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

Poland Revisited

Wawel Castle, Krakow, Poland. The city's main attraction and Poland's most important venue for national events.

May 2013:

    I'm particularly blessed being married to a wonderful spouse of Polish descent. I may have never gotten the inclination or the opportunity to visit that great country - not just once, but a number of times. We just completed our third visit and spent ten days living with Connie's cousin in a little village named Siedlec, near the larger town of Krzeszowice ("Chair-sha-veetza"). Forgive me while I mangle pronunciations. I only wish I had about six solid months to stay in Poland and learn the language. I'm fascinated by language - the more difficult the more fascinating for this inveterate student of all things interesting. I'll set the stage by mentioning that Krzeszowice is located about 20-some kilometers west of Krakow in a beautiful section of Poland known as Malopolska, or 'Little Poland.' Poland can be divided into several different geographical sections and after this journey, Connie and I have two more to explore before we can claim any expertise in knowing the country. Being outside Krakow, in a country village, afforded us the opportunity to see Krakow and much, much more. Malopolska has it all, as it says in the travel guides but it isn't all of Poland. Traveling is my profession. I am not your average jaded or rose-colored-glasses vacationer. Staying cooped up in a 5-star hotel or with 5,000 other people on a cruise ship is not my idea of having fun or relaxing. All I need is a good compass and a passport and a few Zloty in my pocket. If I get lost it's my own fault. I'd rather do all my exploring and sightseeing on-foot and that upsets a lot of people. I don't really ever take a vacation. Because of my profession every trip for me is just setting the stage and doing some groundwork for the endless possibilities of helping to promote the travel business. I always carry with me an attitude of total objectivity. That way, you learn more. You experience more. Loving history and a country's culture helps, too. And people are always more appreciative that you're making a concerted effort to learn a few words of the language. I've found this to be true in every part of the world. The attitude of complete objectivity assures that you'll never be disappointed when situations seem to be going south. I've traveled a lot - but this particular trip into Poland was one of my best adventures. One of our best adventures - It never would have happened if I hadn't married Connie!
     Years ago, Adam Konieczny and his wife Irena visited us here in Vienna, Virginia.  Poland was still under communist control so their trip outside of Poland was something we Americans could hardly imagine. We had a great time together, even though every situation (due to the language barrier) had to be handled through sign language. The Church and Connie's family relationship were the common bond. After that visit we stayed in close touch and promised to return the visit to Poland. We made the trip and then had an opportunity to make another one, an unusual one, in which we got a river cruise down 600 kilometers of the Oder River into Silesia, on the western border of Poland and Germany. My Asian travel experiences came in handy. Just as Viet Nam is a continuing, emerging, country, so is Poland after the Fall of the Iron Curtain. It helps to remember this while traveling through the former Soviet Bloc countries. It's been a while and Poland is doing well. Every five years we've witnessed massive changes in the peoples' lives and their economic status. Each trip has been very different because of this. The old Soviet drabness is fast disappearing, and as in every other country around the world, the internet is changing whole societies. Sometimes everything works out just right. European airfares which have been high lately, came down suitably just at the right time. Watching the weather daily, it looked like we were in for the best spring weather ever. Looking at our schedules, we were under no duress to make any drastic changes in our planning. We would just go and have a relaxing time.
     Adam and Irena had different plans when we got there. They had mapped out nine solid days of different places to go and things to do. I was a little mystified, but the master-plan couldn't have been handled better by a professional travel agency. We settled in at Siedlec and then took day-trips to nearly every portion of Malopolska, from the mountains to the beautiful fields and limestone valleys of the area north of Krakow. One particular highlight was Auschwitz-Birkenau. I had wanted to visit these sites before, but it never seemed to work out. There is even this human hesitancy you have to deal with in making the decision to visit. What happened there and at all the other camps dedicated to Nazi death machinery remains incomprehensible to the normal, moral-thinking, human being. But it did happen. It was a fact of our human failure. Pitted against the back-drop of Poland's total history, it's just another part of the sad story of conquest, abuse, and Poland's role as European Whipping-Boy. The great open space between Germany and Russia. Prussians, Tartars, Nazi's, Russians, Swedes, whatever the horde, they all wanted a piece of Poland and now in post-Soviet terms, Poland is beginning to gain self-governance and national pride. It's a process I find fascinating considering the sad history. We've already made our plans to go back again in two years. I can't wait.    
     

The Future of Our Town

22 April 2013

I love the place where I live. It's more than just a place. Under the statutes of Virginia it's a real town within the borders of Fairfax County. We have a "Real Town" feel and everyone says that, if you live here or are just a casual visitor to any one of our numerous town celebrations. I like this place because a lot of people volunteer for causes and serve the community in a lot of different capacities. We have a good town government and exemplary bi-partisan leadership in the Mayor and elected Town Council members. It's election time again here in the spring of 2013 and I'm thinking about how much more exciting a community-oriented local election is, rather than some nebulous national election. The action really is on the local level - in the neighborhood where sewer problems, zoning matters, and police protection constitute an actual life-style. I'm fortunate to live in a place where we know a lot of our neighbors and we know our neighbors who are running for election -  or re-election.

I decided to go to a Town Council Meeting on the 22nd. Believe me, these are not easy to sit through - most of the time. Somebody's got to do the drudge work of running a small town with a mere $7,000.000 budget. In today's world that's chump change. But this meeting was different. The planning people were unveiling the works that have been underway to improve and 'modernize' our main Maple Avenue corridor. Nothing will happen overnight. That's the good news. Many more meetings and open-forums about a 'Future Vienna' are scheduled into this summer. The meeting was hard to sit through, but what I heard between the lines was fascinating. How were we going to deal with all the changes that are coming with the re-configuration of Tysons Corner, Metro West, the opening of the Silver Line to Dulles Airport?

For me it's nothing new. I've been thinking about it ever since the Movers and Shakers north of us up in Tysons Corner came up with the bright idea that (somehow??) this concrete jungle of a shopping mall needed a face-lift. A lot of my neighbors were feeling the same thing and we talked a lot about it. It's a feeling you get deep in your gut. Maybe I better pack up and go now, before it's too late. A lot of my more active neighbors started attending meetings up there, and within the Fairfax County bureaucracy so they could keep an eye on "The Powers to Be." As one more innovation and proposal was heaped on pile after pile of proposals and innovations it became abundantly clear that something resembling downtown Dallas, Texas was going to be erected on our northern town border. They even came up with a lame slogan: "Imagine people - and not cars and Traffic." Sure. Re-direct all the traffic through Vienna, McLean, or traffic-choked Falls Church. Let them deal with it.

I don't want to pack up and leave. I have a stake in my neighborhood. My final wall of protection from "progress" is my town government and the people elected to run it. They've done a good job up to now but can't continue to do their jobs properly unless they get constant feed-back from our neighborhoods. At last night's Candidate Forum at our local community center this point was emphasized throughout the evening. Councilwoman Laurie DiRocco made it her main point for re-election: "We're lucky to have an army of people here working on commissions and committees. We have a very-involved community of volunteers." I thought it interesting that she mentioned "Vienna's Borders" three times during the Q and A. Maybe that's what we need. A uniformed Border Patrol at each end of  Rt. 123/Maple Avenue to keep out the real estate tycoons, manipulators, and shopping mall speculators. If you live within the Town limits of Vienna (not just have a Vienna zipcode,) be sure and vote on May 7th at the Vienna Community Center. Every vote counts for an unencroached life-style here in our fair Town.

Carey Sienicki - Laurie DiRocco - Howard Silversteen - Ryan Thomas - at the Candidates' Forum in Vienna, Va.

 

It'll Eventually Spoil You

Doug Meek - Clayton Martin - Danny Paisley - Marshall Wilborn - Mark Delaney

30 March 2013 In Stewartstown, Pa.

     It'll eventually spoil you. Music won't sound the same anymore. Those forms of music you once considered unique or interesting take on a lackluster, boring sameness. I'm talking about being addicted to bluegrass, or as I prefer to call it, the 100% pure Hillbilly music I'd really rather listen to. I still like my Jazz, old rock and roll, and opera, but the more I listen to pure bluegrass and old-time hardcore Hillbilly, the more I realize I haven't listened to all of it or enough of it. I'm sitting here tonight in Stewartstown, Pa. getting a full evening of Danny Paisley and Southern Grass. Danny is belting out the lyrics of songs from his latest CD and I mean belting them out, almost howling, but there's an emotion and conviction that speaks a truth immediately recognizable by those who follow this brand of music. Paisley has a voice and style that most 'music professionals' would consider hard to take, but this is pure and about as pure as it's going to get. He's probably in the middle of his tenure and I think about how much he's risen in popularity just in the past five years, and how much further he's going to go before he becomes one of the Grand-Daddy's of Bluegrass. No secret that his recently released CD "Road Into Town" is now Number Four on National Bluegrass Charts.

     A good bluegrass entertainment package is not about one person. Maybe the closest thing to bluegrass is the teamwork it takes to form a good classical string quartet. Everything in the music has to come out of the acoustical stringed  instruments involved. This is the most rampant misunderstanding of bluegrass, as opposed to the rampant electrification of popular "country" and rock and roll. Rule Two: no drums, no percussion, or else you get kicked off the stage. Hooted out of the Hall. Every element of the music has to come out of those stringed instruments. These thoughts are moving through my brain as I'm listening to three of the best players in bluegrass. Danny nods to Doug Meek to kick up his flawless fiddle. Then to Mark Delaney for a few flawless banjo runs. Normally, Eric Troutman is on bass, but was absent this evening. Standing in was one of the legends - what a surprise - Marshall Wilborn. I missed Eric Troutman's high-tenor vocals. When Eric and Danny are singing together it's the reason why I sometimes feel spoiled rotten on bluegrass. There was another change too, in Clayton Martin (mandolin) standing in for Danny's son Ryan. Normally all these changes would have lent chaos to a performance. But all these guys are professionals, extremely young by bluegrass standards, and they all played on to one of the best shows I've yet to witness up to this point in 2013. Were there hitches and imperfections? Of course. But Danny always has that smile on his face. That infectious smile that brings out the spirit hidden in the strings
.
     It's Easter week and I'm at my local parish watching the parish youth perform a version of the Passion Play. An electric piano is jacked up to max and drowning out a young lady who has a magnificent voice. There are two electrified acoustical guitars along with a regular electric guitar. The song interludes are long and tedious and drowned out by electrification. The young man singing is trying hard to do a Bob Dylan imitation and keeps referring to the audience as "You guys." You might wonder why I'm mentioning this. Yeah. It's the folly of youth and I see it at clubs, open-mikes, or the same attitude with young people who are trying to make it on the stage as "Newgrass" groups. They just don't get it. Destroy a good thing (I felt sorry for the girl with the talented voice) by thinking that talent is naturally going to come out of a control box. They need to listen to, and study the Masters more closely. And most of all, realize that climbing to the top of any kind of musical or performing ladder requires hours of rehearsal and lessons in how to present yourself in front of an audience - in a professional manner. It's an art.