A Rose Amidst the Thorns

An old farm is restored and refigured into an exceptional showcase for the arts in Berryville

     Every community produces an artistic landscape that is representative of the people who comprise that community. It takes dreamers. People who aren't afraid to lend a hand to celebrating the better part of our human nature. We celebrate human milestones of birth and death, weddings and harvests, pastoral milestones of plantings and reapings. When it's all well and good and further enhances and enriches the life of a community, we humans want to keep it as a part of who we are. We are quickly losing vast stretches of northern Virginia to suburban expansion and 'progress' and for me personally it's all very sad. Once known for breeding racing champions, fine livestock, and tons of grain that flowed on post-Civil War railroads to Alexandria and Baltimore, the edge of the Blue Ridge is now dotted with very conspicuous 'upscale' housing developments and ugly shopping centers. Moving out to these areas used to seem like a great idea, until one discovers that all your beltway neighbors have the same plan.

     These thoughts cross my mind as I reach a certain point on Route Seven past Purcellville. You start climbing one of the first ridges of the Blue Ridge foothills and once you reach the top and start down the other side,  you encounter a vista that any glitzy travel mag would love to have as next month's cover photo. What you are viewing is the Shenandoah Valley, rolling and green, and filled with herds of grazing cows. For me, the armchair military strategist, you understand immediately why this vast stretch of valley gained so much importance in the great Civil War. The area reeks of historical importance on many counts and for the record, no other local entity does a better job of explaining it than the relatively new Museum of the Shenandoah in Winchester. While the changes occur, the loss of who we were in the past excelerates and the agricultural market is being supplanted with wine economics, land speculation, and how to deal with the new demographics. I read a few years ago that Virginia had become the Number Four wine producer in the United States. Whether this is true or not, I don't know. I have no interest in the matter than to say that if it's bringing more money into our state then so much the better. Like any person of my age,  I cling to the past, that more civil period when spending time in the country or going to Uncle Bill's farm meant that there wasn't an admission fee or Dad didn't have to find just the right parking spot.

     It takes a courageous step forward to retain what we once had. My trip today is to find out how that's done. I've  been invited out to Berryville to meet with Cheryl Ash, the Executive Director of the Barns of Rose Hill Arts Center. I had met her the night Dry Mill Road was performing. She was busy with her husband Brian greeting the crowd and both were engaged in final preparations for the show, the wine bar, the catered Chili coming in from the Berryville Grill. I fell in love with the place as soon as I entered. An old dairy barn completely re-fashioned and up-graded for music and the arts or just about any other kind of occasion you could think of. Let your mind go wild with possibilities: art exhibits, music, music, music, or seminars on local history and culture. One visit to hear one of my favorite bluegrass bands (Dry Mill Road from Winchester,) wasn't enough. I asked Cheryl if I could come back and really make a full inspection of the place. Cheryl graciously accepted. It's a wonderful, crystal-clear fall day to leave the 'Burbs and head out to Clarke County. That in itself is enough of an enticement. Get away from the drudge and take a step back into time. There is so much to see on old Route Seven heading up into the mountains. And oh yeah, there are lots of new vineyards, local wine festivals, food-tastings, and all the trappings if you're in to that sort of thing. For the planners of the 'Barns' the dream to make the Barns of Rose Hill a central focal point for the arts in Clarke County started around 2004 and finally culminated in a grand opening in 2011. It took a lot of money, personal contributions, and promises of support. You have to believe that the steering committee, struggling through one of America's worst economic periods had faith in the future of Clarke County and the emergence of the geographical location of the western reaches of northern Virginia. It's all there: many small liberal arts institutions, beautiful scenery, an excellent climate, easy access to Martinsburg,  Harper's Ferry, Washington, D.C., Roanoke and points south, western Maryland and Pittsburgh. Nearby Winchester is booming with a population explosion.

     I have grown to respect the abundance of artistic talent in this region, too. Whether fiddler, singer, or the next great concert performer, emerging photographer or painter, I took a look around the Barns facility and recognized the possibilities of the place providing the proper venue to showcase what talent there is - and there is plenty of it, waiting for the chance.  A beautiful stage/musical area that can hold 200 customers. A huge art gallery downstairs in the old milking area that is very beautifully lit with natural sunlight on one side. Two more, smaller galleries and little nooks and crannies could serve as highlighted private showing spaces. My visit was also enriched by meeting up with Logan Van Meter, a native son of Berryville and recent MFA recipient (James Madison University). He currently serves as the Director of Berryville's Visitors Center which also has a home in the Barns facility. I could see his enthusiasm for his new position, and both he and Cheryl Ash provided me with an exciting view of the future programming at the Barns of Rose Hill. No rose-colored glasses here, they realize the depth of the challenge, the hard work it will take, and the money too, that will have to be raised to keep the Barns going as a viable Clarke County Showcase for the Arts. I appreciated the candor. An undertaking like this has to have a game-plan, a mission statement, and dedicated artists and customers to keep it going. It's been a year now since officially opening for business and already a full calendar of performances and presentations has been logged. The offerings have been fascinating and eclectic. There has been a string of sell-outs and lots of excited visitors and customers. I have a feeling though, the intent will be to show what's best about, and for, Clarke County and northwestern Virginia. We are a lucky and blessed community - as long as we can keep a check on the thorns of so-called progress and over-development. Go west and get away from it all. Start your day-trip in a little town called Berryville. Top it off with a night of entertainment at the Barns of Rose Hill.

www.barnsofrosehill.org
P.O. Box 738, Berryville, Va. 22611
(540) 955-2004

Easy to find, plenty of easy and free parking, good local restaurants, town-strolling can be a lot of fun and interesting. 

     

Vapid Landscapes

Dry Mill Road at Lost Rhino Brewing Company in Ashburn, Virginia.

3 October 2012:

Guys my age don't hang out in bars unless they've got a serious drinking problem, a serious loneliness problem, or a serious problem connecting with the opposite sex. It's the stuff of bluegrass music. Add prison-time, chain-gangs, and murdering your girlfriend and you've got the whole shooting match. Last night I found myself at the Lost Rhino Brewing Company in Ashburn, Virginia to catch up with Dry Mill Road, an up-and-coming bluegrass band from the Winchester area. I went mainly to see how an upwardly mobile crowd of suburban professionals would take to this kind of music. The band kicked off at 5:30 in the late afternoon, all part of Lost Rhino's jumpstart on its Oktoberfest activities. I kept asking myself: who's going to show up here on a week-day, 5:30 in the afternoon, and especially on the first night of the presidential debates? I got there at 4:00 and nobody was there. Around here, you plan to get a seat early, because Fairfax County and Loudoun County have the worst traffic tie-ups in the nation; maybe even worse than Bangkok or Manila.

Getting there and finding the place was the hard part. My google mapping wasn't much help. Thankfully, Rhino has some small blue and white signs posted along the way from Route 7 inward, into the morass of suburban sprawl which has engulfed what was once the pastoral landscape that was the basic maneuvering territory for Mosby, Jeb Stuart, and Bobby Lee. Very little of it is left. It's hard to believe that I used to bike out here when the WO&D bike trail was still a dirt path. I recognize nothing. Miles and miles of townhouse developments, strip malls, and strip-mall-one-story warehouse and office spaces in long red-brick lines. It's all called Ashburn Village, in honor of other imitation towns such as Kingstowne, Fairfax Village Center, and Dulles Town Center, and Reston Town Center. I applaud the non-creativity. There's usually no 'town' no 'village' or center to anything. Just another excuse to build a mall. Welcome to flim-flam marketing. On the news last week it was announced that Loudoun County is now the number one, richest county in our area. It's not hard to understand with this kind of out-of-control development. Well, as much as I hate the place, our local economy is booming and we have a lot of highly educated people employed by the high-tech companies that are driving Loudoun County's fortunes.

Customers started rolling in at 5:00. Lots of dockers and polo shirts and even some suits and ties. It's still a mystery to me why the American male can't get it straight: never wear brown shoes with a grey or black suit. Never wear black shoes with a brown suit or brown slacks. Same thing goes for the belt. Didn't their parents teach them better? All that money and . . .  I can't neglect describing the footwear. There were so many males and females wearing flip-flops I thought there must be a bath-house next door. Thank God cold weather is coming. I think of crazy things like this because I'm used to seeing lots of cowboy boots at most of the events I attend. I made a note about the flip-flops and then Sean Loomis and Douglas Ross (band members) showed up wearing cowboy boots. I began to feel like less of an intruder into this surreal painting. I decided to sit there and mind my own business as the crowd got bigger and the talk around me consisted of I-T, Weapons engineering, and other forms of Hi-Tech babble. Other than that, mixed with the alcohol-fed desire to score chicks, the central reason to be there was to drink beer and pretend you were in Bavaria celebrating Oktoberfest. I felt a lot of apprehension for the band. This was not your average bluegrass crowd. I wondered how they ever got the gig in the first place. I was in for an interesting evening.

This is not your average bluegrass band. I've even been questioned by my orthodox bluegrass friends as to why I enjoy them. What I admire in Dry Mill Road is their versatility and their total entertainment package. The longer they play a set the better they get as witnessed between two sets at this performance. The lukewarm, non-bluegrass crowd gently applauded after the first set. Sean Loomis was working hard for his money. The second set included their best material and the crowd started listening (well, mostly - luckily in the crowd were a small number of Dry Mill Road fans and friends to help center the attention, and I also ran into some other customers who at least knew a little bit about the music). On the second song of the second set a young female patron started screaming above the din of the crowd, "Play some Dead! Play some Dead!!" There was some applause. Ah Oh, I thought, here it comes. "Rocky Top" is next. Sean Loomis capitulated and did that song about 'the devil is a friend of mine' or whatever that Grateful Dead song is. Needless to say, I never followed Garcia and his ilk and I don't care. It worked in the band's favor. That over with, good riddance, the audience really came alive for the rest of the set. They were even asked to do two encore numbers. I have a feeling they'll be asked back to play. Maybe the crowd will give up shower slippers and start wearing cowboy boots. From traditional to new to doing their own songs, Dry Mill Road is a 'listening' experience. I'd rather experience them in a place where I can closely listen to what they are doing. The bass guy nevers gets any credit in bluegrass, Dave hurt on bass is one of the best in my book. There is no one real driver in Dry Mill Road. It's an equality of each member recognizing the other guy's talents. That's rare in a band that's been around for such a short time.

After a rough road tour they'll be back at the Barns at Rose Hill in Berryville on October 13th. Tickets are available on-line. Get them quick because the last time they played there they sold out in a short time. After last night's show they packed up immediately and headed for the Big Outer Banks Festival in North Carolina and some gigs in between. They're working hard for the money - and delivering. My reward for the evening was talking with a 30-something who sat near me and intently listened to every song. He turned to me and said, "This is really difficult stuff to play, isn't it? Maybe I should learn more about this kind of music." You got it, son. Another recruit for bluegrass music. Garcia could be heard rolling over in his grave.

Dry Mill Road:  Sean Loomis, guitar. Douglas Ross, mandolin. Robert Mabe, banjo. Dave Hurt, bass.

When it's Picking Time

Stoney Creek Bluegrass Band at the recent Pickin' in the Panhandle Festival in Martinsburg

 

12 September 2012: Home.

I do my best thinking in my garden. I can commune with the squirrels who are eating the last of my sunflowers. They think they're getting away with something. They don't know I've planted them for their benefit. I'm watching five or six huge pumpkins develop - going from the green phase to their bright pumpkin-orange Halloween phase. They remind me of the turning of the season. The loss of summer days and nights. I don't do well when the thermometer goes below 70. Most of my friends know I'm a hot weather, high humidity, sun-freak. It's Harvest-Time. Shine on Harvest moon for me and my Gal. This time also ushers in a whole new phase of bluegrass for me.  It ushers in a whole new phase for the local talent, too. It's the start of the local farms to mount weekends dedicated to selling their harvests. This weekend I'll be back up in Martinsburg covering the Orr's Farm "Farm and Fun Days." On Saturday, Patent Pending and Stoney Creek will be featured. Then on Sunday the Back Creek Valley Boys will be playing. I wish I could just set up a tent and stay there, but I don't think the property owners would appreciate it. In our own area several farms each year feature bluegrass music as part of their 'farm weekends.' All you have to do is check your local merchandising papers to find them - you know, those little local papers that mysteriously get thrown in your driveway. And of course the internet is a valuable search tool to find out what's happening in your local area. We've got so many going on here in northern Virginia and central Maryland that it's hard to make a choice. I research them all to see which band is playing where. I've come up with some amazing surprises. Bands I've wanted to hear but somehow the scheduling never worked out, sometimes show up in the most unlikely venues.

My friends are funny. They tell me things like, "You're always out there following bluegrass. I wish I could. How do you find this stuff?" Here's another good one: "I really like that music. Take me with you the next time!"  Several calls and e-mails later and it's obvious they weren't really that serious about the music. They come up with the flakiest excuses for staying in their easy chairs propped up with potato chips in front of a TV set - or worse yet, the ultimate degradation as far as I'm concerned, a golf-date with a couple fellow club members. Yeah, life's grand at that 19th hole. I'd rather be around live people who are trying to make a living growing things or stringing a banjo. I'll do more interesting networking at a farmers' market than my friend out on the links- and by the way, what are "links" anyhow? Just some more of that esoteric golf-speak. I can always slink into my own smugness by acknowledging that I at least understand the musical concepts of a Lester Flatt G-Run. At Orr's Market this weekend I'll have to conceal that kind of bluegrass snobbery. My buddies in the Back Creek Valley Boys Band won't stand for it.

There's no mystery about how I find this stuff. It's all around us here in the long shadow of the Blue Ridge foothills. Some of the most authentic musicians you'll ever hear are waiting for you to come out and spend some time with them between now and October 31st at any of the numerous local farms or farmers' markets.

Looking For Real: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Bluegrass

Ragged Edge - 2012 Band Competition Winners at Pickin' in the Panhandle Festival

 

9 September 2012: Near Martinsburg

First, I want to thank Jennifer Jensen and the good folks in charge of the Pickin' in the Panhandle Festival for inviting me to participate in this year's Festival at the annual bluegrass band competition. I was asked to be one of the judges. Exactly why, I'll never know. I pretend I can play the guitar. I like bluegrass music. If anything, I'm merely a gadfly on the bluegrass scene. Second, I want to thank the army of volunteers recruited by the Berkeley County-Martinsburg Convention and Visitors Bureau for all the hard work they did in handing out information and assisting 10,000 Festival-goers at the Lazy A Campground. 2012 was my first experience at this unique gathering and I was impressed. Not easy handling an invasion of people and vehicles into an off-the-beaten path muddy meadow in Back Creek Valley, West Virginia. It's all about boosterism and showing the best face Martinsburg has to offer for three days of fun and bluegrass music. Except for one short-lived storm, the weather cooperated nicely. There are only two reasons for this sort of event: bring outside money into the local economy and give the people all the bluegrass music they can possibly stand. At the rate of exchange for the full weekend price, it was quite a good deal indeed.

Four bands showed up for the contest and the competition took place at "The Mountaineer Stage" (there were three stages in all, going full blast with continual music). We the judges got our marching orders and instructions and waited for a horrendous downpour of rain to stop before the contest started. The bands, (mostly young kids,) waited nervously to go on stage. It gave me time to think about what we were supposed to be looking for in the next generation of  'grassers.' There was a $500 top prize and a chance to appear on the Main Stage of next year's festival. I looked at the ballot sheet and agreed that all the qualifications and voting parameters were those that I had thought about on my way to the festival. They all basically boiled down to proficiency and entertainment value. An interesting question was "appearance." In other words, how well does the entrant "suit up and show up." The obviously better band, "Ragged Edge," won the contest hands down over the competition, but I'd also like to give a plug for "Second Generation" which was my 2nd choice for best band. My reasoning in the end is pretty simple. These two groups understood the music. Understood the accepted form. They also understood the 'suiting up and showing up' part of the equation. Sandra Sponaugle, the contest director, afterward told the audience that none of the bands had ever made any paid, professional appearances. A church gig here, an open-mic there, but nothing like this kind of huge public exposure. She kept that information from us so we could retain some objectivity in our choices. I wish the winners well, and hope to see "Ragged Edge" and "Second Generation" down the road somewhere. As for the other two groups, keep pushing. Keep practicing. There's plenty of room for everybody on the Great Stage of this style of music, but only the dedicated few really gain any kind of recognition. That part of the festival over I enjoyed the rest of what Pickin' in the panhandle had to offer, mainly, bluegrass music till you drop.

The contest left me with a lot to mull over in my mind. The old question comes back. Even us judges got into a conversation over it. What exactly is bluegrass? What form should it take? Are there rules, taboos, norms? Who are we to judge some amateur kid's take on what the music is supposed to sound like, what should the music evoke in the listener? What's the musical or entertainment merit? I have to mention one band at the festival and not by name. I tried to figure out what they basically were about. A comedy act?  A joke? A bad stereotype of the classic hillbilly image? A friend of mine gave me a side-glance and said, "Some people like this kind of stuff." I had to walk away from it and fast; especially when some of their friends started asking me a bunch of questions and tried to engage me in conversation. There were too many better bands and I didn't want to waste my time. "Some people like this kind of stuff" is a statement that encourages bad behavior, unprofessionalism, and a nose-thumb to those who are serious about their music and giving the audience their money's worth. The seriously dedicated young kids will win the battle. Not the band I'm referring to.

You pay your money and hoped to be entertained. Two groups (beyond the bands I'm already familiar with) made my whole weekend. I have to mention "Highland Grass" and "Stoney Creek." Joe and Donna Winebrenner (Highland Grass) blew me away with their high lonesome vocalizing. Donna has somehow captured that late 40's, early 50's style of so long ago. She has, the band has, that style that every  western 'Cow-girl group' is trying to attain. Very few can do it - that is, take you right back to the old radio stuff that's lost except for saved recordings. The proof is in the fact that an audience won't let you leave the stage when your time is up. Stoney Creek is another very traditional group with heavy gospel leanings and great vocalizing talents. They've recently won national awards for their latest gospel CD. For every bad experience of a band that doesn't deserve precious stage space bluegrass continues to show the better side of the business with groups such as Highland Grass and Stoney Creek. This is what you pay your money to experience.

Decent Folk

Aspen Run at Goofy's in Spring Grove, Pa. (Sept 2, 2012 - Photo by Ed Henry)

2 September 2012 - Spring Grove, Pa.

It's election year. I'm tired of it all. The negativism, the mud-slinging, the pandering to special interests, and each party (we have only two in this country) trying to bait each other into petty arguments that have nothing to do with the specific problems our country is facing. I live in the DC Burbs. We get a full 24-hour helping of this political garbage daily just because of our geo-location so close to the center of what I like to refer to as "The Great Chinese Magic Show." You've seen the act: a guy appears in a silk robe and starts spinning plates on a stick. It usually ends in a puff of smoke produced by a hidden bag of black powder. Lots of oo's and ahh's and then applause. Then endless commentary from the Talking Heads as to whether he spun the plates in the right direction, or whether there was enough smoke to cover his exit.

Labor Day Weekend was a good excuse to escape it all and travel beyond the Beltway where the Decent Folk gather to celebrate the end of summer. As I traveled northward I could see families enjoying themselves in their back or front yards with barbeque grills and coolers. The local farmers were out on the roadsides selling the last of their corn crop. Here and there a Romney sign stuck in the ground near a mailbox. This is beautiful country between Baltimore, Maryland and York, Pennsylvania. If any painters or photographers are reading this, I highly recommend you travel through it and capture the images before we lose them. If you're a 'burbanite like me, you don't have to travel far to spend some time with the Decent Folk. You don't have to listen to boring campaign speeches or hours of propaganda. The decent people just want to make a living, protect what they have, and exercise their liberties. As I drove the last four miles of the trip to Spring Grove (up a big hill, down a big hill,) I had quiet time to ponder these things. You might be wondering what any of this has to do with bluegrass music. For me, it has everything to do with bluegrass music - and the people who gather to enjoy it.

I was pleasantly shocked to enter Goofy's and see that the place was filling up an hour before Aspen Run was due to appear. Good sign, this. The Decent Folk chose this as their Labor Day Get-away for entertainment. I'm used to every venue within the confines of the Beltway competing for the entertainment dollar. All around me this weekend were some of the best bluegrass festivals you can imagine, if you are a follower of the schedules like I am. When you've got the money and the time, it can be a hard choice. I prefer bluegrass up-front and personal, which is another reason why I find myself ending up at Goofy's. What makes it the great space it is, is the audience of die-hard bluegrass fans who regularly show up to support the music and the venue. They're just decent people who are out for a good time away from the sameness of their lives - even if it is a holiday weekend.

Aspen Run epitomizes the kind of entertainment the Decent Folk are looking for. If you're questioning why I have the nerve to make such a statement, you should join us sometime and find out for yourself. Ask the fans. They'll tell you what decent folks the Martin Boys are. They'll tell you what a hard-driver Herb Martin is with his three sons. The drive is to do better, grow in the business, take care of the family. No grandiosity here. Just make every appearance better than the last one and maintain a sense of humor. There is a kind honesty in Aspen Run that is hard to manufacture. You don't manufacture it at all if you're to succeed in the entertainment business. You either maintain honesty or you don't. There is nothing more naked than an open stage occupied by a string band that is lying to the audience. The Decent Folk won't pay their money to see it.

Interesting Winchester

Dry Mill Road:  Douglas Ross, Sean Loomis, David Hurt, and Robert Mabe.

19 August 2011: Winchester, Virgina

Let me make the statement now and get it over with so there's no confusion. I'm a die-hard conservative right-wing lover of old-style hillbilly music. If it ain't High and Lonesome or smacking of Jimmy Martin I'm usually not listening to it. With millions of musical options available today I always go back to the old guys for my listening pleasure. There's a purity akin to listening to Gregorian Chant as opposed to listening to an overly produced 19th century opera. The ideas are the same, produced in different ways or in a different direction: the expression of human emotions or maybe those values and norms we classify as "human." Love, tragedy, sadness, loss, remembrance, happiness, the stuff of art, poetry, and music. What I love about bluegrass is the possibility of what can be wrought from a few simple stringed instruments and the human voice. Human emotion and musicality adds the finishing touches. Deeper than that is the raging argument about what constitutes bluegrass, what exactly "is" bluegrass, and is somebody really playing bluegrass music or not? I've always tried to be libertarian in my musical tastes. If it sounds good to me and I can appreciate how it's done then I'll listen to it, possibly buy it so I can keep listening to it more, or pay to see the artist who's producing it. I drift back (always) to those classic greats who set the stage for the evolution of today's bluegrass. I am sometimes not happy with the form that seems to be developing west of the Mississippi, but that's just me. What evolves will evolve and the musical tastes and choices of tomorrow's bluegrass fans will be registered in concert ticket sales and the sale of recorded music.

I get into these crazy thoughts while I'm sitting here at Piccadilly's Pub and Brew House in Winchester. The Pub's owner Dale Massey and local guitarist Sean Loomis (Dry Mill Road Bluegrass Band) decided to stage a bluegrass extravaganza of sorts for a lazy Sunday afternoon. Thus "Bluegrass On the Boat" was born on 19 August, 2012. Four bands, six solid hours of music played by local artists, and no cover charge. Dale Massey makes no bones about the intent: pure marketing to bring in business to his establishment and downtown Winchester. The venue is unique: a huge courtyard between his place and the historic Washington Hotel in the midst of the trendy downtown area. There was plenty of easy parking and the site was easy to find. Just look for a huge fiber-glass boat hull installed on a mound of sand. The boat serves as a natural stage for the entertainment. On this day Shenandoah Sound provided the excellent sound-work. A sound company can make or break a show. The show was interrupted for 40 minutes by a late afternoon shower. That's when you see a sound company fly into action, and just as quickly, set up again so the entertainment can continue.

Nationally recognized singer/songwriter Dave Via opened the show followed by Dry Mill Road, Chester River Runoff, and Circa Blue. I found out later Sean Loomis had a lot to do with the band choices and the management of the afternoon's entertainment. I can't help but think that if there was any intent other than providing a great afternoon of entertainment, it was a show-case for what the younger guys were producing in the Winchester area. No old guys here. Call it the "afternoon of pleasant surprise." But even the worst of the hard-core (Me) had to laugh and smile a lot for six hours of catching glimpses of Prokofiev, David Byrne, Led Zeppelin, and The Stanleys. Are you musically adept enough to pull it off and make a bluegrass crowd get 'into it?' None of the bands had any problems keeping the crowd excited about what they were hearing.

 This was no slack list of people hired on the quick. All the bands are working constantly and popular in the tri-state area of West Virginia, Maryland, and Virginia. Steve Harris and Circa Blue left the Gettysburg Festival just in time to play at the Winchester show. Chester River Runoff drove all the way from the Chestertown area of Maryland. Marc Dykeman and Patrick McAvinue of Chester River Runoff carry impressive academic music credentials. David Via is an award-winning songwriter. It made me feel proud that I didn't see a lot of old faces in the crowd or up on the Boat. I was looking at the next generation of grassers; the next crop of musicians who were going to carry on the tradition. Dale Massey, owner of the venue is just as important because he let it happen in his house and for that I thank him for supporting the music. And next time, I hope more people my age will come out and support what Sean and Dale are up to. Local music is a reflection of a local community as much as the individuals who make up that community. There is more than beer brewing between Winchester and Martinsburg. People like Sean Loomis, Steve Harris, and Ike Jordan (of the Bluegrass Music Alliance of Martinsburg) are moving and shaking up the bluegrass scene. Keep an eye on them, friends!

Amaze Me!

Mid-August, 2012

You can feel it ever so slightly in the air. Even the hours are getting shorter. We've turned the corner on one of the hottest summers ever. Sometimes the temps were hotter here than in Viet Nam, and I'd laugh when people would tell me, "Hey. Isn't Viet Nam a really hot place? I don't want to go to that place!" Well, everything's relative. The mornings and evenings are definitely cooler. Today I opened the windows and let in some fresh air. I picked another whole bucket of green beans and I'll get another bucket of them before the vines finally give out. Oh yeah, we still have lots of hot days to contend with, but for all intents and purposes, Summer is gone. My pumpkin crop is already taking on an orange tinge. As I examined them last night, I thought about how the stores will soon be stocking up on Halloween goo-gahs. Last year I saw my first Christmas-oriented TV advertisement on October 6th (Lindt Chocolates). I was so shocked I made a diary-entry so I wouldn't forget it. I live a life amazed. People get angry about such blatant materialistic marketing, but hey - it's job security for somebody in this frightening economy. If you want to be frightened, you should be following the presidential election more closely. Turn off The Bachelor and The Bachelorette and read a book. Your brain cells will say thank you.

I was telling a friend the other day that I want to live a life in constant motion. My dad died sitting in a chair doing nothing (heart attack, dead in six seconds). I promised myself I didn't want to go out that way. I chose a career in the travel business and never looked back. I was very fortunate and saw most everything I ever wanted to experience in Asia, and made more than a few trips to Europe. I was never happy unless I was sitting in an airport or train station calculating my next move and constantly looking at my passport to make sure I had the right papers. "Go Light, Go Fast, Move in, Kill 'em all, and Leave." the old Marine Corps mantra became my guideline for moving about anywhere I wanted to. (Except for the Killing-part!) Those crazy Marines - always a sense of humor! I lived a life of constant amazement. I still get a kick out of flying over Southeast Asia and picking out all the rivers I can recognise from 20,000 feet. Mountain ranges so green it doesn't look real. The muddy Mekong. The rice paddies of Viet Nam and the thousands of kilometers of white beaches. Even in the midst of such revelry I'm thinking about the time I wasted which could have been put to good use writing a novel or learning Korean. Why? Just because the mind is a terrible thing to waste. The 20th and 21st Centuries should go down in history books as The Great Age of Distraction; wherein nothing happened except that modern man wasted years and years in doing nothing. And boredom became the life-style, the great battle cry among the sedentary. I have no time for people who tell me they are tired or bored. Not when EVERYONE has the ability to change the way they approach life.

Meadowlark Park Botanical Garden, Fairfax County - The Korean Section

Being not bored requires an attitude of human engagement. Last weekend Connie and I decided at the drop of a hat to visit one of our local (and absolutely excellent) botanical parks just a few miles away from home. At first I didn't want to go, but I'm glad I did. What a marvelous side-adventure on a beautifully mild summer day. This park is special because it has a newly established Korean section with the central artifact being a huge, Korean temple bell and pavilion. When you see it, you think you're entering a park in Seoul. On this day, somebody in Park attire was addressing a group of folks near the bell. I said to Connie, "I'm going to sneak a listen to see if this guy knows anything about Korea."  His name is Keith Thomlinson, I found out later he's the Park Manager. He had some very interesting things to say, and when the group left Keith and I talked for another hour about his job, his responsibilities, his trials and tribulations in managing one of the best public spaces in Fairfax County, and especially, his desire to go to the Republic of Korea soon so he can more fully appreciate the Korean architecture that is a part of his Park. I learned a lot - saw our Park Department in a different way. Enjoying the rest of the day in the park was just additional icing on the cake. We learn nothing if we don't ask questions, don't engage. We may as well waste our time at the mall or just sit in a chair. I don't ever want to die that way.

Almost Heaven . . .

11 August 2012 - at the Berkeley County Youth Fair in Martinsburg, W. Va.

The Back Creek Valley Boys pose with Alicia Pownall

It's the toughest place to play this kind of music. There's a rock and roll show blaring from a covered pavilion to the left. Behind them is a demolition derby going on. There's no actual performance area so people are lollygagging all over the place while a couple hundred feet away are the lights and overwhelming noise coming from the carny rides area. Why am I here, I ask myself. I want to get something to eat but the choices look absolutely disgusting. Two people stroll by with huge paper plates piled high with potato chips covered in melted velveeta cheese. I guess I can wait to get something to eat when I get back to Virginia. Things change once the Back Creek Valley Boys start playing. The strollers stop. Young mothers with babies and toddlers stop so their kids can actually get to witness men making live music with acoustical stringed instruments. You see the mothers and some fathers pointing out the instruments to their kids. "See? He's playing that thing. That's a banjo!" The parents seem proud that they can pass this adult knowledge on to their young ones, as if it were some sort of mystical and privileged information. The kids are mesmerized. I love to watch the parenting when an audience runs right into the real thing. They may not realize it, may not even be thinking about it, but they're eye-witnesses to an Appalachian heritage. Maybe the young ones may never forget the moment, may never forget that once they heard a banjo ring, or saw a guy who did amazing things by magically sliding his fingers all up and down a guitar fret-board, and he did it without the help of computerized animation or any kind of programming.

At my time in life I'm beginning to remember the little instances that had a profound effect on the way I look at things. I was maybe 9 or 10 years old and I went on a school field trip to the museums in Pittsburgh. I remember very clearly that I saw my first collection of "modern art" and there was this painting called "The Swimmers." I stared at it for what seemed the whole afternoon because I knew it was different and stood out from all the other paintings. I still have memories of seeing my first stage-play in elementary school. It was "Jack and the Bean Stalk." I remember not being scared of the Giant because it was just a story being played out by actors.  I also remember laughing at my Dad behind his back when he switched on the radio and played this God-awful stuff we used to call Hillbilly Music. I hadn't a clue that I was listening to cultural history, and here I am at his age listening to the same thing. I feel fortunate enough to now have the time to retrace those years and truly investigate just what it was Dad was listening to on WWVA, The Opry, and a few other stations. I failed to appreciate it then, now I have the time to fully appreciate it for what it is.

I'm watching a truly good band do their magic with the crowd, considering all the distractions that abound to hinder their performance. There's something in this music that pulls you in very slowly. You either become a true believer or opt to see cars crashing or maybe get your chest pounded in by the concussion produced when too many loudspeakers become the obligatory rule for rock music. I'm sitting here on a magnificent summer evening listening to some of the best hillbilly music I can get in these parts. Back behind the performing area I can see a young teeny-bopper by herself. She seems to be walking aimlessly, and she doesn't seem to be attached to any friends, not like any of the other packs of kids I see running around this place. She walks, and then stops, caught between the noise of the car-crashing and the music emanating from The Back Creek Valley Boys. Her head turns toward the rock and roll pavilion and then back toward the string music. Frank Maietta goes wild on a banjo run. Brandon Michael tears it up with his fiddling. I'm watching, This is interesting. The young girl takes two more steps toward the bluegrass and stops. I watch her intently listen until the song ends. When it does, she comes closer to listen to more, and I watch her as she watches. She may have heard this music before, but maybe never really listened to it. She was taking her time to listen to it that evening.

The Back Creek Valley Boys are: Ike Jordan, mandolin - Andrew Jordan, guitar - Frank Maietta, banjo - Brandon Michael, fiddle - Randy Kenney, bass. The band plays a lot in the Martinsburg/panhandle area of West Virginia and will be featured at the "Pickin in the Panhandle" Festival in September. More information available at www.thebackcreekvalleyboys.com



The Official Biography of Dr. Ralph Stanley

It's important to note that it's the 3rd of August, 2012.  I purchased the above book on 25 February 2012 and I bought it from the hands of the Man Himself at a special birthday performance in Sheperdstown, West Virginia. I mention today, because it's taken me this long to finish it. In the meantime I've finished other books while I set this one aside. I'd read a few snatches and then move on to things more appealing, and easily read. This is not an easy book to read. Co-written by Eddie Dean, Dean tries to get everything down in the style you would expect from a simple man telling a simple story. The dialogue is real; what Ralph Stanley has to say about his life and times is real. It sometimes bogs down terribly and you want to get into the good stuff about how he reached fame and his interactions with other famous musicians. The boring sections of course are there for a very good reason. You have go back and read that sentence again so you can get the full measure of why such a simple man rose to the heights of musical fame that he did. He's still going strong at the time of this posting. I was fortunate to catch one of his performances in February and wasn't disappointed. There are two entertainers I want to see before I die: Ralph Stanley and Tony Bennett. One of the wishes has been granted.

Man of Constant Sorrow, by Dr. Ralph Stanley and Eddie Dean, was originally published in 2009 after several years of reaping national fame and recognition from his role in contributing the musical touch to the Coen Brothers' movie O Brother Where Art Thou. Much about Stanley's involvement in the movie and what it did to heighten the general population's interest in, and rebirth of mountain music and bluegrass music is left for the final chapter. So it should be. In the simplest and most wonderful way, Dr. Stanley remains humble about the whole process of "doing my music because that's all I ever really could do, or wanted to do." Along the way are other stories about the process that brought him his fame, other practitioners of the kind of music he prefers not to call bluegrass, and a good background on the geographical environment of Appalachian Virginia that gave him birth and upbringing.

More important is his basic philosophy of believing in something and then sticking to your guns. Nearly every page is devoted to trying to explain his music and why he never believed in changing it. He talks a lot about fellow-musicians who didn't make it, failures, and practitioners who weren't true to their craft or calling. There is a lot to be learned here from the Master. Every picker or singer whoever thought they could make it 'in the business' should read this book and learn from it. Stanley's basic philosophy of "simpler is better" rings throughout the whole book but an explanation is about as elusive as the tenets of  Tao. He keeps talking about people who were "touched."
In other words, naturally gifted enough to one day really make it in a cut-throat world. He also praises a few who worked hard to get where they got. No great lover of Elvis and rock and roll, Bob Dylan surfaces at eerie times in the unfolding of the story and some other surprising names show up in Stanley's list of people he respects.

I'm glad it took me so long to finish this work. It's a story about endurance and remaining true to yourself and what you believe in. We've lost some truly great people since the beginning of 2012. This story is also about Ralph Stanley contemplating his own eventual demise as he sees other great men fall by the wayside. It's a stoic picture at best, filled with thanks for what God has granted him in his life-time. It's nice to read a story about a humble man who got famous and did good. Simple is better - and as Ralph concludes, "Simple is the hardest thing to do in life."

Surprise, Surprise. Encountering Drymill Road

21 July 2012: Martinsburg, West Virginia

     It was supposed to be a nice day, weather-wise. After a summer of extreme weather I should have expected to be ready for anything. Who would know it would turn cold and rainy here in the foot-hills after so many days of 100-Plus degree heat? I really don't know the Martinsburg area well, so I did what I always do and got there early. I missed two turns I should have taken to get to the event site and passed a farm house that was surrounded by mules - honest-to-God mules. I didn't know anyone raised them anymore. I pulled up to an opening that went into a stand of woods and there before me were two little white signs that said "BMA." I paid 20-bucks to the lady at the entrance and then drove on in. I got the first parking spot in the field. I saw Todd Stotler there immediately (Sound Engineer with Echoes Studios) and Steve Harris (Circa Blue Band). They recounted the tale of trying to deal with a rabid raccoon that greeted them when they arrived at the performance pavilion earlier in the morning. Welcome to wild, wonderful, West Virginia. If it hadn't been for Todd I would have never gotten word about the first-ever "Grass and Grub Festival" promoted by the Bluegrass Music Alliance of Martinsburg.
     Ernie Bradley and The Grassy Ridge were on the play-bill. That was enough of a reason for me to drive an hour and a half to get there. For 20-bucks you got a meal plus an afternoon of listening to Ernie and his band, plus The Shuey Brothers, Circa Blue, Drymill Road, and The Back Creek Valley Boys. I like these smaller events more for the surprises than anything else. You never know what to expect. If nothing else you can always chalk up an interesting trip to somewhere you've never been before - and West Virginia is always interesting. I could tell from the get-go that not many paying customers were going to show up. At it's highest number I counted 98 people on the grounds with a few people coming and going, and that didn't include the band members. Maybe the weather. Maybe the fact that this was a first-time deal. Maybe promotion or lack there of  factored in. Who knows? There's always next year if enough people are interested in supporting mountain music.
     The Shuey Brothers (Harrisburg, Pa.) kicked off the program and I felt sorry for them because they were dressed in Hawaiian shirts. They had to be freezing up there. They were OK. Nothing spectacular. Or maybe it was nervousness at having to be the kick-off act. The on-stage banter and joking got a little long-winded. Circa Blue came on. Another band I'd only heard about but had never experienced. Unfortunately for most of their set they were missing the mandolin player and compliments to Steve Harris for pulling it through. You live and learn to cope with the unpredictable - like rabid raccoons and 58-degree weather in the middle of July. Then the program really got interesting when Drymill Road took over.
     Out of Winchester, Virginia, Drymill Road is headed up by Sean Loomis on guitar and vocals. To say it's headed up by Sean Loomis isn't telling the whole story. Each member contributes his own expertise equally to Sean's lead guitar. Launching off into dark minor strains, I was waiting for a bluegrass band that was bringing Klezmer music to the hills of West Virginia. Or maybe Nuevo Flamenco. This was different - very, very different and I was wondering what this audience of bluegrass die-hards was thinking. The trick was in resolving back to very traditional mountain music forms and riffs. They were making a statement: We can play that stuff and play different stuff, too. Sean Loomis was going through so many key changes it made my head spin and he'd challenge Robert Mabe (banjo), Doug Ross (mandolin), and David Hurt (Bass), to keep up with him. These guys drive like a well-oiled machine and their set was non-stop. I hate to say this, but you could move this group into a jazz club and no one would be disappointed; they are that good at what they do. Their brand of music is about paying homage to authentic bluegrass, while presenting it in an innovative way. This isn't the Punch Brothers and it's not 'newgrass.' It's just very refreshing, and it's done well. Doug Ross finished off the set with Jimmy Martin's "Freeborn Man." That did it for me. Made me a fan of Drymill Road. When I got back to my laptop I pulled them up on YouTube to see what was there. None of the videos do them any justice. You have to experience them up front and real and in a live performance to appreciate their talent.

On The Frontier of Bluegrass

Herb Martin III, Steve Unkart, and Kody Norris at Spring Grove, Pa.

11 March 2012:

      I'm headed north again, back across the Mason/Dixon Line to check out a venue I hadn't been to before. The name of it drives me nuts. Whoever owns this place could have come up with a better name than "Goofy's." I have to keep reminding myself that's not the point of the expedition on this fine, early spring day. It's another late afternoon-early evening show with Aspen Run Bluegrass Band. The weather is spectacular, there's hardly any traffic between here and Baltimore and northward to the York, Pennsylvania area. Twenty miles north of the Baltimore Beltway, near the state line, the country-side turns into rolling foothills of horse-farms and corn-fields. Winding creeks appear. The roads keep getting smaller. The trees are already beyond budding stage and sprouting green. I have a little difficulty with the change in Route numbers between Maryland and Pa. but I find the right road and head directly north to Spring Grove, Pennsylvania. I see a sign that says "28 more Miles." Then it happens. I start following a young woman in a station wagon with Maryland plates who's lolly-gagging along at 35-40-45 miles an hour. There is nothing but solid yellow-lines, lots of hills and curves, 'No-Passing' signs every mile or so, and I'm boiling. Traffic behind me is piling up. She's braking on every hill, every curve, across every little bridge over the numerous creeks. After about five miles of this nonsense, and no way to pass her, I notice my first Pa. Speed Sign: 45MPH! It stayed 45 and sometimes went down even further to 25 for the whole 28 miles. I'm glad I left home early.

      I had to laugh at my impatience. It gave me a long time to sit on my rear end and enjoy the country side and listen to some favorite music. If people behind me were building their impatience with me, then so be it. It gave me time to reflect upon this part of Pennsylvania. For those who never studied their history or cared about it, this was once the Frontier. The end of the known world to the first colonists who settled beyond Philadelphia. The Susquehanna River was a natural dividing line. I was born and raised way beyond the line, westward, in what was once known as Ohio Territory. Practically all land west of central Pennsylvania was known simply as "Ohio." Where I was born and almost all the way south to Virginia was once vast tracts of property owned by George Washington. The region gave rise to numerous important historical events as the population moved toward the Ohio River. The French and Indian War, the American Revolution, the Whiskey Rebellion, the growth of the Industrial Revolution, to name a few. Back then, the Allegheny Mountains was the wall dividing civilization from barbarism and few hearty souls ventured beyond. George himself made several fascinating journeys through the area to look after his properties and attempt to collect rents, but he recorded that the population was so vile and unruly he returned empty-handed to Mount Vernon.

      I'm on "The Frontier" again and thoroughly having a nice time driving along at probably some of the same speeds as George's Nag. I finally got my opportunity on a steep hill just a few miles south of Spring Grove. All clear ahead. The hell with 45 MPH. I gunned it and shot around her. She gave me a dirty look. Everybody else behind me followed suit. The laugh was on me. Spring Grove was just over the hill. Nothing much to Spring Hill except the memories I have of growing up in a place like this. A life in Suburbia took its place. I feel like some of those bluegrass songs about leaving the country and moving to Mill Town only to find out that life was better "back home." I may be thinking that, but not really. I'm pretty happy living in the 'Burbs with all the conveniences of getting from Point A to Point B and my lifestyle and employment demand that I have to be near an international airport. No international airports near York, Pennsylvania. But what I do have is the ability to drive within a hundred-mile radius of Washington, DC and Baltimore and hear some of the finest bluegrass in the United States. You heard me right, folks. We're blessed with the best. And if the bigger names aren't close to us, then they'll eventually get here to entertain us.

      I like to focus on the locals. The local bands, groups, and musicians matter to me. I can always buy a ticket to a show or buy a CD or download the Stars. Modern technology has made it so much easier to access what we want most. I'd rather be on the Frontier listening to the local hard-core, or checking out some local practitioner I've heard about from somebody else; usually a local fan of that person. Back at Goofy's I run into 'followers' I'd met at Darlington, Stewartstown, and Jumbo Jimmy's. They graciously invite me to join them at their table. That's the kind of people who attend these happenings. They immediately start commenting: "Have you heard about so-and-so?" "Have you ever met this guy?" "Guess who's coming to Darlington?" A wealth of local information and gossip starts flowing. There's a whole Research Triangle of valuable bluegrass information between York, Havre de Grace, and Darlington, Maryland. It's passed on at events such as the one I'm at on this beautiful spring afternoon. Aspen Run is still two hours away from jumping up on the low stage at the end of a very breezy temporary structure at the back of the main bar and restaurant. It's nothing more than a roof and concrete floor with vinyl tenting material for walls. It can easily accommodate a hundred or more people. It's filling up at 2:30, the show doesn't start until 4:00. I'm glad I got here early. No cover charge, no minimum, no assigned seating. Get out of the way of the dancers and make all the noise you want.

     The Aspen Run Bluegrass Band showed up and started setting up their equipment. They took off like a rocket at exactly 4 pm. One reason why I wanted to see these guys today is that Kody Norris (Mountain City, Tennessee) is joining them once more and that's always a guaranteed, excellent, performance. He brings forth The Ralph Stanley Gospel Book of Bluegrass as if he's the young High Priest of Opry Land. That's probably over the top, but what the hell. Aspen Run and Kody Norris combined is great entertainment - great music. I've got my eye on this young kid and the band, too. It's a pleasure to watch them work a crowd.

     As the afternoon wore on and the light dimmed, no one slipped out of the place. Tomorrow is a work-day. No one seemed tired or bored. As often happens at an Aspen Run performance, the requests for favorite songs started coming. The numerous requests were fulfilled. Each set crescendoed into a better 'next-set.' They finished with my favorite, "Free Born Man." What's absolutely great about this band is how much they've improved since I first encountered them at the Lucketts Fair. Some musicians really deserve to be heard and to 'make it' (whatever that means). Aspen Run Bluegrass, and Kody Norris too, are in that category.

It'll Probably Sound Pretty Good On a Dobro

Joey Longwell - with Ernie Bradley and Grassy Ridge at a Lucketts performance

Leap-Day, 2012

This weekend we'll be celebrating Chopin's Birthday at the Embassy of Poland with a special recital and a feast prepared by the Embassy Chef. We've been attending this for a number of years now and look forward to it annually. The music is magnificent, the food is always marvelous, the Polish people are the most gracious on the planet and the tickets are cheap! Getting the tickets is the hard part, but we don't seem to have a problem. As always I amaze myself. I'm ravaged by a number of addictions of which I'm quite proud. I love Monsieur Chopin and Jimmy Martin, Puccini's not bad, either. I don't have to make any decisions on any of it. It's all of a certain value included in that great nebulous subject entitled "matter of tastes." What's pleasant to one person is disgusting to another. Politically, I've become a libertarian music lover if you really have to put a name on it. It wasn't always this way. At my age I've discarded a lot of what I used to listen to and appreciated, only to discover that there is so much more I need to learn about in all forms of music.

Let's get to the bluegrass. I've written before that it's something I used to listen to in my college days and then put away somewhere in my foggy days of yesteryear. A few years ago a chance meeting with Roger Green and the Annapolis Bluegrass Coalition got me back into it. It was a free, winter concert at our local community center here in town. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to even go to the show in the first place. I walked out of the show with that feeling of having revisited a lot of child-hood memories of my old man listening to this hillbilly stuff on the radio and me and my siblings hating it. Rock and Roll was just entering the pop radio scene and the older folks hated it. A culture war was about to explode and we didn't know it. I went off to the military and still have memories of Country and Western music being called "Shit-Kicking Music!" The 60's were my formation years. College told me I had to appreciate music 'on a higher level' than what I had been accustomed to. Snobbery exists on every level of the human experience.

Marriage, work, raising a family, getting older changes everything. Try to tell that to the average young person. The more time I spend in my garden the more I appreciate that I'm getting older right along with all else in the universe. I went back to that music I once laughed at. There are a lot of generalizations written and espoused by people who write about, and scholarly study this peculiar American music form called bluegrass. I try not to be swayed by the general comments. I think most of them are wrong. The one piece of truth is this: it's something that will always stay the same but will also be constantly evolving. That truth I can easily appreciate. Davy Jones (of Monkees fame) died yesterday and no one noted how many Monkees hits were re-released by some very well-known bluegrass groups. Just another example of bluegrass music's ability to appreciate another form of music, grab it and run with it. It's hard to imagine any of today's pretty-boy Country and Western stars singing "Last Train to Clarksville" and getting away with it. But bluegrass? Yeah. It'll probably sound pretty good if the banjo, mandolin, guitar, and fiddle can get the beat coordinated. A good dobro player would have a blast with it.

Straight-Up Bluegrass in Port Deposit

Mike Harknett, James Langer, Fred Long, Rex Smith, and Darin Wassum

26 February 2012 This is a follow-up of sorts to an article I promised back in January after seeing AcrosstheTrack Bluegrass up in Brunswick. One thing led to another and I never got around to it, but I had stayed in touch with guitar-player Darin Wassum. Actually what I wanted was another opportunity to see the group again, and I wanted to see the group on their own turf. It never seems the same. You see an act on stage and then you see an act in a bar or club and it's a different experience. For one thing the bar sets are longer so you get to experience a wide range of what a group is actually capable of. You also get to know if the band has a loyal following of locals. I've discovered that this is an important ingredient. I wasn't surprised on a Sunday afternoon at Jumbo Jimmy's Crab Shack up in Port Deposit, Maryland, when I had the opportunity to sit through a whole 4-hour set with these guys. That's a lot of music. It was preceeded by a "Jam" held there every Sunday by the locals, many of whom stuck around for the main show.

By everyone's standards AcrosstheTrack Bluegrass is not an established band but they've already racked up a reputation over in Maryland. The band members are Darin Wassum, James Langer, Fred Long, and Rex Smith. On Sunday afternoon Mike Harknett (fiddle) joined them and he added a necessary momentum to the playing. I enjoyed talking to Mike in between sets since he's a walking history book of who's playing with who over in Maryland. It's also reported that Fred Long (banjo) is also a local legend. The band plays straight old-time bluegrass. No funny-stuff, no fusion, nobody is pushing a song they wrote. They were best when they were ALL singing, and working on their harmonies. The only detriment was a little distracting crowd noise, but you have to accept that in a local pub and restaurant. But when they were on top of a song or playing hell-fire, the crowd noise ceased. Darin's got the best voice and can hold his own in front of a noisy crowd. This might be a minor point but I have to include it: does anyone want to get up and dance to this stuff? Jumbo Jimmy's seemed like the place to do some two-stepping on a late Sunday afternoon. You must be doing something right if you're moving the crowd. On this point the bass-guy never gets enough mention for doing the yeoman's amount of work. Fred Long's wild banjo-picking also proved to be a valuable asset.

AcrosstheTrack Bluegrass will be playing at the Darlington/Dublin VFW Post on March 3rd and it should prove to be worth the drive.

Establishing a Standard of Excellence

Gold Heart at Brunswick 29 January 2012

It's been an evolutionary story. I love to hear about someone's dream and then actually see it come to fruition. That's what's happened up in Brunswick, Maryland with the formation of Brunswick Roundhouse Concert Productions. The history began on 26 July, 2009 when Darren Beachley and Company up in Brunswick decided to stage a fundraiser for the Brunswick Junior Baseball League. The response was so good Darren decided to try it again the next summer on 10 July, 2010. Another success. This time the proceeds would be divided up among the various Brunswick High School student activities and booster groups. I suspected the successful concerts would evolve to the next level and that was legal incorporation into the current "BRCP" organization. The plan was to stage events that would assist all the booster groups at the High School. Brunswick High School is a unique institution suffering through the current economic crisis along with every school, arts or entertainment group, museum, or any entity that depends upon public support during these hard times. Student activities are limited unless the booster groups and parents step up to the plate and help the kids. Thus Brunswick Roundhouse Concert Productions was born to ease the burden and the concerts have been growing in popularity due to Darren's effort to bring quality entertainment to the Brunswick High School Stage. Others should be mentioned too, as very much a big part of the success story: There is the whole Beachley family, The Roy Hossler Family, other families from the booster groups, and a host of local businesses and a popular Frederick radio station who continue to pony up time and monetary donations to keep the momentum going. Here's a list of what's been accomplished so far:
26 July 2009: Darren Beachley and Friends, plus Kenny Ray Horton.

10 July 2010: Bill Yates and the Country Gentlemen Tribute Band, plus Darren Beachley and the Legends of the Potomac.

21 November 2010: The Legends of the Potomac, plus the Dry Branch Fire Squad.

30 January 2011: Lost and Found, plus Kenny Ray Horton and Washington Junction.

20 March 2011: Little Roy and Lizzie Show.

12 June 2011: Beachley and Scott Band, plus Darin and Brooke Aldridge.

20 November 2011: Dry Branch Fire Squad, plus AcrosstheTrack Bluegrass Band.

29 January 2012: Darren Beachley and Friends, plus Gold Heart.

Coming Soon:

29 April 2012: Dailey and Vincent (seats for this concert are going fast)

10 June 2012: David Davis and the Warrior River Boys, plus the Bluegrass Mountaineers.

This season BRCP offered a special price for season tickets which essentially gives you the price of one free concert. Donations to BRCP are also tax-deductible. For further information contact http://www.brunswickbluegrass.org/ It's an excellent website.

Great music. Very entertaining. A program to suit every bluegrass fan's taste in acoustical music. But more important, community involvement on a local level bringing a lot of people together to work toward community goals. I can't think of a better way to spend my money. "It just keeps getting better" sounds like a worn-out sentiment in 2012, but there's no better description for the effort the people of Brunswick have put forth. They're all to be congratulated.