"Nope, Never Heard of Them" . . . (But I Know Them Now.)

      

Roger Eberlin, Tom Cook, Ray Horst, and John Hilton. (Ron McVey is out of camera range)

15 June 2014: Fathers' Day

     I don't know how I get myself in these fixes. Well, yeah, I do. I'm having too much fun in life. Last night I came home (again) from Jumbo Jimmy's Crab Shack in Port Deposit, Maryland. Fortunately, the weekend traffic on I-95 South was light and I could take my time composing my thoughts. On Saturday night Connie and I went out to (Rob Miller's Barn)  in Westminster, Maryland to see Fastest Grass Alive. I should have been working on a piece I'm writing for Marv Ashby and High Octane, but I was way behind. I'll get to the Marv Ashby piece sooner or later. Right now I'm having too much fun. It's nice to be on a roll of having fun with bluegrass. I put Rob's Barn in parenthesis because it's nearly a well-kept secret. Rob Miller and his Committee of volunteers have only recently established a nice web-site and other public connections so they can at least let the Traditional Bluegrass cognoscenti know how to get to this obscure location. Before a few months ago everything was being handled through a massive e-mail list, which is tedious and antiquated. Here's the well-kept secret: Rob's Barn is establishing an operating record of getting, lining up, acquiring, some of the best working bluegrass bands in Maryland, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. What I like about the place is, it's strictly for listening and enjoying the music and everyone who goes there is on the same page about that. It's also staying traditional bluegrass only - no funny stuff. The form will be honored and respected by the best traditional bluegrass players you'll find in Maryland and beyond.

     The Saturday night performance with Warren Blair, Kenny Blair, Steve Streett, Dave Robertson, and Scott Walker was so outstanding that I knew I would have to write it up eventually. Fastest Grass Alive has nearly a legendary reputation among those regularly working the Maryland bluegrass venues. But here I am in a jam. I still owe Marv Ashby some credit. So, being the hopeless addict I am, I got some sleep until 10:00 am on Father's day and then headed out to Jumbo Jimmy's to catch "Chestnut Ridge." For the past several days I've been checking every internet source and calling friends to see if I might find out anything I could on Chestnut Ridge. "Nope, never heard of them" was the response I was getting. There were lots of bands called Chestnut Ridge but none of them matched what I was looking for. Nothing on You Tube, either. Sometimes in my line of having fun I love the total crapshoot. Take the big chance and be totally disappointed or be pleasantly surprised. After all, isn't that what the entertainment business is all about? I had one connection: John Hilton, who plays banjo. It ends up I had been friends with him on Face Book all along and had never met him. I put two and two together. People castigate Face Book for it's superficiality. I would be dead in the water for bluegrass connections and band schedules if I weren't on it. I walked into Jumbo Jimmy's and a few minutes later John Hilton walked in the door. Bingo. We were finally introduced. And he's a good banjo-player by the way. That's the important part of the story. Pretty soon I got into a discussion with Leon Werkheiser and Jerry Riecke and when I inquired as to who these guys were, the full story came out. Chestnut Ridge used to play a lot at Jumbo Jimmy's but hadn't been there in a few years. Aha! There was another odd factor I have to mention: A lot of the usual crowd wasn't there (it was Fathers' Day) and the usual people at the usual tables had all been replaced with folks I didn't recognize! They were all friends, fans, and family of Chestnut Ridge. When a band from Pennsylvania playing in a place in Maryland can fill up a venue with its own crowd, you know you're in for a special treat; sort of like going to a Hillbilly Gypsies event, or watching Marv Ashby and High Octane cause a riot in a great venue like Goofy's up in Spring Grove, Pa.

     There was a major tectonic shift from getting a response of, "Nope never heard of them" to experiencing what the crowd experienced at Jumbo Jimmy's last Sunday when Chestnut Ridge started playing. This is not the greatest bluegrass band you've ever heard, but they're very entertaining and high energy, slowing down once in a while with really old Monroe and Stanley stuff, and some Jim and Jesse. Tom Cook on mandolin broke it all open with his take on Jimmy Martin material. All the vocal work was tight and excellent. I got the impression that a lot of the Chestnut Ridge personal style leaned toward creating an 'Old Barn Dance' atmosphere and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that after weeks and weeks of listening to murder ballads, hanging songs, and tunes about men ditching their philandering wives. I'm way behind and I may never catch up with the story about Marv Ashby and High Octane. I'm having too much fun. I never heard of Chestnut Ridge, but I'm happy to have made their acquaintance and I hope I see more of them around Maryland.

Chestnut Ridge:  Ray Horst, guitar - John Hilton, banjo - Roger Eberlin, bass - Tom Cook, mandolin - Ron McVey, fiddle.

No website available. Chestnut Ridge's members are mainly from the Lancaster, Pa. area and perform in that region. Several of the members are linked with other band configurations.   

Bluegrass in the Traditional Way - A Special Presentation

 The Rocks Bluegrass Factory Band at the Frederick Moose Lodge, June 7th, 2014

 "They say don't go/ On Wolverton Mountain/ If your lookin'/ For a wife.
'Cause Clifton Clowers/ Got a pretty young daughter/ But he's mighty handy
With a gun and a knife."  - Hit song by Claude King (1962)

7 June 2014: The Moose Lodge, Frederick, Maryland

     You know how it is. A song gets in your head and you can't remove it. This song actually has nothing to do with the show I saw last weekend at the Moose Lodge in Frederick - and it has everything to do with it. The newly formed Rocks Bluegrass Factory Band (Point of Rocks, Maryland) had aligned with the venerable Ernie Bradley and the Martin Brothers and Aspen Run for a full evening of exploration and show-casing of talents. At the center of the Rocks Bluegrass Factory effort is Joey Longwell, multi-instrumentalist and excellent baritone voice. Joey Longwell has been a long-standing member of the bluegrass scene up around Frederick County and some years ago he linked up with Gene Beachley through the Ernie Bradley connection. They played a lot around Lucketts, Martinsburg, and Hagerstown. Anybody who plays with Ernie Bradley is immediately connected to the A-List of  working bluegrassers in the Maryland and West Virginia Panhandles. There aren't many. You would expect the region to be rich in working bluegrass bands and musicians. It's not. The audiences and the interest have dwindled. Working musicians sit around and complain a lot that they can't get monetary support from working their craft. It's a unique dynamic because the region was once the hot bed spawning ground for the greats who established the genre. I still love to travel out in that direction and search out the gatherings and local jams where people are playing and dreaming about teaming up to make a few bucks playing music. There are numerous, marvelously talented bands out there on the edge of the mountains who never get beyond playing the church revival circuits and fruit stand openings, or an annual street carnival. They'll play for free or what's known as "the gate" because the local operators think they either don't need to be paid, or the band is doing a free favor for somebody, usually a relative.

     It's easy to sit by and do nothing. It's easy to accept 'the ways things are.' It takes a little bit more guts and chutzpah to take a step forward and try to change things. Way back in my university days when I should have been studying math and science, but really couldn't stand it because it bored me to death, I began researching the rise and spread of  commedia dell'arte from Italy to the rest of Europe in the 16th Century. Along with that arose a tradition of troubadours and Italian dance masters who had as much to do with the artistic explosion of  the Renaissance as any supposedly intellectual scholar of  the time. What these people had was mobility. From court to court and town square to town square. The mobility was either self-imposed or forced by a local court official or magistrate. Along with the legend of the vagabond life-style arose the wonderful purpose these vagabonds served as exchangers of  ideas, popular stories, and even local news sources. One can't even begin to contemplate the rise of opera, ballet, and what we often refer to as the "higher arts" without considering the early role played by traveling troupes, street musicians and actors, and other assorted entertainers. Once I left my studies and started a career in the historical travel business there was always a side-bar reason why I would leave "The Tour" and seek out the things that interested me the most; like local music for instance, or a local art scene. It didn't take me long to realize that every country in the world has some form of local music and usually that local music had something to do with the establishment of the local culture. I soon realized my university studies had been very myopic indeed. Carl Jung got it right. Deep in the human mental recesses are universal patterns that make us the homo sapiens we are. Subconscious human fears of survival or flight, fantasies of love and romance, and dealing with the loss of another human being. Whether it's the sappy love-songs of  Japanese Enka music or the insipid e-minor lullabies sung by every Vietnamese mother, we pass along our state of humanity on the great DNA chains of each culture and nationality. Nothing made me happier last year than to get an opportunity to travel to the Tatra Mountains in southern Poland and go through the CD stalls in Zakopane.

     I'm sitting at a bluegrass performance in the DC suburbs. Every table was taken and there were empty seats at mine, so a couple asked if they could share the table and I obliged. I introduced myself and then went back to listening to the music. That's what I want to do. I want to listen to the music and study what the musicians are doing. The man who sat down "Harrumphed" a lot. That was aggravating enough. But then he asked me if I knew anything about bluegrass. I asked him what he did for a living and he told me he taught music at a local university. I didn't know whether he wanted to know more about bluegrass, or whether he was trying to set me up for a game of 'dozens.' I said nothing to him. Better for him to try and make the first slice in this Duel of the Minds. He pedantically proceeded to give me (along with a lot of aggravating harrumphs) the stock Music Appreciation 101 (Freshman Level) lecture on how bluegrass came here to this region on the backs of Irish and Scotch settlers and all of today's bluegrass music has these Gaelic roots, and you can hear it in every bluegrass song. I listened to this drivel for a half-hour before I got up and left and told him to have a nice day. I never asked him where he taught or what he taught. I didn't want to know. I wanted to ask why then, did the same note structures, chord patterns, and lyric ideas show up in Japanese, Vietnamese, English, Filipino, and lo and behold, Polish Mountain Music?

     About two years ago Joey Longwell and Gene Beachley started posting home-made videos on You Tube. There is some wonderful stuff up on You Tube and then there is the inordinate amount of crap and trash. You know what I'm talking about. Joey posted his songs first and his solo work is good. Not exceptional, but very enjoyable. Then he invited Gene Beachley to add his high lonesome tenor and the videos became even more interesting. I watch a lot of You Tube stuff whenever I have to check out a band or musical act I'm unfamiliar with. I'll normally watch a minute of something and if I hate it, it immediately gets the delete button. Joey's little productions are interesting. And again, not exceptional, but promising in the simplicity of it. Just two guys, two guitars, and a microphone. Basic back-porch stuff.  Music I remember as a kid back in my neighborhood when some of the men would get together with their guitars and drink beer. Joey packs a wealth of old bluegrass standards. Gene Beachley is comfortable with the old honky-tonk, dance-hall tunes, the stuff of  drinking and she-done-me-wrong songs that you know will lead down the road to murder ballads. It's easy to laugh at it; make fun of it. The Professor probably would. It's a lot more complicated to observe it and try to put it into the universal totality of what it represents as art - traditional folk art and living and breathing art for the here and now of today.

     Don't go up on the mountain if you're looking for a wife. You might get your throat cut. There are still scary places up in the Appalachians and you can still lose your life through a bear-attack or snake-bite.  Not a good idea to go up there alone and spend any time unless you really know what you're doing, or if you've had sufficient survival training. The best bluegrass music reflects its primal and primitive beginnings. I seek out the local bands who have the ability to maintain that rough-edge while eliciting the proper response from its listeners. This is minimalist art and not easily accomplished. For an idea of what I'm talking about, take in a few appearances by the Hillbilly Gypsies or Marv Ashby and High Octane. You may not like this kind of music, but you cannot, not listen to it. It's as primitive as it gets. It's primitive on a grand scale. It's also no-joke intended, mountain music. Ernie Bradley and the Martin Brothers and Aspen Run all come out of a basically primitive musical style that we once jokingly referred to as hillbilly music. The years have passed since the 30's and 40's and popular tastes (and Musicology) have re-classified the various threads of the 'bluegrass genre.' Every bluegrass band or entertainer attempts to return to the primitive beginnings. Few succeed. I have my favorites. Everyone who follows bluegrass does. When I sense unnecessary embellishments it's time for me to head toward the nearest exit. When I see a whole crowd of people get up out of their chairs and start dancing, I need to stick around and watch and especially listen to a band closely.

     The "Bluegrass in the Traditional Way" evening of  hard-core bluegrass was a first-time event to introduce and showcase the talents that the Rocks Bluegrass Factory hopes to carry on into the future. It was a first step not without its rough edges, but rough edges are to be expected in any show-case endeavor. The Moose Lodge in Frederick provided an excellent playing space and spacious dance floor that got a lot of use once the Martin Brothers and Aspen Run hit the stage. The best part of the evening shined when it was just Joey Longwell and Gene Beachley up on stage. A naturally talented baritone and a naturally talented high tenor blending their voices in plaintive melodies. Joey added his dobro and gene his old Martin. Primitive. And it sounded just right.

The Rocks Bluegrass Factory Band:
Joey Longwell, guitar, dobro - Gene Beachley, guitar, lead vocals - Jaime Anderson, banjo - David Morris, bass.
Special Guests:  Ernie Bradley, The Martin Brothers and Aspen Run   

  

Stories

4 June 2014

     Last night in Saigon a baby boy was born. Yeah. So what, you say to yourself, babies are born every day all over the world. But it takes on another significance if you know the father and some of his story. The mother I have yet to meet, but I'm sure I will someday. I'm in and out of Viet Nam a lot. Bruce Luong came to this country like thousands of refugees and quickly adapted to an American way of life. He went back recently to Viet Nam to seek a wife and start a family and resume living in a mountainous portion of Tennessee. I came to know Bruce through bluegrass music and  through a mutual friend in Tennessee. But I had to think about how talking to Bruce or exchanging messages with him forever and again takes me right back to me plodding through the rice paddies of Quang Ngai Province in 1966. Check that year, Bruce - that's practically the Pleistocene Age! Young and stupid, I had no idea what life had in store for me after I got home. That I would meet the woman I've loved for 47 years, have a beautiful son who now has his own family. I hadn't a clue that the overseas deployment to Viet Nam would come back to both haunt me and gift me with a career avocation. I hated the war and what it did to our country. Read that statement again. This is the average American's take on the Viet Nam War. We conveniently push aside the cost to the Vietnamese. And it doesn't matter (except to those who will never change their attitude) which side of the political team the Vietnamese were on when Americans refer to the Vietnamese who fought in the war in Viet Nam. I've spent a life time trying to study the facts of what happened and I've been extremely fortunate to have been able to watch Viet Nam develop, in real time, on the ground, constantly,  since 1988.

     Another part of the story was born last night on a hot, muggy night in Saigon in District Five. You don't know where that is? I do. I could take you right to the main hospital and describe what the main gate looks like. I can envision the hundreds of family members milling about outside waiting for news of their loved ones and I can hear the cacophony of noise from the thousands of motorbikes on the street. Back here in the U.S. a young guy is waiting for news too, and through the modern miracle of communications, he receives news nearly immediately that he's a new father. My father and mother had to wait weeks just to know where I was and if I was still alive. We went three months one time without mail. But there I go again whining about a few discomforts. I came home in one piece, very lucky, and relatively healthy. It was soon after graduating from university that the stories I refused to pay any attention to before or during the war began having an effect on me. I was bombarded with them because of my commercial and business involvement in Viet Nam, my involvement with film makers, academics, and artists, and a whole parade of various interesting characters I met coming back and forth and in and out of Viet Nam and other countries in Asia. For any young person reading this (or any interested person, especially Mr. or Mrs. Average American,) who thinks the Vietnam War is ancient and lost history and therefore not worth a career or academic study, I have a message for you. The stories haven't been told yet. We haven't even grasped the beginning of it; what preceded and proceeded our involvement in, and departure from the country of Viet Nam in 1975. I smiled at the news of the birth and contemplated the Big Picture of what was going on. What a marvelous event. A new Vietnamese citizen gets to inherit the future - whatever that is, and whatever that means.

  Luong and Tran - Beautiful, new Parenthood.  (in Ha Noi.)

All The Above - The Rick Jones/Joyce Sitzes Benefit

 Rick Jones (Banjo) with Foggy Hollow Bluegrass, 24 May 2014

 24 May 2014: Street, Maryland

     It was billed as a benefit for two members of the Maryland Bluegrass Family who lost everything in a bad fire, but I think it was actually a Fiddle Festival. No. Wait a minute. It was a Banjo Festival with some of the best banjo-players in Maryland. It wasn't actually that, either. It was a Bluegrass Festival with a whole day's worth of some of the best bands in Maryland. Yeah. It was actually a festival with the voices and musicianship of  Danny Paisley, Carroll Swam, Darlene Harris, Warren Blair,  Martha McEvoy, and wild-man Frankie Short. No, it really wasn't a festival it was a party. You have to sit in a chair at a festival and scream "Down in front!" to people. Here, you could dance, eat lots of great food (no funnel cakes, no cotton-candy) and move around and see all the friends you might miss at a festival. Rick Miller (Blue Train) summed it up best: "Wow! I get to see the bands I've missed because we're always playing somewhere."  We audience members hardly ever consider that. When you're working, you don't get to see other bands or player-friends in the business.

     On this day, it was a rare opportunity to catch up on old times, recount bluegrass lore and funny stories, and generally celebrate the existence of a wonderful sub-culture. I met some really great people for the first time, heard some bands for the first time, and enjoyed hearing the stories of people like Steve Sadler (Foggy Hollow Bluegrass) and Brian Eldreth (Northern Connection). There's always a 'sleeper' or two just like at a festival. You walk away amazed that you hadn't heard them before. Such is the case with Carroll Swam and Bluestone and Butch Arrowood and his relatively new group called Short Notise. They blew me away. It's different when you're not out to impress anyone. You want to do the best you can because it's all for a good cause and you want to look good, but the day is about having fun, playing with, and playing for friends, and smoking and joking with the Boys out back while you're warming up and waiting to go on. Out back and in front of the dance floor it was hot - literally and figuratively.

     The day warmed up and so did the bluegrass. Danny Paisley opened it up at 1:00 like an artillery barrage hitting the French trenches during World War I. Then in an emotional come-back, Rick Jones and Foggy Hollow played for the next hour, then Frankie Short and Northern Connection got the dance floor going. It never stopped till 10:00 pm and the Hall remained filled throughout the whole day of celebrating the music and fundraising for Rick and Joyce. All this when people had things to do and places to be on one of the busiest weekends of the year. I had to smile at it all. What a great sign of a healthy, vibrant music community. Darned near like a church of true-believers out to help someone in need. The Moveable Feast kept moving too. From up front to out back. How about this vision? John Glik and Mike Munford jamming out back. Mike Munford jamming with Carroll Swam and other guests. Warren Blair fiddling with T.J. Lundy and other fiddlers. One group would leave the hot Hall for some cool air outside and another group would take their place inside. You couldn't have purchased a ticket for this kind of music experience. And here's another fact: none of this happens in a vacuum.

     It takes people to make it happen. It takes bands that are willing to give of their time because that's what they want to do. Sara Shock and Darlene Harris began weeks ago to get the ball rolling, along with the strong cooperation of the the Darlington/Dublin VFW Post. It was a natural. The Post has a long tradition of supporting live music, especially traditional bluegrass. On this day, I was fortunate to meet Post Commander Chris Harkins and 'media director' Jennifer Hannah. Both were very cordial in answering my questions and stayed the course for the whole day of taking care of the guests. Doug Kriess worked his buns off too, providing and taking care of the sound system. Doug plays mandolin with Foggy Hollow Bluegrass, so on this Saturday he was a busy man indeed. Donny Hudson and Cathy Berry brought in most of the meat and the Post Ladies' Auxiliary provided hot dogs. Hank Snow (his real name!) ran the auction and generally played master-of-ceremonies for the music and numerous raffles and 50/50's. The give-away raffle centerpiece was a fiddle donated by Harry Shorter. There was a lot of interest in that item. There are a lot of people to thank for such a wonderful day,  but in the life of a bluegrass community the central focus is the music. Nothing would have happened without the presence of Danny Paisley, Foggy Hollow, Northern Connection, Fastest Grass Alive, Bluestone, Short Notise, and Blades of Grass. There to have a good time and donate their time was John Glick, Harold Tipton, Mike Munford, Rick Miller, Harry Shorter, and I'm sure I'm going to leave out some names in this list of luminaries. Thanks to them all, and thanks to all who donated their, time, talent, and money for such a worthy cause.

     It was all the above - Festival, Party, Gathering, Family Reunion, Little Church, a unique opportunity for the Maryland Bluegrass Community to share the gifts.

 

 

    

Back to Basics

 The Martin Brothers & Aspen Run at Goofy's in Spring Grove, Pa.

11 May 2014:  Spring Grove, Pennsylvania.

     I am in no way, shape, or form,  in, or connected to, the music business. But lots of people send me videos, Youtube selections, and even CD's from time to time in the hope that I'll take a look or a listen. I've been in a funk lately. I felt like I was drifting away from my first choice for listening and entertainment pleasure - hardcore bluegrass. Odd, but I think the slight depression started a few months ago when somebody forwarded a video to me of some young people beating on some wooden crates. They called themselves a bluegrass band, but when you went on their website the description of their "style" said it all: "A bit of bluegrass. A bit of blues. A little Rock!" Uh Oh. Americana, folks! Here it comes. In other words, we'll play anything to get a real gig. We'll even beat on wooden crates, because we saw other bands do that and it sounded so cool at the last 'open mic.' I've seen any number of faceless young groups now who are beating on wooden crates. Another un-original gimmick is gaining with the copy-cats:  go onstage barefoot, and then call yourselves the "Barefoot Something-or-others" or "The Shoeless Consortium" or the "Barefoot Barn Pickers." This is so the audience can exclaim in great surprise and excitement "Oh! I get it! They're NOT WEARING SHOES!"

     Yeah. They're just gimmicks. Gimmicks don't get you very far where I'm headed. I missed the annual opening of Goofy's Eatery and Spirits by a week. Warm spring and summer Sundays once again in the open air pavilion behind the main restaurant. I missed the first week but that's OK. The Martin Brothers & Aspen Run are playing and you never know what's going to happen when they show up at Goofy's. The weather is perfect. The late-day lighting is perfect for photography. The overflow audience is perfect. Lots of old friends and Harley's. Real stupid not to wear footgear around here with all that hot metal, heavy horse shoes flying through the air, and all that heavy stomping on Whitey Runkle's new dance floor. The new dance floor had just been installed this winter. Your gimmicks won't get you very far, either. You are either a musician and an entertainer or you are not. The audience will let you know by the amount of applause and whether you have the authenticity to fill up the dance floor. This is true on both Saturday and Sunday at Goofy's. Saturday nights are reserved for real country music. Sunday afternoons are special with a 4:00 start for the traditional bluegrass. On this particular Sunday, it was warm and sunny and packed with patrons who enjoyed the volleyball, horse shoes, dancing, and of course sitting around and talking about motorcycles. The only reason I ever showed up at Goofy's was because some time ago Herb Martin told me "they had real music at Goofy's." I took a chance. I got hooked. If somebody in the bluegrass community tells me they have real music somewhere, well, that's good enough for me. If some punk kid shows up on stage barefooted or is beating a wooden crate and tells me I should check out the music at some joint, I more than likely will dismiss anything coming out of his mouth as being worthless. He's into copying somebody else. He probably thinks all music at an 'open mic' is Americana. But I go to Goofy's because I know Whitey Runkle would never allow that to happen on his stage. Whitey knows his audience is too savvy to allow it.

     A few years ago I sought out Whitey's Road House (that's basically what it is,) because I had run into one of the most basic, traditional, bluegrass bands I had experienced up to that point. The Martin Brothers & Aspen Run were regulars at Whitey's place and still are. They still generally open and close Goofy's Eatery and Spirits bluegrass season. They draw a big crowd that likes to have fun. Whitey can rely on a good day of beer and food sales and make no mistake about it, a popular band can guarantee you a day of good sales. Whitey understands the equation, and most bluegrass fans who hang out there are grateful that Whitey keeps providing the kind of entertainment that's expected - hardcore country, classic rock and roll, and traditional bluegrass. Herb Martin, father to all the Martin boys, and acting general manager to the band suggested I experience the band one Sunday afternoon and that started my connection to the place. To say the place is a bit off the beaten-track is an understatement. You have to traverse some 25 or 30 miles of rolling and hilly Pennsylvania countryside to get there. Then you discover a real road house surrounded by motorcycles, picnic benches, and an out-door pavilion where the entertainment happens. You can leave your urban snobbery on one of the picnic tables near the volley-ball court. You soon discover that life has sort of been frozen in time here. The people are actually nice to you and the only requirement is to answer "Yes" if anyone asks you whether you like bluegrass. The place started jumping once The Martin Brothers and Aspen Run got into their trade-mark Jimmy Martin covers. They're not the best bluegrass band I've ever heard but I admire what this band can do with an audience and they have a solid following in Maryland and in this area of Pennsylvania.

     That was a few years ago. This winter (yeah, I know, it was a long one!) I sort of went off the deep end and tried to shake up my bluegrass routine. I even went out and enjoyed some classic country. Connie thought I should be seeing a psychiatrist. When I feel like I need a shake-up, I always go back to listen to the Martin Brothers. Why? because they're basic. They epitomize for me what bluegrass is all about. But the winter months were long and even the Martin Brothers were sounding off - just not quite there. Sloppy entrances and endings. Forgotten lyrics and chord structures. More mistakes than normal. I could always look forward to seeing them again at Goofy's when the weather got better.

     I knew I was in for a treat. I knew everything would work out because it felt like old home week and the weather was marvelous. Old and new friends said hello as I ambled into Goofy's. Amazing what can happen with a depressed attitude when you get a shot of the basics of bluegrass into your system. The place was packed on a beautiful weekend. Whitey was in his glory greeting old friends and regular customers. Lots of families and kids and people having fun on the dance floor. The music was perfection. Every song delivered with the kind of energy you can expect in a Martin Brothers performance. There's a dynamic that happens to this place when the Martin Brothers perform here, and it's a reciprocal agreement between band and audience. I like to call it basic entertainment. When everything seems to be working as it should. No need for gimmicks or flash or grand-standing. Raw, traditional bluegrass. Basic.

  Whitey Runkle (right) greets customers at Goofy's Eatery and Spirits

   

The Rick Jones Benefit - A Special Event for the Maryland Bluegrass Community

 Rick Jones and Doug Kriess of Foggy Hollow Bluegrass Band

28 April 2014:



News from Sara Shock and Darlene Harris

The sign of a healthy and vibrant bluegrass community is its measure of outreach to its ailing Family Members. 2013/2014 has been an unusual year of illnesses, heart attacks, and injuries, all complicated by a winter that never seemed to end. I returned from Maine yesterday. The temperature was 36 degrees at night with still no daffodils and the willow trees just starting to show some green - it's April 27th!  After seemingly months of bad news, then came the news of Rick Jones and Joyce Sitzes losing their home, garage, and a lot of their possessions to a fire. Rick was injured but is recuperating nicely. Rick plays banjo for Foggy Hollow and the Maryland bluegrass community is responding in kind to assist Rick and Joyce. A benefit has been shaping up for a few weeks under the direction and organization of Sara Shock, Darlene Harris, and a number of volunteers. Beyond the assistance to Rick and Joyce, the event should be quite a 2014 highlight for the Maryland bluegrass community. Here are the particulars:

Date: May 24th, 2014   Place: Darlington/Dublin VFW Post #10146, 3440 Conowingo Road, Street, Md. 21154.  Admission:  $15.00 per person   Time:  1:00 till the fun ends!

Food and entertainment is included in the cost of admission, but drinks will have to be purchased separately from the VFW, since the VFW is donating the Hall for the entire day. Any one familiar with the Darlington/Dublin VFW Post knows it continues to provide some of the best traditional bluegrass entertainment in Maryland. Food, desserts, auction and raffle items and all give-aways will be donated along with the talents of Danny Paisley, Hank Snow, Northern Connection, Fastest Grass Alive, Bluestone, Short Notise, and tentatively, Blades of Grass.

Following a full day of music, the Hall will remain open for an "Open Mic" session for any musician who wants to keep the fun going. And of course, there will be a donation bucket for Rick and Joyce.
Food, money, and donation items are being accepted and coordinated by Sara and Darlene. Sara is also keeping a quick count of expected numbers. If you would like to donate please contact Sara or Darlene. I'll leave their numbers below. The initial head's up is very encouraging and will continue to grow toward May 24th. Look for more flyers, e-mails, and Facebook information as time progresses.

Sara Shock: 717-916-8318
Darlene Harris:  443-299-9705

Out To Pasture - The Maryland Music Experience

Lynn Healey and Patsy Stephens - keeping authentic country music alive in the Washington/Baltimore metro region and beyond.

 5 April 2014:  Bowie, Maryland

      I'm out to pasture.  No, not the Maryland music scene. Actually, in comparison to a lot of localities the Maryland music scene is especially alive and well. I like my bluegrass and I like it hardcore and traditional; but you all know that about me and some of the people I write about. I'm out to pasture now. Getting as old as a lot of the old-timers I see sitting in chairs and on picnic benches. They nod their heads every once in a while when somebody mentions Don Reno or Jimmy Martin. The crowds are thinning out, a fact noted by a lot of writers who want to give traditional bluegrass an early death certificate. There are commentaries too, about the music we know as bluegrass never fading out of existence. Will bluegrass music as we know it eventually go away? It's an interesting argument and one that I try and stay out of. You may as well argue about religion or basketball; both assume just about that much importance to me. I might be losing my appreciation faculties also. I might have to see a counselor. My last couple outings have been so abnormal that it's worrying my friends. Here's some bad symptoms: I've made a special effort to see (and thoroughly enjoy,) the Blue Moon Cowgirls. Last night I broke every promise I ever made to myself and went to an old country/western hang-out and caught Patsy Stephen's act: Patsy's Honky Tonk Torch and Twang in Bowie, Maryland. I hate country music. I 'll repeat that for emphasis: I hate it.  I hate the nancy-boys in torn jeans and tank-tops. I hate the mumbling, whining chicks who look like the painted ghouls who sit at the Macy's cosmetics counter up at  Tysons Corner Mall.  But wait. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm out to pasture. I stopped listening to country music around 1970. So that lets you know how old I really am. I listened to Patsy Cline and Merle Haggard. Out in California I hung around the National City section of San Diego and actually made it to Bakersfield. I have to confess that I listened to more rock and roll than country, but I know I'm not alone. A highlight of my life was meeting Freddy Fender and Porter Wagoner one time in Japan. The reason I listened to more rock and roll was because I had no appreciation of the people back then who were to become today's Masters of a particular genre of American music

       It's today, and musicologists are cataloging the Masters, picking them apart like lab rats, and arguing about whether this or that buckaroo or this or that 'Oakie' was a part of the original Bakersfield Sound. What constantly interests me is the number of  hardcore bluegrass fan-friends of mine who also keep a side collection of  Merle Haggard, Patsy Cline, George Jones, and a number of other old-timers who sang about lost love, bad drinking, and women lost to the honky tonk life. And jealousy and rage. I always like the part about the jealousy and rage - forever committed by a man who can't understand his own stupidity. The themes were always so simplistic you can't exist on a steady diet of it. We can go back though, and pick and choose the one who stood out and made great songs and great music, or had a style that was unmistakable. When George Jones died last year I went back and listened to a lot of his music - more re-listened to his music. You have to do this to gain any appreciation of the work of  the Masters so you can then gain an understanding of the stage they set for future generations. I'm always on a quest to try and sort things out - like the kid who wants to tear apart his old man's wrist-watch, or take apart a bird's nest.

      This odd turn of affairs that drove me back in the last couple of weeks to old country music actually began a few years ago when I met Lynn Healey (of the Blue Moon Cowgirls) at the Moose Lodge in Vienna, Virginia. She was part of a huge benefit for Warren Blair. The line-up of notable bluegrass musicians and bands that afternoon were mostly from Maryland. I remember Lynn's singing that day and I also remember hearing that she was involved with a group known as the Blue Moon Cowgirls. I remember that she was outstanding and holding her own with a lot of  her friends in the business. In my sordid brain I also recollect dismissing the possibility that I would ever plunk down money for a group called the Blue Moon Cowgirls. Here comes that Macy's cosmetic counter image again, and maybe even some comic references to Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. I mean I have my standards to live up to, as macho as I am. Our paths continued to cross frequently at bluegrass shows and venues around Maryland and Virginia. Lynn would always give me a big hug and a howdy and then add, "You'll have to come out and see the Cowgirls next time!" Yeah, Lynn in your dreams. Stick to Bluegrass.

      I love this music business and the folks involved. It goes byzantine at times sending me down strange pathways and dark hollows. I end up getting lost trying to find addresses that are wrong on Google, roads that are wrong. All this technology and the best navigational tool I keep in my glove compartment is a $9 Swedish compass I bought years and years ago at K-Mart. It's the first thing that goes in my carry-on when I'm traveling overseas on my various assignments. The labyrinth of  Maryland bluegrass and social media, and the connection to Lynn Healey,  led me to two other women who are an important part of this crazy story. I'll mention their names now: Karen Collins and Pat (Patsy) Stephens. I knew Karen Collins had her own country band called "Karen Collins and the Back Roads Band." Some friends had recommended I see them some time. Patsy and I had connected mysteriously through Facebook just because I'm interested in anything going on musically in Maryland and her name, and the name of the band, came up on shared schedules in some of the venues I hang out in. Patsy and I passed some messages back and forth and I promised to "come out some time and take in a show." I was serious about the comment. I'm a Patsy Cline fan as much as I'm a Jimmy Martin fan.  It turned into a comedy of errors. A busy Fall, 2013 bluegrass season. A terrible 2014 winter of crazy unpredicted snow and ice storms. On a final attempt to see Patsy over in Rockville, Maryland a Semi overturned on the Cabin John Bridge and stopped traffic between Maryland and Virginia for six solid hours! I surrendered. Gave up on ever spending an evening covering a country band that specializes in Honky Tonk music. The pathways are strange indeed.

      Another "dicey" night recently wherein the gods of winter were still threatening. I had my sights on a bluegrass band in Maryland on a Saturday night but the more I looked out the window the more I was deciding not to push my luck getting stuck in Baltimore somewhere. I checked my calendar and noticed the Blue Moon Cowgirls were playing at the Holy Cross Lutheran Church in Herndon, Virginia. It takes us 20 minutes to get there from Vienna, and besides we hadn't been there in a while. Almost at the last minute I said to Connie, "Let's Go!" It was a totally objective decision just to get out of the house and do something different and we had no expectations of what we were about to witness or hear. I had one knowable - Lynn Healey was part of the group, so they must be pretty good. It had been a long time since we had, had so much fun sitting back and enjoying ourselves, and shock of all shocks, I got to hear and then meet Karen Collins, a diminutive slip-of-thing with one of the prettiest voices I've ever heard. It wasn't so much the purity of  her styling as it was the sense of country authenticity and passionate conviction. The range of song selections was huge; from old country, to honky tonk, to commercialized country, to mountain southern gospel. The harmonizing was seriously superb as was Ira Gitlin's guitar back-up. Ann Porcella rounded out the group with a beautiful mid-soprano. Midway through the first set I was hooked. It's really fun to sit down without any preconceived notions of  what to expect and then be pleasantly surprised. That's the joy of live music entertainment as opposed to wasting money in a movie theater and getting nothing in return except scatological references and smarmy remarks that are supposed to pass for humor, and an insight into how our society operates. It was nice to hear Lynn's singing again. But it was the unit that was important. The beautiful blend of  four entirely different voices and the simplicity of the whole package. That's what good bluegrass is supposed to be about; the simplicity of the whole package. This kind of music (bluegrass, church gospel, back-porch singing, etc.) had its origins in poverty and simplicity and the human desire to express one's self. Ed and Connie's joyous evening ended and I said a final 'so long' to Lynn Healey, Karen Collins, Ann Porcella, and Ira Gitlin. They rode off into the sunset with a rousing chorus of Roy Roger's "Happy Trails" that got the audience up on their feet with wild applause; and there was nothing corny or hokey about it. It was the perfect fit. The perfect ending.

      Maryland really is a beautiful state once you get beyond Urbia and Suburbia. Like Virginia, it's got beautiful mountains, seashore, the Chesapeake Bay, and miles and miles of rolling hills and forests and rivers. I've had a wonderful time exploring the back roads in the past few years. I use the exploration as my "Out to Pasture Time." One can get jaded quickly trying to live the upwardly mobile urban life-style based on wasting your life away in hours of traffic jams and sky-rocketing taxes. On top of all that stuff is my wanting to escape from the whiners and complainers and cry-babies who add to the general malaise and the scandalous rise in human beings permanently hooked on depression drugs. Big Brother is here. He's watching. He's trying to steal what little money we have in the bank through pandemic consumerism. There is an alternative, a way out, and that's to seek out and return to our traditional American selves. My escape valve at this point in my life is bluegrass music. God knows how I ever got hooked on it. I look back in wonder at my upbringing, my liberal arts training in the finer things things in life, my love for Ballet and Opera and a particular mania for the Baroque and Romantic periods in art and music. My mind boggles as I'm wending my way around the Beltway and I'm scanning the signs for the proper exit to Bowie, Maryland. I have a date with destiny. I finally get to see Patsy Stephens and her band, "Patsy's Honky Tonk Torch and Twang." What a great name for a band. You have to consider everything the name implies. I've never been to Bowie, Maryland. I really had no idea what I would find. A few miles beyond our infamous Beltway and into old Maryland country; swaths of pasture and forest and then suburban developments feeding all the commuter traffic onto the asphalt arterial systems surrounding Washington, D.C. that great humbug on the Hill, the City of smoke and mirrors and petty war-lords protecting their special interests and campaign coffers.

      Beautiful. Google has once again given me the wrong site and I  go three miles out of my way trying to find the Old Bowie Town Grille. Nothing to do but go back in the opposite direction. Where Google fails me the railroad lines never do. I followed them back and found the Grille. I was a half hour late. I hate being late for anything. Entering the upstairs area, I encountered a guy with a goatee who eye-balled me. I asked him if he was looking to get paid for a cover charge. "What's your name?" he asked. I told him, and then he invited me in. That was rather odd, I thought, and later I found out "Bobby Joe" would be an integral part of this tale. Patsy Stephens was already into her first set. She gave me a nod of recognition from the band-stand and a big smile. The Old Bowie Town Grille is an artfully refurbished building smack dab in the middle of Old Bowie. The upstairs area can hold 90 to 105 people and is arranged with long tables for seating. The flooring is perfect for a dance crowd. Unlike most bars and restaurants I'm accustomed to for bluegrass, the Grille is roomy and well-lit. I watched "Bobby Joe" work the crowd and later found out he was the owner and proprietor. "Patsy's Honky Tonk Torch and Twang" is Pat 'Patsy' Stephens, the Hall Brothers (Chris and Chick), Mike Toole, and Tommy Auldridge. Alan Oresky sat in as guest-fiddler. All the waiting had paid off. All the miss-fired dates that had gotten screwed up. I got my fill of Patsy Cline and a host of other great songs by female country stars pre-1970. Not only that genre, but old hits that blurred the mind with memories. Patsy and the band are walking juke-boxes of good, old-time country, rock and roll, and easy-listening.

      Midway in the evening Patsy invited "Bobby Joe" up to do a few numbers. He launched into Buck Owens' "They're Gonna Put Me in the Movies" and organized bedlam followed, along with a crowded dance floor. Then Conway Twitty's "Only Make Believe." The crowd begged for three more. I had to meet this guy and talk to him. I suspected there was more to him than meets the eye and I was right. He's a Marine (no such thing as an ex-Marine or a former Marine). He has his own band and his actual name is Robert J. Thompson. He goes by the name "Bobby Joe Owens."  He enthusiastically put two CD's in my hand and talked on and on about bringing good, live music to Bowie. He was quite happy with the turn-out for Patsy's group. I got so pumped up talking to him and Patsy that I left that night not paying for my three Sprites. I sent him a message later and promised I wasn't trying to swindle him and that I would give him a couple of bucks the next time I was in Bowie. Like MacArthur, I told him I was coming back.

      A lot of good things happen when you decide to put yourself out to pasture. Go slumming. Get away for a while from the humdrum of  life. I was having such a good time and watching everyone else have a good time that I nearly missed seeing an old friend in the room. I walked over to her and she gave me that wide-eyed look she's famous for. Good Lord! Of all people it was Lynn Healey. It's a small world connected with a lot of  fascinating stories. Lynn was there to help celebrate a Birthday for Andy Bryson. The audience was treated to Birthday Cake. I walked out without paying my tab. I was humming "Crazy" by Patsy Cline. I met some nice people along the way and made my way back to the City of Smoke and Mirrors.