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.