Sunday, February 23, 2014

On to a Higher Calling





23 February 2014   "By Name I have Called You."

Hello My Friend!

     I realize I missed some important dates on my bluegrass calendar by being away in San Francisco. I actually tried to find some bluegrass while I was out there, but sadly, nothing compares to what exists (in spades!) in Maryland and Virginia. I keep trying to tell people it doesn't compute on the west coast, but people won't believe me. I checked in on the Northern California Bluegrass Association website to find out what was going on, and the site hadn't been updated in a year. The local site for San Francisco listed one band playing at a place called the Atlas Cafe. I would have one chance to catch a band that called itself "Hillbilly Robot." The name was enough to tell me I didn't want to see what they had to offer (advertised as bluegrass/Americana). I went on Youtube to see what they had posted, and was further convinced not to waste my money. The music was so obtuse it only deepened my suspicion that real bluegrass music out here is probably practiced by secret cults that meet behind locked doors. Nine days in California and the best music I heard was on the way out, and on the way back to Virginia on the Virgin America Airline playlists. Great! Ten hours of  flight time listening to "The Bakersfield Sound." with Merle Haggard, Vince Gill, and Buck Owens. When I was stationed at Twenty-nine Palms Marine Corps base in the 60's Bakersfield was not that far away and I knew that real country music was being produced there. We were told to stay away from Bakersfield unless we wanted to end up with our throats cut with a broken beer-bottle. Hearing that only added to the curiosity factor and so, I had an early taste of Bakersfield. And no regrets since Bakersfield is now in the annals of  musicological history.

     I set my bluegrass addiction aside. After all, the music business and music world, and the world that musicians inhabit, is, to put it simply,  a recreational pursuit. It's like golf or shooting pool. It's the way human beings are entertained in their spare-time. As long as hominids are willing to plunk down money to be entertained for a short period, there will be entertainers. Some of them actually acquire fame and great riches from the endeavor to make people happy. I feel mentally healthy enough to see where the guide-lines are in this pursuit of happiness. There are priorities in life. I don't think I truly understood it until the birth of our one-and-only grand daughter. She's the reason I had to put everything aside and fly out to San Francisco. She goes to a private school endorsed by the French school system, and my daughter-in-law had to make a trip to France to clear up some family business. Connie and I enjoyed the opportunity to go out for nine days and play guardian while she was off  for school vacation. As I stated, there are understandings and insights that come much later in life, and they smack you in the face like a true moment of epiphany. When I was a working guy in an office full of males, I used to roll my eyes when the men dug out pictures of their grandchildren and would exclaim, "Look at what he's doing!" or "Look at my grand daughter. Isn't she a doll?" Then they would caveat every exclamation with, "Oh yeah, right. You're not a grand father yet, Well, You Wait!" It was like being right out of boot camp and being called a boot again. We go through life in the 'continual boot status.' There's always somebody older and with more experience to bring us back down to humility.

     With that humility you begin to experience blessings. There are plenty of grand fathers (even in my own circle of friends and associates) who for whatever reason, are alienated from their children and grand children. A family squabble turns into divorce and court battles and an endless litany of misery. No family is immune. I've heard too many truly sad stories. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm the lucky one in this picture of societal breakdown. My grand daughter is now 8 years-old and it's been the greatest eight years of my adulthood. I've had time to experience all those joys the other grand fathers told me would happen. Of course I never believed any of  the stories; cynic that I am. There is another blessing I have to mention, too. I'm healthy enough to really enjoy hiking, horse-camp, and lots of outdoor activities as I watch her develop all the marvelous skills she has. It's also nice to know that she thinks I'm crazy. A sense of humor is mandatory in the Henry family, along with an artistic temperament.

     The world can stop tomorrow. I'm on a higher calling. I've been thinking for these past eight years that my whole life has just been Boot-Training for this period of my life when I can enjoy it with my grand daughter. I understand that my name was called the day I was born (as all of our names are called). Then in a second life the names of our grand children are called too, and we have to answer the call as grand parents. We begin to try and figure it all out. Life meanders on, sometimes blessed and not so blessed, and then new life enters to show us a new path of responsibilities, caring, and commitment to be the best that we can for our grand children. I've always referred to it as the "Second Set of Dreams." Just when we think we've had enough of this or that, God sends us a second chance through the beauty of the birth of our grand children. He gives us a second chance to take another look at life and make us realize that life is pretty good. I've been thinking a lot, too, of  my own grand father. He left me with wonderful memories of  learning to handle a rifle and fishing for long hours on the banks of the Allegheny River. Dad never took the time to do these things. My grand father taught me skills that paid off  later in the war in Vietnam. I want to leave good memories for my grand daughter. We have  to treasure every minute of  the Second Set of  Dreams. It's all in God's time and we can't waste any of  it on things that don't really matter in the final analysis.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

The Moveable Feast


 Tom Lyons - Dave Propst - Tom Reeves - Rick Miller - George Osing   - Blue Train

2 February 2014

     We're sitting in St. Luke's Catholic Church in McLean listening to Pianist Brian Ganz interpret six Mazurkas, a Ballade, a Nocturne and a Scherzo by Fryderyk Chopin. "If you have any requests throughout the program, please shout them out," he says, as he begins. He's serious; and several people speak up and the requests are fulfilled. This is the annual Birthday Recital for Chopin, sponsored by the Polish American Arts Association of Washington, D.C. The crowd is light compared to other years. Maybe because of  the Super Bowl. There is usually a well-provided dinner afterward of  Polish delicacies and desserts. I had to chuckle when Mr. Ganz asked for requests - sort of like a bluegrass show. It was all in good fun and the informative talk in between pieces was most appreciated - like gaining a few easy credits in a 200-level music appreciation class. It's easy to get into Chopin and his expression of emotion. Something deep there that's inexplicable except through the hands of a master on a grand piano. Something deeply Polish, too, that's also inexplicable, even though Chopin spent most of  his years in France. Brian Ganz remarked that it was due to Chopin's reliance upon Lydian mode, and then Ganz provided examples from various pieces. My mind wonders off to all the great times Connie and I have spent in Poland and having traveled among the Polish people. We'll be returning next year to see a region of  Poland we haven't explored yet. It's Sunday afternoon and I'm tired after a raucous night at the Dundalk VFW in Dundalk, Maryland. Blue Train played to a packed house and I would be slipping through a moveable feast of music that began with a performance by Marvin Ashby and High Octane on Friday night at the New Deal Cafe in Greenbelt, Maryland, moved on to Dundalk, and culminated with this afternoon's classical music recital.

     The New Deal Cafe was new to me, as was the Dundalk VFW. The two musical groups were not. A lot of my preferred bluegrass groups have played at the New Deal. They all warned me it's a hard place to find and it's not very big. Themed on the era of Roosevelt's New Deal  it's Lebanese and is one of those suburban "Community" places. Everything is "Community-themed" now ever since Starbuck's put in the first naugahyde  couch in one of  its coffee-shops. It's advertised as part of the new "Home away from home" movement. In other words, come here and pretend you're on the set of the Friends TV show. Have a wine or a coffee and make snide remarks. I wondered how Marve was going to go over in a place like this. There's a shallow sterility to the thematic presumption. Marve Ashby is a purveyor of  true Hillbilly music without any sense of parody of his musical sources. Experiencing a High Octane night is like lifting off for a trip to Mars. If  you can sit through Marve's cross-picking without flinching you should probably be listed as medically dead. When Robbie Benzing or Alby Lopez play,  if you yawn and decide you need to go to the men's room, you really should be seeking help for Low-T. I watch a crowd as much as I watch the performance. An older lady sitting next to me asked me what kind of instrument Alby was playing. I politely told her it was a mandolin. Alby had just explained a few minutes previously that  "This mandolin was once owned by Bill Monroe, and I'm real proud of it." (no acknowledgement). Things got decidedly more interesting when Marve asked for requests - here it comes - I knew it was either going to be "Rocky Top" or "Fox on the Run." OK, go for the third choice - "Man of Constant Sorrow." Big round of applause here. They'd all seen the movie. Much disappointment though when High Octane did it seriously in the Stanley style without any comedy bits. It was fantastic to hear it done right. After that a wild-child of a girl got up and started dancing near the amps. There really isn't anywhere to dance without banging into chairs and tables. She encouraged the guy she was with to join her. Pretty soon two or three others came up front. Marve, Alby,  Robbie, and Beardie Bassman smiled. Time for some Jimmy Martin. Time to get primitive and get the blood flowing in Suburbia. Towards the end, Beardie moved into the national anthem - "Freeborn Man" and the crowd went nuts and didn't want it to end. It's always great to see these guys winning hearts and minds among the GS- 9's and 10's and 11's. Greenbelt, Maryland isn't exactly Hillbilly Heaven. But they needed, and got, the High Octane learning experience. I'm sure it raised their expectations for the next time they happen to run into pure unadulterated West Virginia Mountain Music. And I'm sure they'll remember the good time they had on Friday night when they saw and heard some really great players.

     Saturday. Good, warm weather predicted. I think the birds are sounding louder in the morning.  One of  those days when everybody is outside walking around our neighborhood streets. I even see one or two nut-cases wearing shorts. Making a statement are you? Your legs look like they should be attached to a cadaver. I'm excited. Late this afternoon I have to leave for Baltimore for my first experience at the Dundalk VFW. Amazing that I've never been there. It's the Holy Grail of Maryland traditional bluegrass. My schedule never worked out right. Something always got in my way of a date with destiny at the Dundalk VFW. Everyone in Baltimore and beyond, practically everywhere in Maryland, if you're into bluegrass, knows about this place or at least talks about it. You get off I-95 and then begin creeping into the Age of  Throw-back. Growing up in areas like this. Where working guys established drinking joints after World War II and went to meetings and marched in parades in what we used to call "Funny Hats." (now that I'm a veteran myself, I understand!) Dundalk Avenue is a straight shot down to the docks and lined with Polish churches and Polish cemeteries. It's not hard to find and the parking is good.

     What a far cry from last night's experience of  'What's your GS-Level?' All VFW's and American Legion Posts smell the same and have the same 40's 50's decor of dark glued sawdust-board pseudo-wood paneling. It was cheap. It did the trick. But it's hell on us photographic-types and leaves nothing to the imagination. I'm thinking that maybe this is a good thing because it forces you to concentrate on the music, and the audience isn't there because of  the decor or the smell of  the place. The hard-core soon filed in after me. Old, grizzled veterans of bluegrass, not necessarily actual veterans. They staked out their tables and chairs and ordered their drinks and food. There was a nervousness among the members of Blue Train because only one or two of them had ever played here. It was getting close to starting time and more people piled in. Two more ten-seater banquet tables had to be set up. Kerry McErlean, Brenda Jackson, Cathy Peters, and Clarice Mitchell soon arrived. They are the unofficial vanguard of the Blue Train Fan Club. There was a heavy contingent of  Jumbo Jimmy's Crab Shack regulars. Dave Bageant, Doug Sims and Beverly Hatfield were on board to push the Fisher House 12-hour Marathon Jam coming up on the 22nd of this month. Definitely Old Home Week for the Maryland bluegrass scene and it got even more interesting as the night progressed. Blue Train was introducing some new songs. It was Brenda Jackson's Birthday and there was a marvelous Smith Island Cake provided by Kerry. Once the music started, what followed was one of the wildest nights so far in the short history of  Blue Train's conception. I had to remind myself that they actually played their first official gig at Goofy's (in Spring Grove, Pa.) on June 16th of 2013. Blue Train played the usual Stanley, Monroe, and Reno and Smiley favorites to show the Orthodox that they knew their bluegrass footing and core values. Blue Train is adding more interesting new material to stir up the mix and keep the crowd guessing. The only new number that didn't work for me personally, was "Mr. Bojangles." Everyone at our table agreed that it sounded flat and overly-done. Strange, because I used to really like it. The evening had a crescendo quality to it as more and more dancers decided it was time to get out of their seats and join the party on the huge dance space. I couldn't help but compare the two evenings. Friday night at the New Deal Cafe and now the venerable Grand-Daddy of Maryland traditional bluegrass, the Dundalk VFW. We were definitely having more fun in Dundalk. Sunday would be a day of rest to put on a suit and tie and listen to some Chopin.

     Brian Ganz  mesmerized the small audience at St Luke's Catholic Church in McLean with his Chopin renditions. If someone would've broken the mold and busted out dancing, the quietly contained crowd would have followed. All it takes is to have the music move you, and Monsieur Chopin certainly laid down the necessary, energetic tracks. After all, it's in the Polish DNA to have fun and express a sense of liberty within every Polish heart. It's the reason behind Nazi Germany banning his music. Everything in the Moveable Feast is linked like a double helix in a DNA strand, whether it's Chopin or Jimmy Martin or the amazing guitar-picking of  Marvin Ashby. I suspect that Brian Ganz would feel right at home playing Mazurkas at the Dundalk VFW.

Marvin Ashby


Marvin Ashby & High Octane:  Marvin Ashby - guitar and vocals,  Beardie Bass-Man - bass and vocals,  Robbie Benzing - banjo, and  Alby Lopez - mandolin and vocals.

Blue Train:  Dave Propst - mandolin,  Rick Miller - guitar,  George Osing - banjo,  Tom Reeves - bass, and  Tom Lyons - fiddle.