Jennifer Aniston. Pamela Anderson. Burt Reynolds centerfold. What do these people have to do with my column today? Absolutely nothing. But I’m going to write about old time and contra dancing, and I know that to begin with Tommy Jerrell, Mose Coffman, or even Bruce Molsky would be to lose 9 out of 10 of you right away. Actually, the focus today is really about the remarkable outcome of awesome positive energy of good people doing good things for a good reason. To get to the point, however, we have to trek through a little old time.
On March 28, at 7:oo PM, Nick Cuccia, contra dance caller and sound guy summoned 24 dancers to the floor of the Veteran’s Legion Hall in Merced. I was sitting on stage with the Home Stilled String Band, nervously watching a mostly empty hall at 6:40, as the the minute hand excruciatingly crept to the hour. All day long, I had walked in circles and paced around the house like a caged coyote. This Barn Dance was my baby and I had no idea how the community would respond. To make matters worse, I had never even been to a contra dance and here I was basically leading a band. Folks dribbled in to the point where ether three dozen standing along the walls or in line ordering beers and soda. My nerves eased a little…if even twenty people had showed up, I would have been happy.
Now I can hear the snickering as some of you are saying, Marc(os) playing old time? A contra dance? And the truth is, I’ve gotten that as well from folks when I’ve joined in on some old time jams. There is a shadowy side of me however, and that is : I enjoy old time…and not the pseudo stuff from bands like Crooked Still. For a couple years now, I had been edging toward old time jam circles, hanging on the periphery, desperately refraining from playing diminished fifths and sevenths.
Last September I went to Fiddletown and found myself smack dab in the middle of a jam with Geff and Masha Crawford, the Foothillbillies, and other notable old time musicians. There was no hiding and as hours and the day wore on, I completely forgot that I was stopping by for just a minute on the way to a bluegrass festival. The next thing I knew, I was seeking out old time jams at the Great 48. Slowly, albeit not clearly at first, a muted voice began to speak to me. A voice audible only to me: “Marc…throw a barn dance. Merced needs a barn dance.” I mean, how hard could it be? Just grab some friends to play…it’s old time. Get a caller. A dance floor.
I won’t go into all the details, but let’s say that when a contra dance goes well, like anything else, it appears easy. Any practiced, performing musician knows, however, the fallacy of such a notion. I met our caller at the monthly Merced bluegrass jams at the Coffee Bandits. Nick enjoys American roots music. Speaking with with Nick just a short time, one finds that he’s brilliant and an expert on a lot of things…especially contra dancing—it’s history, the steps…you name it. Before long, I was sharing with him the message from that damned voice in my head. Soon, but not with a head first dive, he was agreeing to call a dance in town and do the sound if I could pull it together. I could tell, however, he was wondering if I was more desire than ability. He didn’t know my track record. To be honest, Nick is a shy kind of guy—a computer engineer telecommuting from his home. His slight stutter revealed a little anxiety in dealing with folks like me. To be honest, I was having difficulty picturing him calling a dance. I could only trust his word.
After pondering a venue,a friend shared that the Veterans might be willing to work with me. The truth is that the Veterans were magnificent. They donated the use of the Legion Halls since I told them that the dance was to be a free event—something for families and students to do on a Saturday night that was a little different. And of course I wanted to introduce the town to old time music in a fun way. On my way out, I realized that I had sensed a tad of skepticism coming from them. They simply had decided just to trust me after one meeting.
Nick clearly demonstrated to me that contra dancing did not have to be old time “mountain music,” but in my mind that’s there was no other option. Getting the band was easy: Ramona Allingham, Steve Ladoga, Randy Wiesendanger, and local bassist Don Wilson were all people that I had jammed with dozens of times; they were talented AND reliable. Soon we were practicing at my house. Their commitment to the project made me determined to make this dance work. We coordinated the set list with Nick and learned some of the keen differences between playing music for one’s self as a musician and for a bunch of dancers. Same songs but a different feel. As Nick explained the dances, we began to texture the parts to fit with what he was calling.
As time grew closer to the event, I began to receive phone calls from folk with whom I was unacquainted asking about the evening’s details. Our local paper even ran a blurb about it twice (which made me the envy of some local promoters—-our paper doesn’t do news too well). Most importantly, word of mouth network began to happen. Young folk would stop me downtown to say they were shopping for new boots for the dance.
So there we sat on the stage, The Home Stilled String Band, as we decided to call ourselves, nervous but poised for a good time. As folks gather around for the first dance, Nick stood at the center of the room…at least I thought it was Nick. This person stood straight with shoulders back and with a clear, commanding voice set everyone in there positions, looked up at us and gave the signal. Ramona counted off potatoes. and we launched into “Nail the Catfish to the Tree” as Nick called out a mixer—lucky seven (I still don’t know what that last part means). Before long, there were 54 people in the room. I would receive emails and phone calls the rest of the week…some people asking when the next dance would be happening. Others stating their regret about not be able to be attend, but swearing not to miss the next one.
There were a lot of unknowns going into the first Merced Barn Dance. With the trust and faith between all those involved and super community spirit, we caught lightening in a bottle. Now we’re out to prove that lightening can, indeed, strike twice.
