Pete Seeger is Dead

28 January 2014

     Yesterday, not having seen the news yet, a friend mentioned Pete Seeger and I was going to make a joke about whether he was still alive or not. I didn't make the joke. Irony of ironies he died a few hours later and of course it was all over the news that another American Icon was dead at age 94. When I was a kid and television was new (there were only four TV sets within a two-block radius of the house I grew up in,) the McCarthy Army Hearings were front and center. A couple years after that  most everyone had a set in their homes. These grainy music videos would play in the afternoon (in black and white!) as sort of fillers between programs. Two of them were produced by The Weavers and we had to listen to "Good Night Irene" and "Tzena, Tzena. Tzena" endlessly along with snippets of Liberace. That was my first introduction to Pete Seeger. Then he disappeared. Just seemed to vanish in the 50's witch-hunts. He took the Fifth on admitting he was a communist. He admitted much later and only when it was safe, that he was indeed a communist. He sealed his fate for ever being hired again to work as an entertainer. But one wonders whether it was the communist affiliation or whether he just played lousy banjo? He took up the hootenanny circuit and sold pamphlets on how to play the banjo and entertain your friends. (the instructions never get beyond the ability to 'frail.' He made the comment publicly  that he invented frailing.) Then he sort of resurrected himself during the Folk era and the Vietnam Protests of the 60's.

     From then on, any and every liberal cause was his band-wagon du jour and the aging Old Left would haul him up on a stage to recount his battles with our tyrannous government. He was the Left's equivalent of the Right's 'knights of the limelight,'  Bob Hope, Adolphe Menjou, Ronald Reagan, and the Toastmaster General George Gessel. They were all dinosaurs of  The Big One and we who were slogging in the mud of Vietnam despised the Cheerleaders no matter what side of the fence the Cheerleaders were on. (They were Chicken Hawks - "It's a lovely war, and you boys go fight and die in it, but I'm too important to go die myself!')  To us, they were all guilty of promoting someone's propaganda. Sometimes the propaganda was merely stupid. Sometimes the propaganda was just stupid and hurtful. Seeger wrote a  few really good songs, even better when performed by the Byrds or others, but Seeger found his shtick in being the Lifetime Achievement Village Curmudgeon continually complaining about how the U.S. government screwed him in the 50's and he won't forget it. There was an interesting profile on Seeger recently on the PBS American Masters series. All the plaudits and nice comments came out upon news of his death. But the PBS show gives us another interesting glimpse into the Man. His almost paranoiac attitude toward authority, his refusal to acknowledge changing trends in his own version of  Folk music, and in nearly comedic terms, his battles with Bob Dylan at the infamous Newport Jazz Festival. What comes through loud and clear in the PBS program is an arrogant bitterness in the man. The egotism that's hard to deal with. The empty wind-bag with a messianic complex. Dylan was taking away Seeger's crown and the Boss didn't like it. Seeger got old. The shtick got boring and old. We all get old. He wrote a few good songs and helped sell a lot of banjos. Two of his biggest sellers were stolen from an old African American spiritual, the other one from the Bible. And he was quick to label anyone who didn't like his music as a Nazi. Pete Seeger is dead; but there are still plenty of entertainer/propagandists out there to take his place. 

Northern Connection - Another New Band Emerges

 Mark Seitz, T.J. Lundy, Steve Streett, and Frankie Short  

(Brian Eldreth on bass is left, and out of the frame.)

19 January 2014:

     Straight from Ed Henry's Dispatches from the Field: Congratulations to Frankie Short and Northern Connection. A day has passed and I have time to record a  few notes from yesterday's session with the Maryland Bluegrass Community at Jumbo Jimmy's Crab Shack in Port Deposit, Maryland. Odd how it's become my winter campaign headquarters for 2013-2014. I like it. I like the ambiance of camouflage ball-caps and cowboy boots mixed in with the smell of motorcycle fuel. I like to see families and extended families of  friends and neighbors celebrating birthday parties. Yesterday it was Joyce Miller's and Roger Williams' turn. Happy Birthday to Joyce and Roger! But the main event was the debut of  "Northern Connection" with Frankie Short,  Steve Streett,  Mark Seitz, Brian Eldreth, and  T.J. Lundy. One band goes down and another arises. This is basically a follow-up to the demise of  Baltimore Bluegrass, a group that called it quits in December, 2013. Frankie Short wanted to keep up the momentum so he quickly gathered four of  the most talented players in Maryland and launched Northern Connection. There is always a danger of  things going badly. There is always the danger of a polite, warm, reception; a few polite, warm hand-claps to acknowledge the presence of  the entertainers. After all, none of  them are strangers to this crowd at Jumbo Jimmy's and it's an even tougher nut to crack because the crowd at Jumbo's is Die-Hard bluegrass. They live on the raw energy of classic hillbilly music. If  they really appreciate what you're doing up in the playing area, they show their appreciation by crowding the dance floor with their exuberance. Yesterday afternoon and into the early evening the dance floor was packed - no room during a few wild fiddling sessions  with T.J. Lundy in high gear - especially in a long set of "Gold Rush."  The stand-out was Mark Seitz and his vocal work with Frankie Short. Mark plays mandolin and has a history of playing with Harold Tipton, Fastest Grass Alive, Keystone Bluegrass, and other bands. Toward the end of the evening, his daughter Keri Seitz joined the group for two vocal selections, "Cry, Cry Darlin'" and "Somehow tonight."  Steve Streett's father, John Streett, also joined in for a song, along with Bobby Lundy on bass. There were other musicians attending which gave credence to the debut as being something special for the Maryland bluegrass community, and it is something special.

     In December I started a "Calendar" (see other articles on this site.) of  traditional bluegrass and where to find it in Maryland. A few dates in January grew into numerous dates and the names of the active traditional bands performing into March and April. So far, the calendar mainly focuses on the bands in the Baltimore/eastern Maryland region and doesn't cover what's going on in western Maryland or the Pan Handle. When the festival season arrives there will be so many bands reporting in and I've already decided I can't list it all. I've already gotten way over a thousand hits on the calendar and it continues to increase. What does this tell me? Welcome back, Frankie Short and Northern Connection. There is plenty of playing space and audience for everybody. If  you're thinking of  forming a band and joining this august gathering of traditionalists,  here's the caveat; the challenge; you better be ready to satisfy a discerning audience that loves their traditional bluegrass and knows exactly what they want to hear. When you can get them all crowding the dance floor, well, you just won the Grand Prix. Nice work, Frankie, you get the Gold Medal for being a class-act.

Northern Connection returns to Jumbo Jimmy's Crab Shack at a later date. (check my on-line calendar.)

Northern Connection: Frankie Short (guitar and lead vocals) Mark Seitz (mandolin and vocals) Steve Streett (banjo and vocals) T.J. Lundy (fiddle) Brian Eldreth (bass).

"Remember Your Level"

 Tom Reeves, Dave Propst, Ethan Hughes, Todd Stotler, Darren Beachley, and George Osing

(11 January 2014 - Echoes Recording Studios, Sharpsburg, Md.)

11 January 2014

     On the road again. It's a horrible morning of torrential rain and fog  going over the mountains west of Frederick, Maryland. Why do people drive so slow in the left lane? I thought that was an Ohio driving trait. I'm wondering how much water I'll have in my basement when I get home. I'm also concentrating on the word gratitude and wondering how I get roped into these things in my life. This time last year I was in Asia handing out scholarship money to deserving students in the Mekong Delta and I had to turn right around and go right back with a film crew from the NBC Golf Channel. Bluegrass is only a past-time for me. Like Croquet or building model boats. I have to concentrate on gratitude constantly. Few people get to do what I do and I have yet to figure out what that is because it involves going down so many crazy roads. This morning it's going up and down the dense fog and rain-driven slopes of the Allegheny  Mountains. The gratitude part of my life grounds me and serves as an anchor. Driving to this insane bluegrass stuff gives me plenty of  time to think. At least it's incredibly warm for January.  It's so warm I can actually roll my windows down and get some fresh mountain air. Instead of putting Trappist monks in monasteries the church authorities should put them to work driving cross-country Big Rigs. They would have plenty of productive time to silently contemplate God's existence. Which reminds me of a dusty old book store I used to visit in Oakton, Virginia.

     The first thing you noticed about the store was the guy behind the counter. The most unhappy man I ever met. He was rather portly and bearded, and had a bald head fringed with unkempt, long gray hair pulled back in a pony-tail. The store is long-gone now; but at that point in time he looked like a vestige of the drugged-out 60's. The look of him would have frightened children. And he was nasty. Nasty to me, nasty to customers, nasty to anyone who had a question about anything in the store. All of this would have been weird enough. One wonders why he was even attempting to run a business dealing directly with the public. No. The weirdest part was a bluish-gray, aluminum-looking sign on the back wall and above his head which read  "Remember Your Level."  The letters were in bold Helvetica font. It was a statement he was making to the rest of the world of his superior nastiness. Before you deal with me you'd better read the sign above my head. The first time I saw it I laughed, because it fit him to a tee, but I also had a strange thought I'd seen it somewhere before, maybe in a bad dream. I only ever went into the store to search his collection of music books and sheet music. I decided I would make one last stop there and then never stop in again, but the sign still intrigued me. This sarcastic, "Up Yours" to the world made you stop and think about one's level in life, in a democracy where we're taught that everyone is equal. We all know the fallacy of that way of thinking. I couldn't resist it. I paid for the sheet music I needed and had to ask him,
"Say. You know I've seen that sign before but can't place it. Where did you get it?"
"Why?" he almost screamed at me.
"Well it certainly makes you stop and think." I said.
"Do you think it's funny?" he replied, almost snarling.
"Nope. Just asked you where you got it. Simple enough?"
" I ripped it off the wall of the Third Level of the Kennedy Center parking garage!" he snarled.
That's it. Found poetry. Found existentialism. A public reminder that we always have to remember our level no matter what kind of a situation we're in.

     I'm responding to a special invitation to once again, climb those life's levels of special experiences. Gratitude once more. Always focus on the gratitude. I got a midnight message to join Darren Beachley for a recording session in Sharpsburg, Maryland. To say that I fell out of my chair with surprise is an understatement.  There are levels in every artistic endeavor that have to be appreciated. I've always been appreciative of Darren Beachley's music. There is that level of superiority in everything he touches that the crazy, bitter, guy in the bookstore will never, ever understand. Darren was born with a naturally pure, beautiful tenor voice, a sense of humor, and a strong will to promote and use his inate gifts to promote his career. That he plays a mean guitar and Dobro only enhances the first talent - The Voice. Darren's musical accomplishments are well documented in the U.S. music scene.  There is no need for me to re-hash the known facts or the resume. The central entry in the resume is that he was once part of Doyle Lawson's Quicksilver group, cut a number of popular songs with Doyle, and gained national recognition from the touring aspect of his membership in Doyle's entourage. The odd thing for me is the fact that I was introduced to Darren's voice in an entirely different situation other than listening to a Doyle Lawson recording. Some years ago at a performance featuring Bill Yates and the Country Gentlemen Tribute Band, I picked up a CD and I've since worn it out listening to it. (The Country Gentlemen - Bill Yates and Friends, July, 2007). The song list includes "Little Bessie" and it's a duet by Darren Beachley and Dave Propst. The name Dave Propst is going to show up later in this story. Now that bluegrass is being picked apart and being treated like a lab animal in music departments in major universities and colleges for the Arts, this recording of  "Little Bessie" should be upheld as the quintessential bluegrass recording. The main reason is the flawless (and hauntingly beautiful) vocalization of Beachley and Propst, along with the simplistic line of the instrumentation. In introducing my less knowledgeable friends to bluegrass, after they've convinced me that they're serious about learning about it, I've given them copies of  "Little Bessie," and told them to go home and study what they're hearing. I'm never wrong in my teaching tactics. "Little Bessie" is just a sample of what's on the whole album.

     After the sad parting of  Mike Auldridge, Darren Beachley and The Legends of the Potomac drifted apart but Darren remained busy performing here in our region and abroad, and especially remained committed to his special high-calibre concert series in Brunswick, Maryland. Local hero that he is, we all knew what he was doing but the bluegrass world seemed fixed upon this sick fascination of  rumor-mongering about how far into obscurity Darren Beachley had sunk. The truth is, Darren was just simply getting on with his life as we all have to get on with our lives. Those of us who also respect his talent, also know that Darren wasn't remaining in some stage of creative stasis. After the "Legends" he really did quite well in expanding his listening audience and fan-base. He selectively and carefully did a 'pick-and-choose' of the people he wanted to perform with, and the places he wanted to play. The hard-core bluegrass bunch is a fickle crowd, but will always back their icons. Darren Beachley stayed at the top-of-the-mark of reputable artist/performers here in our region and further afield.

     Sharpsburg, Maryland - also known as Antietam. The names are interchangeable with Civil War buffs. The land around the small town reeks of  history. Sad history. Ironically it's also small, and quaint, and actually quite beautiful, even on this dismal January day. Every American citizen should be required to visit the Antietam Battlefield so they can get a handle on how many fellow citizens died here. I was the first to arrive at Todd Stotler's Echoes Recording Studio. It's situated on the very edge of the National Park land.
Todd Stotler and Darren Beachley have worked closely over the past several years. I wanted to get a run-down of the day's proceedings before the musicians arrived. Darren hadn't given me much information, and that's okay, because it was enough to know that Darren was in a production mode again, and whatever happened, it was going to be good. I knew Dave Propst was coming, but hadn't a clue who else would be there. For me, it was like old home week. At 11:00 am Tom Reeves, George Osing, Ethan Hughes, and Darren all came in like clock-work and got busy with little chit-chat and lots of instrument tuning. Two songs would be recorded in six hours of  allotted studio-time. Like a team-manager and team coach, Stotler and Beachley laid out the game-plan. The "Building a House" approach would be the game-plan for the day. Lay a foundation (Darren's guitar, melody, and vocals and Tom Reeves' bass-line) and then layer embellishments with Dave Propst's mandolin, George Osing's banjo and Ethan Hughes' dobro. Now here's the fun part - either an idiot with no leadership capabilities or a nazi martinet can throw your studio rental-time down a long, dark sewer. So my eyes were on Darren and Todd to see how this would play out. Let the games begin - and the winning finale was spectacular.

     In between takes I asked Darren what he was up to. (We're back to that "What's Darren Beachley up to?" question again.)  "I'm just going to float these two songs, eventually build up a final CD-full and go from there," he answered. I thought it was reasonable. Nothing profound in that. Meanwhile, Ethan Hughes, George Osing, Dave Propst, and Tom Reeves have darned-near become regulars with Darren when he's out performing in Darren's recent band configuration known as "Darren Beachley and Potomac." They're all relatively young and have a long stretch ahead of them of producing exceptional music. It was good to see them all that day melded into one purpose.  I  know all of them from other band configurations, and know the level of exceptional music they can make, and have made, at numerous live performances.

     Laying down a professional recording is a lot like the military. A lot of hurry-up and waiting. Go three feet and stop. A nurse in a doctor's office yelling "NEXT?"  It's tedious. There's nothing glitzy about it. There is a lot of  banter about covering up a mistake in live performance and feeling naked in front of a recording device. Some people can handle it. Most people haven't a clue. My bizarre thinking process is back in Viet Nam when I first experienced that combat is about killing each other. Not some video game. I had to decide real fast which level I was on. Here's Darren saying, "It's your turn." the unspoken question being, "Which level are you on?" We're all in the control room listening, evaluating, commenting, and also doing a lot of  laughing and smiling, not because it's hilarious, but because it all sounds so good when it's done professionally. The first song was "Dark Side of the Mountain" written by Paula Breedlove and Brad Davis. The second song was the old Stanley Brothers "Let Me Walk Lord by Your Side." The song choices are excellent. Darren is pleased with the proceedings. George Osing (banjo) had been sitting on the couch with me and Ethan Hughes. Earlier he asked us if we didn't mind if  he did "some doodling." He listened intently to the others while they were each recording and plunked really low-key on his banjo. When it was his turn in front of the mic he went into the attack and added his banjo lines.  Our jaws dropped. Not a word in the control booth. We all looked at each other. There was a ten-second pause before George asked if everything was okay. "Uh, yeah George, you're done," said Darren. George didn't know whether he meant "Hey George. You're fired!" or "Perfection George, no more takes." We all congratulated him when he came back in the Control Room. One of the big reasons why I love this music is you might only hear something once. Something so extraordinary you may never hear it again. It's done live and up front in a big auditorium or maybe some little tavern or bar downtown. Today it was taped for good and will become a part of something for future production. Darren Beachley was at the controls and Todd Stotler provided the right 'Ear' and tech know-how.

     "We won't leave here until everybody feels right and happy with what they've done," said Darren. Now that's saying something about a musician who knows what level he's on. There were a few short re-takes. Some tweaking here and there - nothing major. Two songs were in the can and ready for the application of Todd's magic.

     

    

               

I Know It When I See It

 Swindled!

January 1, 2014

I promised long ago I would never write about a bad band. It's not worth it. I'm invited to a lot of events to see and hear somebody's 'act.' I try to maintain a sense of decorum and objectivity about what I'm witnessing, or mostly what I've paid my own money to see.  This is the entertainment business. People are suitably entertained with entertainment forms that might not entertain me. I'm rankled when something is advertised as bluegrass and I come to find out what I'm witnessing has nothing to do with bluegrass. So call me Hard Core. I witnessed a band last night (they shall go un-named) at a place (which shall go un-named) because it wouldn't be fair to either the band or the venue to bring my sophomoric attempt at music criticism down upon either of them. The only thing I could think about while watching this debacle last night was Justice Potter Stewart's famous comment about trying to define pornography: "I know it when I see it." What I was watching and listening to didn't come anywhere near to the easiest definition of what constitutes bluegrass music. There were people up on stage with the right instruments but I've witnessed better musicianship (far better!) at local jams and house parties. The group played one song the whole set that came a tad close to being a "bluegrass" song. If I gave you the title, then people would figure out who the band is. I won't give the title of the song. I had enough and felt forced to get up and leave. It was too embarrassing. I had two distinct feelings rising up in my gullet: It was a slap in the face of bluegrass music and someone got suckered into paying these people to perform in public. A lot of other people got up and left, too, so I didn't feel so badly about voting with my feet.  Maybe they were bluegrass fans like me, or maybe like me, they weren't being entertained with this spectacle. Another reason I had to leave is because for the first time in my life since I've been going to bluegrass live performances I felt like booing these people. I could see our local headlines on New Year's Day:  "Crazed Vietnam Veteran Goes Berserk at Bad Bluegrass Performance!" Here's the part that really angered me: out of all the great local players I know who need to be on a stage sharing their gifts with the rest of the world and need the money, these inept, non-entertainer, non-musicians took their place and got the bread.

Nobody likes to be swindled.

In The Aftermath

 photo by Kristine King (2013) of  Toronto. (not for publication unless authorized by Kristine King)

1 January 2014

     I wasn't going to comment on anything throughout the holiday season except to mention the deep gratitude I feel toward the music community and those who support our music community. It's so easy to look back on a year and so easy to mumble platitudes about the next. Life is just a series of ups and downs, little sorrows and big ones. I wanted you to know that our conversation right before Christmas held great meaning to me as you and I travel the Emmaus Road toward personal happiness. In the end, all we can do is treasure the moment in the morning when we wake up and realize our hearts are still beating. The Christmas season and the days toward the New Year are times for us to quiet our frenetic lives and deeply contemplate our relationship with our Creator. Each year I try to simplify that process even more than the previous year. It  seriously helps that I have my Catholic faith. It's a process that works for this stumbler and I've tried to explain that. I just stumble along trying to find answers to all the great mysteries of life. I'm human and question all the world's evils that everyone else questions. I get angry like everyone else at all the injustices done to others (even within the framework of our own religion,) and I can also relish my life's joys of great, happy moments. I should concentrate more on those happy moments. They inevitably were brought to me through acts of caring, kindness, and unconditional love - all that is opposite of the negative forces of  hate and evil. My faith helps me to sort it all out. I didn't always like Christmas - even as a child. Mainly because I didn't understand any of its deeper implications. A child is born, brings a message of  Love into the world, and then is condemned to die for it and suffers a horrible death. Here's the really wild part - he's resurrected and lives for all time. I re-iterate: it works for me and maybe not others. That's their choice. For me? I hope I can use the lessons of the story as a way to live my life in 2014. Or just for today . . . there are no guarantees of a tomorrow. My prayers are always for you, Fellow-Traveler, as we face another day. The conversation has meant so much to me since we started it.