The Magic of Paul Cebar

It had been a hard week. Meeting friends at the Terrace to sit by the lake, drink beer, and listen to Paul Cebar and the Milwaukeeans seemed the perfect respite from—if not the cure for—what ailed me. And with four guys at the table, I was confident in my dance opportunities.

I fell in love with Paul Cebar’s enchanting cantos before I ever moved to Wisconsin, and his are among my favorite tunes to crank up on my iPod when I run. I hadn’t heard him in person for at least two years, so I crossed my fingers that the impending rain would hold off and the night would brighten in all possible ways.

The rain was held at bay, and the music started; but my hopes for dance partners were quickly dashed. The gay couple? Okay, they get a pass. But Rick & Craig were total poopy-butts. Not to be deterred, I joined the masses in the dance area, and lost myself moving to the rhythm and music. Then the little miracle of synchronicity occurred—there on the edge of the crowd was Michael, the man in whose Audi TT I first listened to the strains of a Paul Cebar CD in Austin, Texas almost five years ago.

Just the fact that he would spend huge bucks on a vehicle that is essentially a skateboard with a roof, says something about Michael. (To his credit, he did eventually trade it in for a Jeep.) Our… er… togetherness—you couldn’t really call it a relationship with a straight face—was something less than emotionally satisfying. But damn, we had some great adventures! We traveled well together—at least until we broke up in Cleveland—and we always shared a passion for music and dance. Even when we parted, it was with great warmth and respect. It was Michael’s sister who took me into her heart and home for my first experience of Madison that ultimately led to my move here.

As Michael and I swirled and twirled and stomped and glided, time and place disappeared and melded into the spell of sound and movement. We both commented that it took us back to the time we danced to this same music when Cebar & the Milwaukeeans appeared at a street festival in Winston-Salem. And when the sweat started pouring down, we were once again gyrating to the steamy sounds of JazzFest in New Orleans.

During breaks in the music we caught up on news. Michael moved in with his girlfriend and they’re hoping they can soon open a bar in Austin. His father died this summer. I gave updates on my family. Then the music resumed and we were dancing again.

Midnight is the same for Cinderellas everywhere. The music stops, and the magic recedes into the night. But as hugs were exchanged and good-byes said, the warmth and light of auld acquaintance and good memories brightened the darkness.