A festival is taking place ...

... today and tomorrow in Philadelphia's Italian Market, which is where I live. At the end of our street a bandstand has been set where one wannabe group after another has been rending the air with mostly unoriginal, but unquestionably loud, sounds. Interestingly, many years ago, fellow named Ernest Evans worked in the market as a chicken plucker. Later on, as Chubby Checker, he gave the world the Twist. (There have been lots of notables from South Philly, of course - Al Martino, Fabian, Frankie Avalon, Bobby Rydell, etc.. etc.) None of those I have heard today sounded to me as if they will end up giving the world anything in particular.
Given all the Mexicans who have moved into the neighborhood, it's too bad nobody put together a mariachi band. I like mariachi music. Which leads me to link to this piece by Richard Rodriguez that Dave Lull sent along: America's impure genius.
I'm not sure I entirely agree with what Rodriguez says. But I think this is definitely true:
The immigrant experience in the United States is profoundly different from that in Europe. For example, Arabs and North Africans in France confront a completed country and culture every day in the subway, on television, in a bakery or on the radio. France, like the rest of Europe, has a long-formed and finished culture that does not need them.
In the United States, we have a long tradition of immigrants being the very ones who forge the American identity. There was no identity here when the first immigrants arrived — except that of the Indian faces, which are now coming back. In this country, the immigrant, at least theoretically or mythically, has a possibility of adding to the country.
No immigrants, no Italian Market, for sure.

Update: In connection with this, this post by Roger Simon is worth pondering: Who's the racist?