The Circle of Gigs, Sunday February 20, 2011

There’s just something about a gig. Maybe it’s like a wedding and we’re all serial brides. It starts with the engagement…..”will you come play???”. Yes, of course, we’d love too! And we’ve got a split mind…one side says “It’s about time!” and the other side “Awww, someone likes us enough to ask”.

We fuss over the set list months in advance, maybe this, trying that, oh those two go together, maybe this one should be first, open a capella?, and we should make a statement by closing with this. What will we wear and how should we stand? And we practice and practice and practice and consult with a pro, experienced in these kinds of things, to perfect the arrangement, the sound, the image.

We arrive at the event hours ahead. One last run through before our procession, making everything just so. Perhaps it’s the nerves, maybe excitement, but a welcome flask appears to calm our minds and quell the nerves. One last touch up. Is everything in tune? It’s time to go down the aisle.

The ceremony’s a blur. Full of faces and sounds, knowing looks, coordinated movements. It’s over, we’re down the aisle and out the door greeted by some kisses, some hugs, slaps on the back, and handshakes. You were so good, beautiful.

And finally, we go honeymoon with our memories, over a burger and beer, and talk about what went right and what went wrong and plan for the next engagement.

A Liberal Vampire in North Carolina, Sunday January 16, 2011

I’m sitting here in the comfort of my home, dog sleeping at my side (like many dogs he wants to spoon against my side or legs…it amazes me how a 30 lb dog can push me or my wife off the bed), some clocks ticking, the occasional whirr of the refrigerator, a few passing cars, quiet, warm, and peaceful. I’m still on east coast North Carolina time where I was last week, stuck in snow and ice, and when I should have written this column instead of at the last minute on Sunday morning. One reason for my early morning, though, is the second coming of my cold…the infamous creeping crud, courtesy of my 2 year old niece who came and sat in my lap to generously show me her new Barbie doll, complete with mucus. But the head-cold does give me the excuse to self medicate with therapeutic doses of bourbon, chocolate, and hot tea. Damn doesn’t that just smack of  “sensitive guy”…it should be coffee and bourbon but my mother is a Brit who, according to my father, makes the worst coffee in the world and we grew up not appreciating the bean, so tea it is. At least I drink my whiskey neat. That should take some of the polish off the “sensitive guy” finish.

North Carolina was a mandatory trip…..mom’s 80^th birthday party. Longevity seems to run on both sides of my family so unfortunately ya’ll might be saddled with me for a pretty long run. I didn’t travel with my dobro and was sorry I left it behind. Getting stuck in the snow and ice for an extra 3 days in a “cabin” without my axe drove me a little crazy. And on the flight from California there were at least 3 guys carrying assorted guitars and mandolins, which I took as an omen I should have traveled with mine. I’m gonna have to break down and find a good travel case. It’s just that I have only one dobro right now and would be hard pressed to replace it if I became yet another airline musical instrument horror story. However, I do have this perverse curiosity to see if homeland security considers my carryon steel and fingerpicks as dangerous weapons and wants to do a cavity search of my dobro.

I have to confess to being a news addict. I look through a few news aggregators online a couple of times every day, listen to the public radio news morning and evening, and occasionally hit the BBC…..and the bulk of it seems real doom and gloom. There have been some horrific events the first two weeks of this New Year, in the US and abroad. When I see a run of really bad news like this, I sometimes wonder if this is a kind of pre-apocalyptic dress rehearsal or is it just life. Logically, analytically, my understanding of history tells me it is just life…..we’re probably not in surprisingly violent times and possibly, in spite of all the cruel, evil, and just plain craziness, we have less bad stuff to deal with than only a couple of generations ago. But that’s not any solace to those suffering and doesn’t really keep me from being worried.

Every time I visit North Carolina I feel it's a little like going to Grass Valley for the Father’s Day Festival where I get the best part of visiting with my family, in a community that values its citizens. I walked into town, through the snow, from my brother’s house…not a long walk, about 30 minutes, and had three different people stop and ask if I needed a ride. In this part of the world folks wave at each other when their cars pass on the road. A little unreal considering my experience with city life.

Every time I go up to Grass Valley, it’s like going back to North Carolina and I feel like I’m visiting a community that has those same values. It’s a nice vacation away from the real world to catch a glimpse of a world I think most of us would like to see.

Now the kicker to all this was, at my mother’s birthday party, one of my brothers introduced me as our token liberal, the family Democrat. I still don’t understand why they started wearing cloves of garlic around their necks and throwing Holy water at me. At least I don’t have that problem at Grass Valley.

Searching for the Mysterious Goodsound, Sunday December 19, 2010

Do any of you ever wonder how some of these bluegrass groups get to where they sound so good? That might be a stupid question of course….especially considering who the folks are reading this. But I have to admit that sometimes it completely escapes me how good-sounding groups put it all together. This goes beyond the obvious answer of practice, practice, and more practice; where I’m going is arrangements, dynamics and all that other stuff that gives each group their own unique sound. I’m learning there’s so much more to putting a song together for performance than just figuring out what key works, what tempo, who does fills, who does breaks, where they go, and the harmonies….oh my word, the harmonies are some of the slipperiest things to get ahold of. Granted, I’m still a rookie at all this and only dabble in the singing end of things for the moment.

So how do they do it? At my first Father’s Day Festival, a few years ago, Doyle Lawson and Quicksilver gave a workshop on how they do it…well it wasn’t so much a workshop as a question and answer session. If you’ve ever heard Doyle Lawson and Quicksilver in the flesh, and had your retinas burned by all the sequin flash, you’d probably be curious to hear what they had to say and hopefully will get the opportunity again this summer at the Father’s Day Festival. Basically they practice their vocals in the morning, take a break, and then get together a few hours later and do it all over again, and again, and again…….. Coming from Doyle and the other group members it sounded a lot more impressive than my few words, and the story is their practice ethic is intense, and I would guess verges on obsessive. But, I don’t recall them discussing how they come up with the song arrangements, much less their intricate vocals.

So how do all these groups do it? One of the things I’m learning is how to handle dynamics….or at least appreciate dynamics better. If it isn’t complicated enough, we’re supposed to play quiet sometimes and sometimes loud, and sometimes when I think I’m playing quiet, it’s really louder than I realize, and sometimes if I don’t get right on top of the mic you can’t hear me above everyone else. Seems like a lot to handle on top of trying to wrestle a good sound out of my dobro.

It turns out the damnamics are bit more difficult than I figured. Now when I listen to bluegrass I try to hear the individual roles the instruments are filling. You are probably muttering to yourself….”isn’t this all obvious, it’s bluegrass 101?” Well I thought it was obvious but now that I’m playing in a band I’m not so sure and really surprised at how…not easy it has been controlling the dynamics. So imagine you’re in a 5 piece group…bass, multipurpose guitar, mandolin, dobro, and fiddle…..ok let’s throw in a banjo in the mix as well. So in most songs, live or recorded, I can always hear the bass. Depending on the group I might or might not be able to really hear the rhythm guitar. True to its reputation, the banjo is usually towards the front of the sound and often seems to be providing some drive to the music, and the mandolin is the chop machine….Those four instruments are typically at the front of the sound and often present throughout entire songs. So now of course I have totally annoyed the fiddle and dobro players; the poor guys are often relegated to kicks, endings, fills and breaks…..and chopping when the mando isn’t. But the thing is the fiddle and dobro are always there…..but when they aren’t kicking, filling, or breaking, sometimes I barely hear them. Listen to Alison Krauss and Union Station or some of Tony Rice’s stuff…….a lot of times I really have to struggle to hear Jerry Douglas on dobro or whoever is playing fiddle.

It turns out one of the hardest things I’m having with dynamics in my bands is giving up sonic space…..even when I think I am, sometimes I’m not. That only came to light, or maybe came to sound, by listening to recordings of our practices and going “ewwwwwww did I really do that, I thought I was playing too soft to be heard!” I have a real love-hate issue with those handy digital recorders..they help me to improve my sound, but it sure hurts to listen sometimes.

So I still don’t know how all those groups do it. My bands are getting there, it seems oh so slowly, with a few exciting moments where it all comes together. Those moments feel so good and it’s a wonderful surprise to hear a recording where I think “damn that sounded good, was that really us?” Now the big question I have is how did Bill Monroe and all the pioneers of bluegrass do it……….maybe somebody sent a Zoom digital recorder back in time.

FaLaLaLaLa Ya’ll, Sunday November 21, 2010

Tis the season already…….I do get annoyed, though, when Christmas music is piped into stores before Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations are up the week after Halloween. But all the same, tis the season and those wonderful sappy movies designed to bring a tear or put a lump in your throat are already being aired. My wife can provide sobbing witness to their effectiveness.

Tis the season to look forward to the New Year and the 48 hour jam hot on the heels of a newly minted 2011. For me though, the 48 is getting trumped this year by Ma’s 80^th birthday party, deep in the hills of North Carolina on the exact same weekend. Oh ya’ll can chide me for being a selfish son, but I missed the 48 last year too. Either Ma is going to have to move her birthday or someone is going to have to reschedule the 48. Somehow I think neither one will budge, at least for this January. Thankfully, she is as healthy as can be expected after raising 4 sons, and will likely drink too much sherry at her party, which will provide us endless amusement and cause us to publicly suffer embarrassing stories of our childhood and adolescence. Maybe I can travel with my dobro and slip out to experience a local jam. But then again, I wonder if my finger picks, steel, and capo will make it through airport security in my carryon or cause a security ruckus to earn me a pat down, or pat up, or maybe a game of twister with the TSA. I’m really curious to see what would happen, but am I that demented?

Tis the season to plan for the Winter Music camp and SFBOT; they are approaching altogether too fast and will be on us before folks can catch up on lost sleep from the 48. I’m looking forward to Winter camp, it’ll be my first Winter camp, and I’m looking forward, once again, to the total immersion music camp experience.

Tis the season for Holiday jams and busted band practices from all the busy celebrations. This time of the year creates mixed feelings for me. I love playing with my band mates, and I love spending time with my family, but the two often fall into conflict between Thanksgiving and New Years. I’ll muddle through and make the best of both, but I don’t have high expectations for maintaining my band’s weekly rehearsal schedule.

Tis the season to give thanks. Maybe Thanksgiving was once for celebrating the final harvest and preparing for winter, but that has changed over the years. I’d like to think that it still celebrates a harvest of sorts…a harvest of new friendships, a harvest of old friends that decided to stay with us another year, a harvest of festivals, camps, jams, and big ol’ harvest of music, so feast well folks.

Happy Thanksgiving ya’ll, and remember to FaLaLaLaLa responsibly during the Holiday season.

Bill’s Genesis, Sunday September 19, 2010

 

I recently came across an account of an archeological expedition to ancient ruins in Kentucky and Tennessee that unearthed a glass mason jar stuffed full of paper towels covered with difficult to decipher handwriting. The best guess is that the texts were well preserved due to the remaining alcohol in the jar…which might also explain the bad handwriting. Dating of the alcohol by SIP analysis puts the age of the jar, and the paper towels, at approximately 50 years. The authors of the text are unknown, but they are believed to be witnesses to the birth of bluegrass and this is their account as best can be reconstructed:

Bluegrass Genesis: The Gospel According to Monroe

In the beginning, Bill created the Ryman and Bluegrass.

And the Bluegrass was without form, and music-less; and silence deafened the ears. And the spirit of Bill moved across the strings.

And Bill said, Let there be sound and there was sound.

And Bill heard the sound, that it was good: and Bill divided the sound from vocals.

And Bill called the sound music and vocals he called a high lonesome. And the evening and morning were the first day.

And Bill said, Let there be the Ryman in the midst of music, and let it divide the music from the other music.

And Bill made the Ryman, and divided the music which was under the Ryman from the music above the Ryman; and it was so.

And Bill called the Ryman Heaven. And the evening and morning were the second day.

And Bill said, Let the music under the Ryman be gathered together in one place, and let the roots music appear, and it was so.

And Bill subdivided the roots music into Bluegrass, old time, and country; and the gathering together of other music, pop music: and Bill saw that it was good.

And Bill said Let the Bluegrass music bring forth the mandolins, the fiddles, the guitars, the basses, dobros and the banjos.

And the mandolins brought forth chops and arpeggios, the fiddles brought forth long bows, guitars brought forth g-runs, basses brought forth slaps, dobros brought forth all manner of sounds, and banjos brought forth rolls. And Bill heard that it was good.

And the evening and the morning were the third day.

And Bill said, Let there be structure to the bluegrass to divide the choruses from the verses, and let there be signs for the kicks, the breaks, and the endings.

And Bill said Let there be meter, let there be keys, flats, and sharps, let there be the 1, the 4, and the 5 chord.

And let there be all manner of minor chords with their various suspensions, diminishments, and augmentations. And it was so.

And the evening and morning were the fourth day.

And Bill said, Let the festivals bring forth abundantly the moving creatures that hath desire for bluegrass, and jammers that may immerse in the bluegrass in the firmament of Ryman.

And Bill created great creatures to drive golf carts, and every living creature that moveth which the festivals brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every jammer after its kind, and Bill saw that it was good.

And Bill blessed them, saying, Be fruitful and multiply and fill the festivals, and join the CBA, and let the jammers multiply in the festivals to bring forth more jammers.

And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

And Bill said Let Bluegrass bring forth the instrumentalists after his kind, and vocalists after their kind, and every banjo player that creepeth upon the earth after its kind; and Bill saw it was good.

And Bill said Let us make the Bluegrass Boys and musicians in our image, after our likeness and let them have dominion over the sound of the music, over the notes in the keys, over the tempo in the tunes, and over all the chords, melodies, and lyrics played in Bluegrass. And so Bill created musicians in his own image, in the image of Bill he created male and female musicians.

And Bill blessed them and said unto them, Be fruitful and multiply and replenish Bluegrass, and subdue it; have dominion over the mandolins, the guitars, the fiddles, and basses, and dobros, and banjos, and over all the sounds that come from Bluegrass.

And Bill said, Behold, I have given you every note and key and tempo, and all the instruments to make music, and the lyrics to populate your songs.

And Bill saw everything he made and behold it was very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

Thus the Ryman and Bluegrass were finished and all the host of them.

And on the seventh day Bill ended his work, which he had made. And he jammed.

These are the generations of the Ryman and Bluegrass when they were created in the day that Bill made music.

Music Lessons?, Sunday August 15, 2010

I’m confused. Since I started playing dobro about 3 years ago, I’ve taken lessons, been to the CBA music camp, attended workshops from Dobro masters, and bought instructional books and DVDs. Now, all of this has almost certainly helped me more than I can recognize but it still leaves me feeling, I dunno, strangely incomplete.

So here’s the thing. I don’t think I know how to take a lesson! This seems like a strange thing to say….I mean I go into lessons with an open mind just waiting to absorb all the knowledge and try not to have any preconceptions or an unachievable agenda…..but actually, I kind of suck at leaving agendas at the door.

There are probably two things that doom my lessons and I guess must also perplex my teachers. One is that I have the patience of a gnat. I need to explain that one a bit because this is a ying/yang thing for me. When I get into something I can be obsessively focused, which playing dobro allows me to indulge. And when I get up a head of steam practicing, all of a sudden there goes six hours of playing and I know its time to quit because my thumb hurts from all the pounding on the low G-string. (Ain’t no one going to accuse me of not digging in.) I’m pretty sure that my lack of patience comes in part from being on the north side of 50 and feeling like I don’t have enough time to get where I want with my music, and in part because I’m naturally impatient. So if I think whatever workshop or lesson isn’t taking me there fast enough…I get kind of antsy….or maybe gnaty. But I generally sit there politely and try to be a good student.

The second thing that complicates lessons is my sweet, pleasant, but sometimes adversarial, personality. I think most of my friends will vouch that I’m basically a good guy….but I seem to have a knack for asking the most annoying questions…or maybe it's the annoying way I ask them, and then not letting go until my question gets answered. Oh well…..my poor teachers.

Maybe my confusion over how to best learn dobro comes from when I was in high school and learning how to play trombone and baritone horn. Back then, part of learning to play seemed to involve how much the band director made you cry…there was a direct correlation…the more you cried the faster you improved. Seriously!  Horn lessons were not for the faint hearted, usually involved a certain amount of discomfort, and relied heavily on the necessary but boring repetition of scales. It’s strange, now I gladly practice scales and feel like practice isn’t complete without at least one. On the other hand the horn lessons were very structured and involved progressively more difficult exercises that really helped to play difficult passages in symphonic or jazz band.

In contrast….all of my dobro teachers are way too nice and haven’t even come close to making me cry, so I definitely feel like something is missing and my progress too slow. The other difference, that I think I’ve written about before, is that there is an amazing lack of structure….there aren’t  thick exercise books with hundreds of dobro drills in each of the major and minor keys. I hate to think that I’m so inflexible but it kind of drives me a little crazy. Dobro education seems to be done mainly in the traditional front porch method of here try this lick or let’s play this song.

So what do I do? Since there aren’t a whole lot of dobro teachers in the bay area I decided to learn from the pros. My teachers now are Josh Graves, Brother Oswald, Mike Auldridge, Phil Leadbetter, Jerry Douglas, Rob Ickes, Ivan Rosenberg, Sally Van Meter, Kathy Barwick, Andy Hall, Greg Booth and the list goes on and on. I spend a whole lot of time listening to cds and iTunes trying to do my best Josh/Gerry/Mike/Rob/Sally etc imitation……most of the time I’m learning at 30% tempo with the help of Amazing Slow Downer and am proud to be able to say I can almost play Gerry Douglas licks……in extreme slow motion. Reminds me of the old Steve Martin routine where he making fun of people on Quaaludes, except it’s me playing dobro. It’s inhuman what Jerry Douglas can play….I’m sure he made the proverbial deal with the devil at the crossroads to get where he is.

Now I don’t want to leave you with the impression that I think the lessons, workshops, and dvds are wasted or that I wasn’t thrilled by getting some one-on-one with great musicians. I’ve been thrilled and come away learning something important from each workshop and lesson. Maybe I’ve just got the wrong expectations and should learn some patience……..nahhhhh.

A Waxing Half Moon, Sunday July 18, 2010

It’s Friday evening, the moon is high and bright, and I’ve got my dobro on my lap trying to make it sing. My fire on the patio is slowly burning down to coals, my wife is asleep on the sofa inside, and my dog is probably keeping her company. I can’t keep him outside with me because he constantly wants to trash talk the neighboring dogs on the other side of our dilapidated fence and at 11 in the PM it ain’t gonna happen. Most annoying. But I understand that he believes his job is to protect us from friend and foe, and he is exceptionally diligent in this duty.

I love fires. They allow me to wander with my mind, imagine the past, forget the present, and create the future. I use fires as my crystal ball, they are where my muse sometimes lay, and the coals provide solace to my worries and the flames, lyrics to my songs. I almost took a fire pan up to Grass Valley this year and regret not doing so. I can imagine a sleepy jam, fed with bourbon, winding down and flaring up with the fire. There’s always next year.

But don’t you know, Grass Valley just gets better and better. This year our extended camp included a whole host of friends. Some were buds from my bands, some buds from past Grass Valleys, and some, well who the hell knows who they were. We had a blast. One of the new activities in camp this year was what I should probably call, competitive cooking. It wasn’t planned though we should have anticipated the competitive side…what do you expect when several cocky musicians agree to cook over different evenings. Curtis just loves his dry-rub tri tip and fine wine, Ron cleaned up with his sausage pasta, Jon and Wendy provided the required Chili fixins and of course I have to be the one that does something different with Curry. And as with any good competition, there was more than enough to share with extended camp members, which was their welcome surprise. Next year I expect the competition to be out of control…..personally I’m thinking mud bugs…aka crawdad boil. I keep flipping back and forth between naming our spot Camp Gastronomique or Camp Carnage. Both names capture our essence.

Grass Valley gets better because I know more and more folks…….sometime during the week I get my hug from Darby, get to hear Rick grouse about something, watch JD poke fun at Rick’s grousing, get my once a year jam with Mark Varner, Bob Schwartz, Topher Gayle and others, sneak into the backstage area to schmooze, watch the next generation yet again smack me in the head with their talent, and have to make the difficult daily decision about “do I go listen to music or do I go play music”. That last one usually requires a beer and some reconnoitering to see who is around.

Unfortunately I have been soooo seduced by the Father’s Day Festival that I am embarrassed to admit not attending other festivals…..an admission that I am sure will bring down on my head public “encouragement” from my various friends and acquaintances. So be it. I’ll do my best to make GOF or Plymouth this year to round out my festival resume and get a second shot at jamming with some of my other friends. Now if I can rope in some of the folks from my Grass Valley camp….hmmmmmm do ya think?