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."