to know such beauty can exist.
In this crowd, you wouldn't find one person who'd call Ry Cooder a white imperialist. In the middle of his set, Ferrer, bathed in a soft spotlight, leans out to deliver one of his devastatingly romantic whispers. A woman who's been translating for her neighbors all night, takes a second to puzzle it out.