Let's Throw it in the Crick and See if it Floats

 Mike Hartnett - Dave Propst - Tom Reeves - Rick Miller - George Osing     Blue Train

16 June 2013

      Sort of like a ship-launch. You never know what's going to happen. All that planning, all the right forces coming together just at the exact point and then it's time to let her go and slide down the ways. I saw a missile frigate being launched into the Kennebec River in Bath, Maine once. One of the most exciting things I ever witnessed. You wonder if this big steel monster is really going to do what it's supposed to do. The launch of a new band is no different. They might be really good or they might sink on the first night - or maybe in a year or two. The excitement is that you were there to see the big launch. You were there to see them either sink or swim. Just about everybody's gone through that "Andy Hardy Moment" where it might be neat to "put on a show." Or, after learning three chords and one bad rock song decide you want to start a garage band and drive your parents and all the neighbors nuts with long sessions of noise. It all looks so easy. Go to a local "open mic" and become some kind of performance artist. Do your own thing whether people like it or not, just because it's your own thing, even though a million other neophytes have done exactly the same thing you're doing.
      Blue Train is about to launch at Goofy's Eatery and Spirits up in Spring Grove, Pa. I'm here to see what they do, but I'm here mainly because of the line-up. With this kind of line-up it has to be worth my drive all the way up from Vienna, Virginia. I would have driven all this way just because of two of the people who are playing, and not because it's the debut of a new entity in bluegrass music. What you need to know immediately is, they are all, except for one person, former members of Satyr Hill Bluegrass. Satyr Hill is a Maryland institution when it comes to performance longevity. The former members, and now with the inclusion of fiddler Mike Hartnett, are all well-known names in Maryland music circles. If you know bluegrass you know these guys. Their skill and passion for playing the music has reached beyond state lines. After making some momentous decisions barely a few months ago and with little more than five practice sessions, Rick Miller, George Osing, Tom Reeves, Dave Propst, and Mike Hartnett gathered their talents and came up with their first official gig before they even had a name for themselves. I heard about it through Dave Propst, but had no idea until one day before the event that it was Blue Train's grand inaugural launch.
      You expect glitches and mistakes. Even the most seasoned professionals experience nervousness. It can all work (or not work) to make you look like Andy Hardy or Tony Bennett. What was really great about this particular performance was, it was Father's Day and the place was packed with locals and the vaguely curious. Goofy's is a unique venue with a very discerning bluegrass audience. It's literally out in the middle of nowhere, three miles outside a dinky little Pennsylvania town called Spring Grove. But put this thought aside for the moment. Most of the best Maryland and Pennsylvania bluegrass groups have played here to large audiences. When you sit down and talk to the patrons it becomes abundantly clear that these people know their bluegrass and they'll tell you up front what they like and what they don't like. They like it hard-core. They're salt-of-the-earth locals out to have a good time and be entertained. Their dollars are precious to them and hard-earned, so they vote with their dollars for what they consider as their best entertainment. The owner of Goofy's, 'Whitey' Runkle, knows this dynamic well and continues to bring interesting entertainment for his patrons. I have to hand it to him for supporting bluegrass on the truly local level. Where the rubber meets the road. He gambled on the names of the players alone, and won in the end.
      You even expect a rough start but Blue Train lit right into the obligatory breakdown to get the ball rolling, then flew immediately into "Little Cabin on the Hill" and then a gospel number, "Satan is Waiting His Turn" (always dangerous in a bar where people are drinking on a Sunday, and Father's Day at that!) Then they went into "Helen" and the old chestnut "Angeline the Baker." Next came Hank's "Your Cheatin' Heart." I thought to myself what road are they going down next? I made a joke to Dempsey and Rebecca Price that it wouldn't be long before somebody yelled for ""Rocky Top." Rick Miller (guitar and lead vocals) went into "Summer Time" to add a blues flavor to the mix. Out of the entire evening, three hours of music and a huge swath of songs, I thought this is the only one that didn't work for me. But the audience seemed to like it. By the time they got to "Sing Me Back Home" (Merle Haggard) and "Wild Bill Jones" the audience was up on their feet and loving every minute of it. The launch had worked. The boat could actually float. It was smooth sailing for the rest of the voyage. Midway, it came out of the audience: "Play Rocky Top!!" Rick Miller graciously accepted the request and gave the lady what she wanted. Everyone laughed and jumped on the dance floor. The vocals came off perfect.
      It was obvious Blue Train was pulling out all the stops. Trying everything on the enthusiastic audience. But there's nothing wrong with that. You have to show your stuff and at the same time find your own sound or distinct groove. It'll take a couple years to do that. These guys come prepared with a rich history and a rich palette of material. I really appreciated the vocal work of Rick, Dave, and Tom. It was flawless and enjoyable. What I really appreciated most was their attitude of professionalism toward their craft, and that showed in everything they did in front of this very discerning audience. The toughest thing in bluegrass is getting all those right gears to mesh: the playing, the vocals, the timing, and as Rick Miller likes to say "The Tone." It was all clicking at Goofy's on Father's Day. They've been invited back and that's usually the best indicator that 'ya done good.'  Expect to see them perform again in early September.

From Poland . . .

       Ed Henry and 'Ariel' in Siedlec, Poland, May 2013

     This story is about dogs and I wrote it especially for Doug Ross, who plays mandolin for Dry Mill Road Bluegrass (Winchester, Virginia). I met Doug a couple of years ago. He's a quiet and reserved guy until you get him on the subject of Beagles. I know and understand Doug. His love of dogs tells me everything I need to know about him. My mother once said that when the Henry Family gathered there were always dogs around, and kids playing with dogs. All the old family pictures prove it. She's right. I remember every dog that seemed to be a part of our growing-up. We always had mutts. No show dogs here. The mixed-breeds always made the better family pet. We recently made a trip to Poland to visit with Connie's relatives in a little village (Siedlec) outside of Krakow. I posted a picture of me and their dog on Facebook and made a comment that Doug Ross responded to: he said, "Yeah, but I'll bet she liked you, anyway."  She did, Doug, but now here's the whole story of how I met up with "Ariel."
       Adam and Irena Konieczny, Connie's cousins, met us at Krakow (John Paul II International) Airport and we headed out of the Krakow area west to Siedlec. The ride is magnificent. A progression from major highways down to smaller and smaller country roads. It's not unusual to have to stop for tractors or farm wagons being hauled by horses. It's rolling countryside bordered with hills. Not unlike Virginia's Shenandoah Valley. It's May and the depth of the color green is cut every once in a while with strips of bright yellow that goes for miles. The bright yellow is some kind of plant that produces canola oil. It's really something to see from up in the air, especially this time of the year when you're flying over France, Germany, or Poland. I forget the name of the plant. As we head toward the village I see more fields of it, but now I can experience it from ground level. The towns get smaller as we near Siedlec. We start climbing upward on beat-up asphalt country roads. People wave to us for no particular reason except to acknowledge us. We reach Adam's house and further up the hill I notice a huge forest of hardwoods. We're greeted by a skittish dog as we haul in our luggage and make a lot of noise trying to settle ourselves after such an exhausting flight. "That's  Ariel," says Irena as she shows us to our room on the second floor. It's a beautiful house. I notice how it's sturdily built to protect it against Poland's harsh winters. I try to pet Ariel, but she runs from me and hides under a table. She's a pretty dog - some kind of mix of hunting dog - not big and goofy, and not small, either. She looks like a runner. I decided that "skittish" or not, me and the dog were going to be fast friends by the time the trip was over.
      That evening we sat down to a huge traditional Polish dinner. Irena is a marvelous cook, which I already knew from previous trips to visit them. Ariel remained hidden and away from the table and when I tried to reach out to her she would run to another part of the house. After dinner, we all went for a walk up the hill to get some exercise. Of course it was more for Ariel's benefit than ours. We got to the edge of the forest and turned around. In the evening we fell into bed and slept well, knowing that it would take us a day or two to recuperate through the jet-lag. Morning broke the next day. A bit cloudy and warm, but the weather for our vacation looked promising. We were all out of bed by 8:00 am. At breakfast, Ariel flopped herself down at my feet underneath the breakfast table. I reached down and scratched her head. Connie loves to walk. I love to explore. I don't care if it's Asia or Poland. I like to experience everything at the neighborhood level. We decided to go for a walk and I asked Adam if it was OK to take Ariel with us. He agreed. I stepped toward Ariel's leash hanging by the front door. Ariel rushed up behind me with tail wagging, and that look - the one dog's get when they know they're going to be part of the excursion. As I snapped the hook on the leash, Ariel looked at me as if to say, "This guy's Ok. He's going to be my new friend!" Our second night in Siedlec, Ariel started following me up to the second floor every time I had to go to our room to get something out of our suitcases. Adam and Irena commented on it and laughed about it. I also noticed on our first night that Ariel slept in their room when they went to bed. Adam and Irena (both retired) were also late-risers, which is pretty difficult to be when you're living in the countryside.
      On the third morning we were there, I had to get up at 0400 to make a head call. Not only that, but I noticed that the birds started singing at about the same time. It sounded like a bunch of Virginia mocking birds. I opened our bedroom door in the dark and stumbled over a large form on the floor. I  stepped on a bony leg and then heard a yelp. Ariel was in front of our door. She followed me to the bathroom and then followed me back to the bedroom door.  It was pitch-dark. The sun hadn't even come up yet. I went back to bed, but then heard scratching at the door. "Alright," I thought to myself, "Let's go for an early pre-dawn Polish adventure!"
      Trying to remember the layout of the house, the location of the leash and the house-key, and trying to calm down Ariel's excitement, I made it out of the house and into the road. The small settlement seemed deserted but in the blue of the dawn I could see lights coming on in the houses nearby. Ariel was in her element and happy as she pulled on the leash. I established right away who was in charge of this venture. We stopped a few times to view some vegetable gardens. One of the locals, already out and about and firing up a tiller greeted me in Polish and I tried to say to him I was American, and had no idea how to respond to him. He laughed and talked to Ariel instead. I would learn soon enough that everyone on the road knew Ariel, just as Adam and Irena knew all the dogs on the road and who the dogs belonged to. We progressed up the hill. It was obvious Ariel wanted to go into the forest. I took her in just a hundred feet or so and then turned around. For me it was uncharted territory. I didn't know if it was private property or not. There were signs, but I didn't read Polish. I didn't want to be an Ugly American.
      After that adventure, Ariel's attachment to her "new friend" got worse. It became constant. Up the stairs, down the stairs, sitting in a room, or just walking around the well-fenced yard outside. First it was two walks a day with Ed, or Ed and Connie, and then three walks a day. The 0400 wake-up walk in the pre-dawn got to be a habit that I didn't think Adam and Irena would much appreciate after the Americans left Siedlec. Every day also, we went further into the woods after I found out it was public land. Ariel loved it. Then one day we took a few steps and a big deer leaped up in front of us and Ariel got the shock of her doggie existence. She almost tore off her collar and almost broke the leash. I would have given anything to let her go and chase this magnificent animal. It looked like a big doe. The deer flew through the ferns and hardwoods and was gone.  Then on Day Four, while I had our bedroom door opened and I was digging into my suit-case for something, Ariel came running in and took a big leap up on our bed. Connie and I started laughing. Ariel had that look of triumph on her face. She had won, and she knew it. Connie and I had a serious discussion - like when you're trying to deal with a child and a serious issue. We laughed a lot about it. The vacation was one of our best-ever. All we could do is laugh about it. The hospitality of our hosts and the good people in Siedlec, and how much we were welcomed by Connie's relatives Adam and Irena. Mostly, we laughed about how simply the love and unquestioning loyalty of a dog can make the difference between having a good vacation or an absolutely GREAT vacation. That's the story, Doug, I know you care about mutts as much as I do.

The Back Creek Valley Boys - The "Go-To" Guys

     Brandon Michael, Ike Jordan, Randy Kenney, and Andrew Jordan. Frank Maietta is obscured, 

off to the  left of the picture.

10 June 2013

     An interesting bunch of good men. I first met them at a small event near Martinsburg, West Virginia two years ago. Unfortunately, it was an almost cold and very rainy mid-summer day and not many people showed. But the event was fantastic and the music was far above average for such a localized event. It was obscure and way out in the middle of nowhere and I'm not surprised that it didn't draw a lot of people. But in an odd way, that was the beauty of it. A whole afternoon of up-close-and-personal good bluegrass music. After experiencing The Back Creek Valley Boys at several more West Virginia Pan Handle performances, I began to understand that they were not only a good band, but had a mission of sorts to promote those things that make West Virginia a unique place to visit, a good place to do business, and maybe even a good state to retire to. They do a lot of performing for the Berkeley County Visitors and Convention Bureau. They are involved in promoting many of the local festivals that bring in needed 'outsider' dollars for the local economy. They like their brand of music. It's hard-core bluegrass. Mountain-flavored and unadulterated. The band specializes in one-microphone-only harmonizing. It's done the old-fashioned way, and they're good. Ike Jordan serves as the unelected leader and spokesman. Ike plays mandolin and his son Andrew plays guitar and provides lead vocals. Randy Kenney plays stand-up bass and loves his role as the guy who drives the rhythm. Brandon Michael is widely known for his fine fiddling and has played with some of the best bluegrass groups in West Virginia and Maryland. Frank Maietta rounds out the group with some amazing banjo-picking. For you Marines out there who read my stuff, Frank served with distinction in the 3rd Marine Division. The band members live around the Martinsburg area and are proud West Virginians, except for Frank and Brandon who hail from Maryland. With the start of the festival and touring season getting into full-swing, I checked with Randy Kenney a few days ago and asked him where I could catch an upcoming performance. "Oh," he said, "We're playing next Saturday at a Rt. 81 Rest Stop on the West Virginia/Maryland border."  Sounding like a weird place to play bluegrass, I had to inquire further. They were hired by the highway authority, or somebody, to play for a couple hours and entertain visitors coming into West Virginia. What a great marketing ploy. Show them the best that West Virginia has to offer. Make them want to come into West Virginia more often. Maybe for a vacation or go to any of the numerous mountain music festivals. The Back Creek Valley Boys have become the "Go To" guys when you want to promote the State of West Virginia. They're doing what they like to do and at the same time serving a unique civic role for the State.  Nice good work if you can get it.

782 Gear

 On Operation Texas in Quang Ngai Province -  April 1966

4 June 2013

      It's good to refresh your memories every once in a while, like the first time in the season when it snows and you have no idea where you put the ice-scraper in your car. For the unenlightened, ask any Marine if he still has any 782 Gear laying around and he'll probably return a laugh. We all know what 782 Gear is. It's all the web-gear you adorned your body with before you went into the Field. I could also give you a definition of "The Field" but I'll save that for another learning lesson. We had packs, web-belts, pistol-belts, helmets, sleeping gear, mess-gear,  plus a lot of additional stuff like entrenching tools, canteens, and canteen cups (which have now become collectors' items!). I think about my old 782 Gear every time I'm packing for another world adventure or just waiting for a plane to somewhere. We spent endless hours washing it, cleaning it, and getting it inspected. When we got new gear (not very often - especially in Vietnam) we would get excited like little children at Christmas. We knew that sometimes our lives depended on having the right Gear. A poncho was the difference between being miserable or being ready in Vietnam's monsoon and rain forest conditions. When we suffered casualties, a Marine's poncho became his litter. His ticket to get on a med-evac chopper and get back to safety. Or more often, it became a shroud for the dead. I hated seeing those dirty, muddy ponchos lined up at the edge of a clearing. Most times the shrouds were streaked with blood. I wasn't the only one. I watched the faces of the Marines (just young kids, really,) as they did everything they could to avoid looking at the ponchos.
      Life's lessons sometimes come very early to those willing to sign the dotted line. I had just turned 21, a kid next to me had just turned 18. I think about that every time I have a present day conversation with an 18 or 19-year old. Sometimes I just shake my head in wonder, but I'm a throw-back now to a totally different generation. I don't regret a bit of it, or harbor any resentments. I got the lessons in life that God wanted me to have and somehow miraculously allowed me to come home, safe, and in one piece. It's futile to look back and wonder what other options would have been like. As the millennium turned so did the 782 Gear I'm now packing as I joyously became a grandfather and also suspiciously at first, faced the thoughts of retirement. It all turned out pretty darned wonderful in the end. But I also learned that if I'm not ready to turn in the old gear and suit up with new gear for a new age, I'm not going to get very far.

Veronneau - at the Vienna Town Green Stage

Ken Avis - Lynn Veronneau - Peter Walby - David Rosenblatt      -   Veronneau

31 May 2013

      You know me. I don't often write about a Jazz act. I'll go out and see a Jazz act maybe once in a blue moon. Not that I don't like Jazz, I do. But I'm selective in my Jazz likes and dislikes. The joy of being entertained by any good musician is if that musician can transport you back to a good time and place you remember vividly, or maybe the times weren't so good, but you remember those times anyway as part of the human experience. And it's the music you're hearing that's helping you in the process. 1963 and I'm in Hong Kong sharing Grog Ration aboard a Brit Navy ship. A bunch of us American Sailors and Marines had been invited aboard. I remember a record-player and the Brits had some Beatles Records. It was the first time I had heard them or worse yet, seen them. When we Americans saw their picture all we could say was "What the Hell is This?" We all laughed like it was some kind of joke. But we knew the music wasn't a joke. Around about this same time, back in the U.S. another phenomenon was taking place and it would soon be known  internationally as "Bossa Nova."  Spurred on by a movie called "Black Orpheus" (1959) the music of Antonio Carlos Jobim and Luiz Bonfa hit international store shelves. Seems like everyone was listening to Charlie Byrd, Stan Getz, and Astrud Gilberto as they all produced their own versions of  Jobim's music. Record sales hit the roof, and after a long run the engine ran out and a fickle public turned to the next wave in popular music. But I remember all this after I returned to the U.S. in 1964.
      Six months later I would be in Viet Nam. We had an old portable stereo set (remember those?) I'd picked up in Okinawa. We had three long-play records. Just three. That's all we could carry. One was Charlie Byrd, the other two were The Rolling Stones and Joan Baez. We wore them out or else they were destroyed by the heat, dust, and humidity. The reason I'm telling you all this is because this is what I'm thinking about on the night of 31 May as I'm being transported back in time by Veronneau. I'm not in the Far East or dating my future wife again. I'm in Vienna, Virginia at the public entertainment space known as the Town Green. But as I'm listening to Veronneau, hearing the Brazilian sounds again, and looking at my wife and smiling,  I'm looking around me at couples my age doing the same thing. The beauty of tonight is seeing the younger couples maybe getting their first taste of this style of music and seeing them enjoy it too.
      I first ran into Veronneau by way of Reverbnation and a notice someone sent me on Facebook. I took a listen and then went on to Youtube to do some further investigating. The notices they had been receiving locally were for real. No hype. Based in Arlington, they were gathering some impressive notices. When I heard the stuff I was shocked to put it mildly - thrown back to remembering all those great Jobim hits. I was anxious to meet them on the live level. I put them on my wish-list of acts I had hoped to see one day. My wish was granted on 31 May, right here in my own "Vienna back yard."  Veronneau is Lynn Veronneau, vocals, Ken Avis, guitar, David Rosenblatt, guitar, and on drums, Peter Walby. The configuration is simple and on a shoe-string, but vital to the style of the samba-flavored music and Lynn Veronneau's silky, quiet, delivery. Adding more instruments or gimmicks would just muddle the beauty of the musical source. As Lynn said at one point in the performance, "What a beautiful, warm summer night for this kind of music!"  She was right. She was perfect. I saw a few people dozing in their lawn chairs. Not out of boredom, but because the music was just so perfectly soothing on a warm, summer night. They ended with a lively and unique rendition of the much over-worked "Brazil," but it was the perfect ending anthem for a very entertaining evening. Veronneau gathers its music from a lot of international sources. I detected a little influence from Pink Martini (Don't know that group? You should!) A lot of Jazz musicians play Bossa Nova/Samba standards, but Veronneau has the strength to stand on its own and they owe their allegiance to no one.

 

Lynn Veronneau and David Rosenblatt

VeronneauMusic.com   e-mail:   info@veronneaumusic.com