Bingo!

Kody Norris and Aspen Run Bluegrass at Darlington, Maryland on 17 December 2011

17 December 2011 - Darlington, Maryland

Herb Martin thinks I'm heading up north to do some work for him. Take some pictures, schmooze with the band, maybe write something. I'm really just slumming on a late Saturday afternoon. Odd thing is, I'm listening to Puccini's Madama Butterfly live from the Met on WETA-FM while on my way to listen to a whole evening of Beer-drinking music at a VFW Post I've never been to in my life. I love Puccini. I love these roads to nowhere, somewhere in central Maryland. It's all Herb's fault. He gets me into these things. "You oughta come up to so-and-so on such-and-such a date" he tells me. I immediately get on Google and try to figure out where these places are. Us slummers are lost five miles outside the Beltway. I knew I'd made a wrong turn somewhere going through Belair. Eight miles later I found a country road which would take me directly north to Darlington, which isn't even on any of the printed or internet mapping systems. All I had to go by was a print-out of an intersection and the VFW Post was supposed to be near the intersection. It was getting really dark around 5:00 pm.

It's all part of the adventure of being in new surroundings. I don't even know if people use the word "slumming" anymore. It means having a snob attitude about yourself, and leaning away from the finer pursuits of life and going lower than your status to enjoy something more "common." I really like Opera, but you're not allowed to get up and dance during any part of it. There's little in Opera that makes you want to get drunk and leave your wife, or else kill your wife's sweetheart. For that you need to listen to Jimmy Martin. That's why I'm on this latest quest to spend an evening in what is basically a country Beer-Joint with Herb Martin and his boys Herb Martin III, Aaron Martin, and Clayton Martin. Let me mention two other important people who are key to this: Steve Unkart and Kody Norris. I'm not about to kill my wife or shoot the guy who's fooling around with her. I'm just escaping Puccini for a little while to listen to something a hell of a lot more relevent than some rat of a U.S. Navy Officer who dumps his girlfriend in feudal Japan. Steve Unkart, who has to be a Jimmy Martin clone can handle my sense of entertainment for the evening.

I got there early even if I went out of my way. My cheap compass got me there, right where I was supposed to be. The Darlington Post was definitely in nowhere. I went inside and made sure everyone in the bar knew I was a veteran and also a member of the VFW. I might like Opera and the finer things in life, but damn it, I also served my country. I hate bars. Everyone gives you "The Look" when you open the door. I made sure I had my Third Marine Division pin on too, in case there were any Marines in the place who wanted to come up and slap me on the back and shake hands. The Army guys don't do this when they meet. The whole thing is kind of creepy the way they don't acknowledge each other. They won't even buy you a drink. So I don't trust Army guys in places like this. Dean Ashley did walk up and welcomed me to the Post and he introduced himself. I told him I liked bluegrass and was here to see the band. His eyes lit up. He launched into a monologue about the Post's music program, the crowd that hangs out there, and some of the name-bands that have played there. OK, I thought, I'm beginning to be impressed.

Near six-o'clock others started coming through the door to enjoy the early dinner of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans and corn bread. A nice bunch of people. Salt of the Earth-types out for a Saturday night of music and dancing. A few people came in that I'd met previously in Stewartstown, Pennsylvania. Another couple grabbed me and told me all about the bluegrass scene that is alive and well up here in the middle of nowhere, and who was playing where, and are you going to this-and-that festival? It was all a prelude to a night of experiencing Aspen Run Bluegrass. And pretty soon they were coming through the door like the opening scene in Act III, Scene 5, of der Meistersinger. Kody Norris was supposed to be with them but I didn't see him immediately. I thought maybe there had been a change in the plans. Aspen Run was just a tad bit late arriving, but that was OK because the audience was still filing in too, and asking if there was any meatloaf left. They looked outstanding in their red coats, trade-mark cowboy hats, and white boots. Herb Martin, the patriarch of the Martin Clan nodded a hello and got to work setting up the equipment. I had set my cameras and gear up long before they arrived and thought I was in perfect proximity for what I wanted to do. I was in for a surprise.

There was some crowd noise towards the back and I turned to see Kody Norris appear as if he was stepping into Akhnaten, by Philip Glass. The coronation scene in Act I came to mind. Kody, young, baby-faced, and cock-sure of himself, marched in with his signature blue, Porter Wagoner-knock off, embroidered cowboy outfit with flame-red neckerchief. You have to ask yourself "What the hell is this?" until you see him do his thing. I've seen him before so I knew what to expect. He puts on a show and deserves to wear whatever he wants. The outfit is half-joke, all seriousness, as a tribute to all those great practitioners who taught him the tricks of putting on a good show for the paying customers. If you read his resume you'll be shocked at what this punk-kid has already accomplished in the Nashville circles. After some minor adjustments, Aspen Run and Kody Norris took off like a jet plane with their whole canon of Jimmy Martin, Stanley Brothers, and Bill Monroe numbers. The audience responded in kind with dancing all night and a lot of hooting and hollering and appreciative shouting.

There is a dynamic working here that becomes very apparent: Pretty Boy musician plays up against the locals and sometimes wins. Sometimes the locals win. The contest isn't really about competition but about how well they all sound together and the intricate statements they can make with a few stringed instruments and their individualized voices. Having seen their act before I knew what to expect. I knew their individual strengths. I was surprised on this particular evening by young Clayton Martin (mandolin) who's really got a beautiful voice that needs to be honed to perfection. Age and experience will do that. I was also pleasantly surprised that the group just seemed better than I've ever seen them in a performance. The proof was in the fact that they had the audience in the palms of their hands. There were so many requests coming in (shouted!) for Aspen Run favorites, that the band seemed a little overwhelmed by the appreciation. You can't play them all. You eventually have to quit and pack up your instruments and wipe the sweat off your brow. The finale was an 11-minute medley of favorites. Bingo!

My filming and photo work was useless. A huge glaring Bingo Board was in every shot. Every time the band got hot the dance floor got hotter and in my way. And then, I don't know why, but a continually flashing, glaring disco spotlight that flashed red, green, and blue ruined my camera lighting. I wanted Dean Ashley to turn the thing off. But I wasn't getting it. The audience was there to have fun on Saturday night and listen to their favorite music, drink some beers, and think back upon better times when we listened to this stuff on an old Philco Radio. It was great to see the crowd having a good time. They were having more fun than I've ever had at the Opera - and I have to dress up in Black Tie for that! I said the heck with it and joined the audience. There will be other opportunities to get the photo shots. A performance by Aspen Run is about having fun and appreciating the music.