This last Saturday my band played a sweet little festival in Lodi called “Bluegrass at the lake”. The Music was sort of an eclectic mix, sort of bluegrassy, gospely, old timey. Americanaish, blend that would make the purist blanch and the common music lover cheer and it got me to thinking once again about the great debate in our circles about traditionalists and big tent heretics of which I guess I’m one.
Don’t get me wrong, I think Ralph Stanley walks on water, especially if he knows where the stones are. And the Carter family sang most of the songs I sang in church as a child, and they are tattooed on the soft lining of my heart. Earl Scruggs and Doc Watson affect me like catnip affects a cat, and the Louvin brothers singing Satans jeweled Crown touches me in deepest recesses of my soul. But that being said…
There ain’t nothing in this world I’d rather not do than to sit in a festival where band after band plays three chords at break neck speeds in renditions of songs I’ve played a thousand times in the parking lot. Or to watch set after set of same after same as the band that was before and that band that is after.
I love to watch a Great traditional bluegrass band playing a great traditional bluegrass set. But I’m more likely to stay in my seat if the next takes a left turn into Fringe grass or swing land or a right turn into C & W, or gospel, or old time or, heaven forbid, something with an accordian or a harmonica, or a steel guitar.
I ain’t talking about 5 guys on stage playing a fourty five minute jam of old dead songs. I’m talking about not chopping off the roots and the branches just to make sure there’s no damage to the tree trunk.
Well, this here is a dead horse I’m beating. Because those in the one camp rarely listen to those in the other, and I guess I’m probably going to listen to what I want to listen to and the other camp is gonna listen to what it wants to listen to.
And the bluegrass police? They can write me a ticket. Somewhere in the distance I can hear Bela Fleck playing Polka on the banjo.
On the spoons.
