Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

(This Saturday chapter brought to you by generous donations to the Tip Jar! Thank you especially Frank and Bill and Wendy! -ctan)

The first time I saw Ziggy that day was when I arrived at the venue with Carynne, who brought me over separate from the rest of everyone. He had a gaggle of Spanish-speaking press around him so I didn’t approach.

The venue was another space-age wonder. On the day sheet it had been listed as “Estacionamiento del Poliedro de Caracas.” I was under the impression that “estacionamiento” meant parking garage but I thought maybe I was wrong, or maybe Venezuelan Spanish didn’t use the same words as the mishmash of Castilian and Puerto Rican that I could normally make out. “Poliedro” was a mystery until our driver used the English: The Polyhedron. The name made sense as soon as I saw the place. The roof was polyhedral, one shallow slice of a geodesic dome. Groovy. So to speak.

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