Stephen Kent

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It was a MOST unusual occasion. OK - so there I was, onstage at the Fillmore, blowing my heart out to a sea of writhing bodies. Except, this was no ordinary R'nR Fillmore crowd on a Saturday night. For a start it was 4pm on a Sunday and the sea of writhingness was a colorfully coordinated wall to wall covering of yoginis. Not a square foot of Fillmore floor space from the entrance to the long bar was free of downward facing dogginess, asana dreaming or wholesome healthy bodies digging the wall of sound I was producing along with a couple of other guys, Rara and Craig Kohland of Shaman's Dream , whom I had only met an hour beforehand. So, there I was grooving along to Janet Stone's yogic exhortations when I became aware of a mystery blonde, onstage to my left and far off in the outer reaches of my peripheral vision. She seemed to be fixated on me at that moment

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