Photo Collection - The Fisher House Marathon Jam - The 2015 Edition!

10:00 am.  - Two Hours Before Launch Time

 

 

High Noon!

The crowds started pouring in at 11:30. By Noon the Hall was packed and the parking lot filled to capacity. After a Presentation of the Colors by the Young Marines, the music started and never quit for the next twelve hours. The team that runs this event also filled in as part of the musical support. Folks came from Maryland, Delaware, Virginia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and West Virginia. I have to hand it to the families from Delaware - very vocal, very supportive, and very enthusiastic. It's impossible to name everyone who helped or all the musicians (both Pro and amateur) who participated. They weren't there for the recognition or applause. They were there to support such a wonderful cause - The Fisher House Foundation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6:00 pm. - Six Hours Later

11:58 pm. - The Last Song Set!

12 Hours Later - Midnight - The "Iron Pickers" Shut it Down.

Victory!!

Neil Hamrick

The core group known as the 'Iron Pickers' went the full distance for a full 12 hours of picking and acting as back-up for everyone else in-house. An amazing bunch of people dedicated to local, home-grown Bluegrass.

The Staff Volunteers who did so much to make the day an unbelievable experience for all who attended. There were also volunteers (in teams) running the parking and shuttle services, food sales, cleaning, accounting, and lots of young people running  merchandise sales, games, raffles, and helping at the welcoming/registration table at the door.

Postscript:

The 6th Annual Marathon Jam (Baltimore, Maryland) had hoped to raise $30,000 for the Fisher House Cause. As of the end of March 2015,  with contributions still coming in,  the total has gone beyond $38,000! Of course the organizers are ecstatic and overwhelmed with gratitude at the results of so many hours of volunteerism. Over 500 people attended the event.

Give and Take - A New Release from Drymill Road

28 January 2015
Winchester, Virginia

"How should we record our next album?"
"That was the question we were asking each other for much of 2014. After four years together, with two projects under our belts, we were ready to start our next recording project, but how should we go about it? Our busy touring schedule had left little time to focus on another studio project and we wanted to do an album of work that had lots of energy, which is lost sometimes in the studio environment. Drymill Road was having too much fun on the road to stop to stop touring for a studio project, and our best musical moments were happening night after night in front of a live audience. Suddenly we had the answer: "Let's record a live album!" Still, we wanted to take it a step further and make it more intimate and personal rather than going the traditional route of recording a live show with all the amps, speakers, multiple mics, etc., we wanted to strip it down and make it about the instruments and voices. "Dynamics" was a word used a lot when discussing this project and we wanted to capture that as well. We wanted a sound and feeling you can only get from a group of musicians using nothing but their instruments and voices, without the help of electronics.. So we found a venue, picked a night they were closed to the public and invited a small crowd of our biggest fans, friends, and family to join us during our recording session. On the evening of September 8, 2014 we gathered around a single mic and simply played our music. It's a snapshot in time of a band trying to capture that pure sound and I think we did just that. Enjoy!"    Robert - Drymill Road

       Thus Robert Mabe introduces the latest CD from Drymill Road in his liner notes. The work is a compilation of a few songs previously recorded and new originals that the group has been experimenting with in lively performances before numerous audiences. It's a departure of sorts as indicated by Robert Mabe, who is not only one of the serious lead-vocalists for the group, but also consummate banjo-player and ad hoc business manager and main promoter for Drymill Road. They call themselves a bluegrass band but that's just a mere fragment of their versatility as performers and musicians. Any one who's experienced this group in live performance knows that at the heart of the matter, they're anchored in "three chords and the truth," but are never satisfied with just that as a basis for their message. One of the most astounding departures on this project is the addition of  Patrick McAvinue (Fiddle) who is highly acknowledged in the field of bluegrass, traditional, and Celtic music as one of the best Fiddlers in the business. His resume and list of accomplishments so early in his career are golden. Drymill Road's music and presentation have always been about excitement and drive,  but Patrick McAvinue adds a dimension that takes this project one step further in building a solid foundation for what the band could become. They've come a long way in a few short years (four to be exact,) but one of the qualities that I admire in Drymill Road's approach is the acquisition of musical maturity before going for the short-term. They've already established a record of festival appearances, an appearance at Carnegie Hall in New York, and a busy gig schedule in the eastern coastal states. This summer begins a cross-country tour which will be a new venture, but the fans know this has been forthcoming. It was inevitable; and a sure sign of seriousness toward their musical careers.

        The new CD is accompanied by a DVD of  the live performance of  "Give and Take" that Robert Mabe refers to in his liner notes introduction. The band invited a select group of supporters and fans, gathered around a single mic with little engineering or technical equipment and let it rip. Oddly, the DVD is high quality in recording, production, and editing standards. It allows you to see and hear all the positive and negative factors exhibited in merely listening to the CD. Sean Loomis, Lead singer and guitar, at one point says to the gathering "I hope this comes out OK." It's a telling statement of the whole project, the risk involved, wading into uncharted waters. Drymill Road is not a band that has ever relied on using the "one-mic" standard in bluegrass music. There is an art to that and it requires hundreds of performances under all sorts of  house conditions to get it right. There are masters of  the art in the business and when you hear them live you know exactly who they are. There is another danger lurking in a project such as this and that's your invited guests. I really like Marvin Gaye - except for some of those stupid, canned, songs he produced that were supposed to sound like you were in somebody's apartment having a raucous party. They annoyed me back then, they annoy me even more years later. After Marvin Gaye did it then every R&B singer followed suit and it was so hum-drum. Even today the concept returns full-tilt in a lot of  Hip-Hop except that the party-banter, "Let's-get-high" facade has been replaced with a lot of scatological and sexual references. In other words, trash for the sake of  who can be the trashiest. On a very personal level for me, and I alone, I wanted to savor the material when I came home with the package and give it a first listen and the DVD a first-view. Even though it was produced before a small and select audience in a closed venue, I was immediately annoyed by the overly-exuberant yelling and screaming that continues throughout every song. There are five or six very distinguishable culprits and they could have been easily edited out of the final  product, both the CD and DVD. It really eats into what for me is a unique group of musicians who have only one central message: Listen carefully to what we have to offer - it'll be a while before you hear the likes of this again.

       I've always maintained that Drymill Road (if you want to label them bluegrass,) is the closest you're going to get to hearing Jazz modes in bluegrass. I'll be the bluegrass snob right up front and proclaim to anyone who wants to fight me on this point, that Drymill Road is a band that requires an appreciative, listening audience. Let the partying and yahoo exuberance come later. That they do create the audience exuberance is a feature any performer would die for. Like the Marvin Gaye recordings, you can't manufacture it and expect any kind of truth in the art-form. Drymill Road is an odd-bird in my own personal taste for traditional bluegrass. Can they do "three chords and the truth?" Exceptionally. Can they crank up a program that appeals to a younger, beer-drinking crowd? Most certainly. While everyone talks about the demise of traditional bluegrass among a younger generation Drymill Road is that transitional phenomenon that traditionalists and non-traditionalists will talk about in the coming decades.

Drymill Road: Give & Take (2014) produced by Sean Loomis, Robert Mabe, and Douglas Ross in Winchester, Virginia. Independent production.

Drymill Road: Sean Loomis, guitar. Robert Mabe, banjo. Doug Ross, mandolin. Dave Hurt, bass. special guest: Patrick McAvinue, fiddle.

The Tamale Lady

I'm a sucker for home-made Tamales - and Birthdays are wonderful things.

23 January 2015
Vienna, Virginia, USA

       I have another Birthday coming up on Sunday. I was going to write a reflective piece about turning 71 years-old and then figured I wouldn't because everyone writes about their Birthday. Joyce Miller posted something that caused me to think. It was Her birthday and she was being modest about it. I wrote her back that we as human beings should celebrate each day of our lives as a Birthday. Some hate their birthdays - they can't stand to see time passing them. It's part of the human condition to dislike any kind of change. I told her to look upon it as a gift, because that's what it is. Each of us were born. Each of us will eventually die, so seize each day and proclaim it as another day to celebrate. I wake up each morning (and like a good Catholic) bless myself that I'm still alive and that God has given me another chance to get out of bed.

       A few weeks ago I changed my medical care from the Veterans Administration and put it into the hands of  Humana Health Care.  I fell out of my chair when I found out it was free due to my status as a service-connected, 'disabled' veteran. I've marked the disabled, because that's what I'm labeled as by the VA System; but at age 71 I'm still able to hike and dance the night away with every pretty woman who will let me. Connie and I still like to travel the world internationally. Pure luck (and your DNA strain) has everything to do with what kind of condition you're in when you reach my age. It's difficult not to notice the younger ones around me who aren't so lucky. I empathize with them, but there is nothing I can say or do about it, except to emphasize that my whole life story is about the proverbial Cat with Nine Lives. As a combat-veteran it was always about the luck of the draw. "Bullets don't discriminate." is another little goodie we used to tell ourselves upon waking in the morning. I signed my name to the new Humana policy knowing that I would get that eventual call; the one where an inquisitor asks you a thousand questions about your past health history. You know, the drudge of going through all those questions and trying to recall everything that ever happened to you in 71 years.

       "Tameekwa" rang me up about two weeks later. She seemed young. She wanted me to take a few minutes to answer some questions. Here it comes, I thought, and she's going to love my life-story. So I settled back on the couch and got as comfortable as I could. Talk about a wake-up call. The inquisition proceeded as follows:

Tameekwa:  "Here goes. First question, Mr. Henry. Can you lift ten pounds?"
Me:  (pause) "Yes."
T.     "Can you lift ten pounds over your head?"
Me:   "Yes."
T.     "Can you lift up both arms above your shoulders?"
Me:   "Of course."
T.     "Can you bend down and stoop?"
Me:   "Easily."
T.      "Can you tie your own shoes or do you need assistance?"
Me:  "Of course and I don't need help."
T.     "Can you walk a quarter of a mile?"
Me:  "I climbed Mt. Diablo a few months ago!"
T.    "Is that a yes?"
Me:  "Yes!!"
T.    "Do you have trouble getting in and out of a chair, or do you need assistance?"
M:   (long, long pause) "Yes, I have no trouble with any of that!"
T.    "Are you in need of visiting assistance, say, nurses, or care-givers for the week or any part of a week?"
Me:  (long pause)  "How many more of these questions do I have to answer?"
T.   " Just 30 more questions."
M:  "Can I answer Yes to all of them??" (facetiously)
T.   "Sorry. I have to ask them."
Me:  "Yes, of course. (laughing) Who was this test designed for??"
T.    "Well, Mr. Henry, uh, people your age."

       The test went on. I think I passed with flying colors. It left me thinking. Is this country's physical condition that bad? I thought about all the 80 and 85 year-old women I used to see daily in Denmark getting on bicycles to do their chores, market-trips, etc. There were a lot of humorous questions on that survey and I reiterate that I have the deepest sympathy for those who do not enjoy the quality of life that I do. Luck of the draw again.

"Flowers for the Dead"

       Gratitude for what you've been gifted is a wonderful thing, indeed. It comes to me in strange episodes. An old Honduran woman showed up in our drive way today at noon-time selling Tamales. She reminded me of that symbolic specter that shows up at Blanche's door in Streetcar Named Desire:  "Flowers for the Dead!  Flowers for the Dead!" except this time she was equipped with an old shopping cart carrying two coolers. We live in a town with strict codes and laws dealing with people going house-to-house trying to peddle stuff; especially hot food. I'm sure the old Tamale lady was shocked at our delight when we happily bought five-dollars worth of  Tamales from her. We talked to her for a while. Laughed and joked. We are in California frequently and I sneak away during the day to visit a Tamale lady who stations herself outside the local Safeway a few blocks down the street from my son's house. She makes the best pork-stuffed Tamales I've ever tasted. Sometimes I take my grand daughter with me. She likes them, too. My grand daughter laughs about my penchant for illegal, off-the-street, Tamales. The illegality of it is part of the adventure. That a Tamale-seller should show up in our (very gringo) neighborhood is no accident. You can expect it in California - not Vienna, Virginia. There are so many new houses going up around us, all in the 1 Mil range and all of them are being crafted by Latinos. Most are Mexicans and they do good work. They work hard and on very little pay and food. Lately the Mexican food trucks have been showing up, going from lot to lot to feed the workers. I'm sure there is some sort of communications network between both trucks and workers, so they can all make a buck. Seeing the Tamale lady brought back funny memories of Connie and I on a trip to see the Russian River north of San Francisco. In the middle of nowhere we stopped to buy some hot, steaming Tamales from a woman who was selling them out of the back of an old beat-up station wagon. One of my most memorable road-side, impromptu lunches. They all have the same cooler-set up and you know who they are and what they're selling. No accounting, no taxes, no permits, nobody hounding them about food regulations.

       I asked her if she would be by again and she eye-balled the construction on the new houses going on around our property as if to say as long as this was going on she would be back. Connie paid her five-dollars and handed me the Tamales and wished me a "Happy Birthday!" Gratitude is also wrapped in funny memories - like a good Tamale wrapped in a steaming corn-husk.    

Everything You Need to Know About the 2015 Marathon Jam For Fisher House

8 January 2015

      The shocking, incredible news of the civilian deaths in Paris yesterday is a continual wake-up call (and Warning) that we live in an uncertain world full of hatred. As a Veteran, I'm never pleased to see our citizens have to don a uniform and go and fight the world's conflicts. But it's been that way since 1776 and especially so, it seems since 2001. As a Veteran and a parent I can appreciate that we as a nation can find better ways to let our youth develop and assume future leadership of our country. And then acts of terrorism happen, such as the killings in Paris yesterday and once again I'm reminded that war is a dirty business, usually conducted by younger people, and we can't turn a blind eye or simply sit on the sidelines and wring our hands. The wounded have continued to come home since 2001 and most citizens are unaware of their presence in our midst. If  I had never served in the military I could be one of those - unaware and uninformed - watching the news at night and watching President Obama talk about "end games" "troop reductions" "fulfilling my promises." He should take a walk with me through the halls, clinics, and offices of the VAMC in Washington, DC. Each time I have to, I'm sitting in rooms full of all those who have come home from conflicts and wars since 2001. We talk. They're young men (and Women! Lots of young women) but there is a common bond and I'm now the old Vet talking to the young Vet. There is another bond and that is what this posting is about. I talk to families too. Moms helping their sons and daughters. Sons and daughters helping their Dads. Wives helping their husbands.

      After 2001 there was a great need to provide the families of the wounded with safe harbor while visiting their sons, daughters, and family members in military and veteran hospitals. Many of these families had to travel hundreds of miles and hadn't the means to spend the time or money on it. The Fisher House organization was established to provide the means; a nice accommodation for the families located near the military hospitals and VA Medical Centers. The public response was overwhelming and gratifying to the Fisher House organization but it needs continual cash flow to survive. Thus, the 12-Hour Marathon Jam evolved with the extension of the Fisher House programs. I don't know the full history of how it happened, or who dreamed up the idea, (that would be a fascinating story) but bluegrass pickers and players got together and decided they would start playing music and wouldn't quit for a full, twelve hours. Bluegrass groups and communities across the United States jumped on board and the awareness program has continued for seven or eight years annually, usually in February. I like to call it an awareness program rather than a fundraiser. No marathon jam that I've ever been to has outwardly and aggressively brow-beaten the participants or the public for money. The money's nice - the awareness of the Fisher House and what it does for our nation's wounded and families of the wounded is more important - the money will come naturally and from the heart. No reason to brow-beat or make patriotic appeals.

      Six years ago Neil Hamrick (Odenton, Maryland) and the WNGJ (Wednesday Night Garage Jammers) decided they would join in and stage a 12-Hour Marathon near Baltimore. There are two, big marathons near me: Baltimore and Richmond, Virginia. They are both hugely successful and stick to Fisher House's most important, defining ground rule: No expenses will be paid for by Fisher House. All expenses will be borne through donation and volunteerism. 100% of all funds donated will go directly to Fisher House and no other party or affiliation involved in the Marathon. Neil Hamrick is going to take umbrage with me for mentioning his name. He's that kind of guy. Suffice it to say there is a whole battalion of volunteers behind Neil that helps him stage this wonderful outreach. I know a lot of them. They've raised well over $100,000 since they've begun.



A Message From Neil Hamrick:

2015 Marathon Jam Session for Our Troops

The WNGJ (Wednesday Night Garage Jammers) will hold its Sixth Annual "Mostly Bluegrass" Marathon on Saturday, February 28th, 2015, from Noon until Midnight, at the American Legion Post 276, 8068 Quarterfield Road, in Severn, Maryland, 21144. This is a 12-hour marathon jam session to benefit Fisher House Foundation  http:// www.fisherhouse.org.

This jam session will be held simultaneously with several other cities across the U.S. This is the Twelfth Year for the marathon jam and the 6th year for Baltimore. The Baltimore Marathon Jam has raised over $100,000 in its 5 years of existence for Fisher House. Other musicians especially active-duty military are welcomed to come and sit in with the jam as long as they like. (Acoustic instruments only, please). The public is also invited to come and enjoy the music. Free Admission! Come stay an hour . . or two . . or ten. You'll hear some great music and it will help us raise money for a great cause.

If you can't attend please consider donating on-line. Fisher House Foundation does an incredible job of helping military families in their greatest time of need.
Donation Link:   http://www.teamfisherhouse.org/goto/2015BaltMarathonJam
Web Page: http://www.meetup.com/Marathon Jam/
Find us on Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/marathon.jam
For additional Information:  E-Mail Neil Hamrick - mdjam4fisherhouse@comcast.net

For My Own Information

 AcrosstheTrack Bluegrass - one of my particular favorite traditional bands working in Maryland. 

Mike Hartnett, James Langer, Rex Smith, Fred Long, and Darin Wassum.

31 December 2014
Vienna, Virginia

      In the past few years I had been sensing a shift in my preference choices for bluegrass by slipping across the state-line to experience more of it in Maryland. I even wrote about it in several postings. Believe me, I caught some flack about it when my addiction for traditional bluegrass went over the line too, and I began searching for new haunts in Maryland. Make that new haunts (venues) and new (old) bands I hadn't experienced yet. The more I discovered in Maryland, and the more I wrote about it, the more the personal criticism from bluegrass friends here in Virginia deepened. But it's still a humorous situation - nothing serious to write home about, or nothing that's going to permanently banish me from Vienna, Virginia. I'll caveat my statements right here and now with some geography: I live in the "DC Metro Area" which straddles the Potomac River, so it's easy for me to draw an imaginary 100-mile circle around 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and call it my OPs area ('Operational' for all you non-military types). Since Virginia is roughly shaped like a triangle with a northern pointed top, the circle includes more of  Maryland than Virginia. If the circle were a clock, the upper right quadrant - from 12:00 to roughly 3:30 - would include portions of what is now considered Baltimore suburbs. The whole circle is actually becoming one great big megalopolis with very few defining boundaries between suburban commuter 'bedroom' communities. Traffic congestion anywhere within a hundred miles of this imaginary picture has become a major social disease that controls our lives - or disrupts it now on an almost daily basis. One traffic accident on I-95 north or south can cause grid-lock anywhere on the two major beltways around Washington, D.C. and Baltimore. The older I get the more I ask myself why I want to live here. One of the major reasons why I want to live here is the "100-Mile Ops Area" is rich in the diversified activities that Connie and I like to indulge in, rich in the arts, and our slice of the good life includes a little parcel of  Virginia property that just keeps sky-rocketing in investment value. We like Vienna, Virginia, because we have a town government that is dedicated to maintaining Vienna as a small town amidst the morass of  out-of-control suburban sprawl that is Fairfax and Loudoun Counties.

      You would think that such a rich and diversified area as northern Virginia would be supporting and presenting a lot of traditional bluegrass - it once did. The D.C. metro area was once the hot-bed of bluegrass. But times and tastes change and those changes are reflected in a pure dollars and cents attitude with club and bar owners and the promoters who want to stage entertainment that will turn them a profit. For more than a few years now I've been to bars and clubs here in northern Virginia that attempted to draw customers with fairly well known bluegrass bands and the results were usually disastrous. The usual complaints were rampant and up-front: "I can't get a drinking crowd in here with bluegrass."  The northern Virginia suburbs has hundreds of  bars and restaurants offering live music - traditional bluegrass is not an option. There are a few exceptions, but even the music is "Americana" and geared toward a younger audience that is going to spend more money on beer-drinking. The taste of the music loses its importance over the taste of  the 'artisan' 'hand-crafted' fruit-flavored and fruit-laced beers that younger drinkers seem to be hooked on. I blame none of this demise of the music or demise of truly authentic beer-drinking on the club and bar-owners. They are in the business to make money selling alcohol and food. I often laugh at the naivete of the older bluegrass guys when they tell me, "Yeah, that bar doesn't hire us any more. We used to play there regularly and now they never call us."  I don't say anything in return. There is no sense in saying anything. They're not getting the big picture of alcohol economics.

       If  I couldn't find traditional bluegrass in northern Virginia I could find it by going 50 or 60 miles north, east, or west of where I live. Even now to go south, you have to travel almost to the outskirts of Richmond to find  traditional bluegrass. There is no sense in arguing with me on this point because I frequently check all the resources (what little there are,) to keep abreast of the Traditional Bluegrass Scene in my area. I am excluding here discussion of  the infrequent special show, the one-time event of a well-known or lesser-known bluegrass act, and the staged summer-time big festival setting. We have a number of long-running, successful, summer bluegrass festivals in Virginia and Maryland and I don't like to attend them. It's another personal non-preference of mine. The more I traveled around Maryland the more locally known secrets I uncovered; not so much through open-advertising, but by word-of-mouth. Older folks and younger folks would approach me with, "If you like this then you have to go over to this place to hear this group!" I discovered something else, too. A core group of bluegrass bands and families connected to those bands were providing regularly scheduled entertainment - on any given weekend throughout the year - in any number of venues in Maryland. Not only that, but this core group provides a lot of the traditional bluegrass for Delaware, southern Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and certain areas of West Virginia. The names of the bands may change, the configurations of players may change, but certain family names of members keep popping up to constantly surprise me. Or, a family member will offer up a hot tip: "You know I have a brother who's playing next week at the VFW in Martinsburg!" Keeping up with my own personal preferences was becoming a bit much every weekend.

      I started putting together my own calendar on my blogsite so I could personally keep up with it. I started the calendar on Boxing Day, December 26th, 2013.

782gear.blogspot.com/2013/12/traditional-grass-good-times-galore.html

My original intent was to run it for a few weeks into the New Year of 2014 and then keep changing it by deleting old entries. After a month into 2014 I went public with it and was soon shocked to get over a thousand hits on it, (and also a story I had written about the Annual Jumbo Jimmy's Christmas Party).  That party was significant because one band disbanded and another formed up to become "Northern Connection." In the following months I  recorded the emergence of new bands and configurations as long as the band in question followed my own prejudiced guidelines of what constituted traditional bluegrass. I wanted to see for myself how the health and vitality of  Maryland traditional bluegrass was faring. What better way than to record the births and deaths of  bands, or how many times any certain band was being asked to perform at a venue. The calendar also quickly became a dated record of productivity. I smiled too, when printed hard-copies of the calendar started showing up, usually in the hands of older folks at some of the places I liked to hang out. At the end of 2014 the Calendar exhibits some unique facts about the state of traditional bluegrass in Maryland - and Maryland bands and bluegrass musicians playing in and out of the State of Maryland:

1. Over 200 performances by local bands occurred in 2014. This is traditional bluegrass only and does not include any band that mixes contemporary music, blues, Celtic, Irish,  'old-time,' or originally-written material. There are any number of  bands in Maryland that are working, and producing this style of music.
2. The Calendar does not reflect Maryland bands that also participated in the larger, organized, multi-day festivals.
3. The Calendar also does not reflect amateur local bands that end up playing (gratis) at Churches, public picnics, street fairs, and local town gatherings such as pumpkin festivals, market openings, street carnivals, etc. There are plenty of these local, thrown-together bands in Maryland, and some of them are extraordinarily good!
4. Cypress Creek Bluegrass Band, The Rocks Bluegrass Factory Band, Northern Connection, Special Blend, Hickory Hill Bluegrass all emerged this year and are gaining audiences. Blue Train experienced its first full year of completing a busy schedule.

      In helping me to compile the First Year of the Calendar I need to acknowledge the assistance of  the Families at the center of  Maryland's bluegrass production. Thanks and sincere appreciation to the Paisleys, the Lundys, the Millers, the Martins, the Meeks, the Shorts, the Blair Brothers, the Beachleys, the Streetts, the Runkles, the Eldreths  - and I've probably missed a few more who've helped me along the way. Please feel free to correct the error of my ways the next time you see me - and I'll post the correction. It's all for the good of the cause - letting the world of traditional bluegrass know that traditional bluegrass is alive and doing quite well in the State of Maryland.

Ed Henry's Maryland Traditional Bluegrass Calendar - begun 26 December 2013

Encounter of The Third Kind - Flavio Sala in Reisterstown, Maryland

 Flavio Sala  (Bojano, Italy) at Temple Emanuel in Reisterstown, Md. 13 December 2014

15 December 2014
Reisterstown, Maryland

      Children are so funny. They can be brilliantly honest or so far out in left field in their thinking that as an adult you have to shake your head in wonder. I have witnesses to this event I'm about to relate, so rest assured I'm not making this up. Again, it reinforces in me the distrust I have for any adult or parent I hear use the over-worn phrase, "Children are so smart nowadays!"

      Only a few people know I'm a calligrapher. It's a hobby. It's me making the rebellious statement that in an increasing world of technology there is still an old and artistic way of producing something timeless and beautiful. For a few years I was tasked to take my pens and inks to a basket-ball free throw competition at a local church gymnasium. As the kids progressed through the competition I would have to sit there and hand-letter 60 or 70 very nicely printed completion certificates. Since we didn't know who the winners would be, it was the only way to assure that we got the right names on the right certificates. So I mastered a quick way of doing it, and the more I did it the easier it got. I was utilizing the French Humanist form because of  the flow and rapidity required. The children came in groups of  two's and three's by age. I'm whipping through the certificates asking name spellings, laying them aside so the ink can dry, like a drill sergeant moving along with a battalion of  Marines. I barely looked up from my work and I'm still trying to have conversations with some of the adults next to me. I had to work on an old gymnasium bench; not the best of places to be handling Renaissance-styled calligraphy. The children watched me work; fascinated that pen and ink could still be used in such a fashion. Three 10-year old girls were right in front of me. I could hear them having a disagreement:
"Look how he does that!" one said.
"He's not really doing it." said the other.
"Yes he is. I've seen my teacher write like that!" the first one said.
" You're wrong! It's not really him. It's the Pen!" said the other.
We adults laughed. It broke up the monotony of the day and eased the pain in my cramped fingers. The beauty of pure statements coming out of children's misdirected thought processes and total lack of reasoning.

      You know by now that crazy thoughts and memories like this go through my brain while I'm being transported through other worlds. I'm at my third Flavio Sala performance in Reisterstown, Maryland. The concert is nearly ended and Terry Mandell, one of the concert directors is asking Flavio Sala to talk a little bit about the unique, one and only, guitar he had been playing all evening. The guitar was made by Master Luthier Camillo Perrella of Bojano, Italy, which also happens to be Flavio Sala's hometown. Flavio tried to turn his attention to the work of Camillo Perrella, the intricacies and artistry of  turning wood into a world-class musical instrument, the science of sound, acoustical properties, it was all a bit too much to explain in a few minutes after completing a rigorous and exhausting 2-hours of playing classical guitar and then in the second set, introducing works from his upcoming 'discographical' project. I could see some looks on people's faces in the audience; non-musicians and non-acoustical science types who were probably thinking, "It's not him. It's that fantastic guitar!" They laughed. They applauded. They stood three times and delivered three ovations. With a chuckle, Flavio stated, "I'm really tired!" and left the performance area. Give him a break. Let him rest. He floated out of the main auditorium area while the crowd gathered for snacks and drinks and there was a hub-bub of excitement in the room. Flavio would be back to meet-and-greet and sign autographs. Performing causes a natural adrenalin rush (only when it's done right; only when it's done well) and I could see that look on Flavio's face when he graciously and humorously excused himself. Let him rest. Let him catch his breath.

      As beautiful as it is, as perfect as it is in its harmonics and acoustical quality, the Camillo Perrella Guitar is nothing more than a pretty piece of wood-sculpture unless it's in the hands of a master. I've had the "Flavio Sala Experience" now for three concerts and I can more easily focus on audience reaction to what guitar and master can produce in a matter of two performance sets. I've learned by now to expect more than a few surprises at any Flavio Sala concert experience. On this particular evening at Temple Emanuel, Flavio executed his per usual first set of classical selections with flawless enthusiasm. I need to add that he garnered excellent audio assistance from Randy Goldberg who was running the sound system. The temple is basically a huge, open space with a flat, back wall of windows and could have been an acoustical nightmare. Flavio can spend up to an hour before each performance perfecting the range of that beautiful piece of wood sculpture. I'm fortunate to be able to sit quietly and listen to every note, every nuance, as Flavio works with his sound engineers to get the perfect quality that he wants. Once maintained, there is no going back, no interruptions, no changes. He and the sound techs get it done once and then the guitar mastery takes off  like a rocket ship.

      Flavio's normal first set is comprised of selections from Fernando Sor, Bach, Chopin, Rodrigo Riera, Vincente Ascencio, and a host of others. Tonight's presentation of Ignacio Figueredo's "Los Caujaritos" was especially memorable for it's fire and passion. He ended the set with an homage to Carlos Santana's "Europa" which is one Flavio's most frequently selected songs on YouTube. The reason for the concert was the second set; devoted to introducing and show-casing selections soon to be available by signing up on Flavio's website. The "discographical project" - Mi Guitarra y Mis Amores - will be, as Flavio Sala announced, "A Gift to all my fans. All those people who have followed me and enjoyed my music."  There is nothing to buy, nothing to order. Flavio will automatically download monthly offerings from the project - a raft of music he's been feverishly recording since September. All one needs to do is contact Flavio's website to sign up. He's got a plan. A succinct plan to move himself forward as I've mentioned in other articles. Tonight's concert was a prelude; just a teaser; and I was as much interested to know what was going to be offered as the next listener. As the second set progressed Flavio introduced only a few of the songs by author and title. Some I recognized, most were obscure, some I hadn't heard in years, all of them were brilliantly interpreted in the hands of Flavio. I was especially struck dumbfounded by the third selection, which I tried to pin-point as something out of the height of  the English Renaissance. I made a note to get the author and title from Flavio at a later time. (He was swamped after the show with mobs of people asking questions - he's always swamped, and gracious enough to accept the adoration!)

    Two days later Ruth Perrella Barker e-mailed me a set-list and I matched it up with my notes- the song was from Queen! - "Love of My Life." I rolled over with laughter because I'm not unfamiliar with Freddy Mercury and Queen. I also laughed and gave Ruth a wink at the concert when Flavio slid quietly into "Are You Lonesome Tonight" written by Lou Handman. I looked around the audience to see how other people were reacting to this Elvis classic. There were a lot of smiles. The woman next to me grabbed my arm. She asked me, "Is he really playing that??"  Yes, I said. He's really playing that and it never sounded that good when Elvis did it. My reason for writing this is to give you the listener an opportunity to know what's coming up in "Mi Guitarra y Mis Amores" I've decided not to. I'll just leave you a few hints. I don't want to spoil the surprises. It would be like yelling out the punch-line of a good joke or telling a child what's underneath the wrapping of a Christmas present. I don't want to spoil it for you. You can also find out by attending the next Flavio Sala Concert. It'll make you a firm believer in this talented, young Italian with the beautiful guitar.

      With many thanks and gratitude to Tesca Concerts of  Temple Emanuel in Reisterstown, Maryland. Tesca founders Steve and Terry Mandell have produced some outstanding programs at the Temple and in the surrounding region. Thanks too, to Randy Goldberg for the audio engineering.

 For more information about Mi Guitarra y Mis Amores  contact  www.flaviosala.com
For more information about Tesca's upcoming events contact:  tescaconcerts@gmail.com
Visit TESCA Temple Emanuel on Facebook.

Ruth Perrella Barker, Flavio's manager and Terry Mandell (Tesca Concerts)

Christmas 2014

15 December 2014
Vienna, Virginia

Hello Dear Friend

Christmas season always causes within me the urge to write. In a former life I wouldn't have thought of it. I was always depressed and self-absorbed. The older I get the more I can't be around  people who are what I used to be like. Depression is a contagious disease that I need to steer clear of. And negativity too. I once heard a man tell me that he was wasn't happy that his grandchildren were coming over to stay for a whole weekend. That one statement told me everything I needed to know about him.  I didn't want to know anything else about his life. Yeah. I can be highly critical and judgmental of other people. I listened to his whining and thought about all those who would love to have grandchildren, or in my own case, not having the geographical ability to see my grand daughter as much as I'd like. I'm one of the lucky ones. God has been good to me. Should I squander away the good things in life He's gifted me? It's better for my mental  and spiritual health that I stay away from depression and negativism. Christmas has always been a time for me to think about these things. Summer's gone. The harvest is over. The cold gloom of winter sinks in and then deepens until the ground thaws again in the Spring. We're fortunate here in Virginia. It comes early and stays late. Christmas is the time of the great turning and the shortened days. I remember one Christmas when my son was about two or three years old. The room was warm, the tree was lit and I rocked him to sleep in a rocker we still have. Christmas music was playing on the old WGMS fm. station. Not too many Christmas days are that memorable; or held for me the contemplative possibilities of that moment to hold my son and think about the Catholic Christmas Story. Basically, at the heart of the matter, I was feeling the deepest human meaning of being a father to my child and a husband to my spouse. Basically, I was feeling human!

We've had many conversations over this past year about the two of us and where we're headed as the great turning of  the year approaches. We can continue - in Communion; and isn't that the best news? It's a secret between us, you and I, because we have no idea where all those 'others' are with their choices of religious profession. And that's OK. It's the foundation of living in a free society. The joy of knowing you is not having any secrets about where we both are with our commitment to the Eucharist as Catholics. That's my ultimate Christmas gift for such a special friend as yourself - "When we eat this Bread and Take this Cup" we promise over and over that friendships are more precious than going down that lonely path of solitude. As long as we're friends I don't ever have to chose that path. My own promise of the Eucharist is that I don't ever have to face loneliness again. "When we eat this Bread" I'll be quietly wishing you a Merry Christmas.