If you want an instrumental challenge, trying taking up the fiddle. If you want a life-long pursuit of trying to master a musical instrument, play the fiddle.
There is some evidence that the fiddle has its roots in Europe during the 10th century, and by now fiddles can be found all over the world. The term “fiddle” is often confused with “violin,” which begs the question, “What is the difference between a fiddle and a violin?” Different answers appear, depending on who is answering. “A fiddle has ‘strangs,’ and a violin has strings.” That is one answer. Another answer is, “A violin plays Swan Lake, and a fiddle plays Ducks on the Pond.” Other answers abound, serious and hilarious.
A perpetual question that occasionally rears its head is, “What makes a person want to play a fiddle?” You know, why does one person want to take up that four stringed, wood and wire contraption, while another could care less? A fiddle is one of the most difficult musical instruments on which to become competent, so maybe folks who are generally up for challenges are more drawn to a fiddle.
Hearing another person who is a master of the fiddle can be motivation for a person to try and learn this instrument. A person may have been born into a musical family that has a member who plays the fiddle, providing exposure to fiddle music. But that is just one potential motivator. Some people grow up in musical families and aren’t necessarily drawn to musical instruments. Some do, some don’t, some will, some won’t.
Maybe a person hears a fiddle player for the first time at a bluegrass festival, and that is what grabs him or her and holds on tight for a for a short while, or for a life time. Hearing fiddlers like Stewart Duncan (Nashville’s finest), Alison Krauss (at age 14 was fiddle champ in five different states), Mark O’Connor (best of the best), Laurie Lewis (California’s “gold”), and other unknowns of all ages who can knock your socks off (musically speaking) can potentially be highly motivating for a person to start down Fiddler’s Road.
The first time I heard a fiddle player was in the living room of a friend’s family. Leonard Smith, the dad, was playing the fiddle, and Francis, the mom was playing the guitar. At the time this kind of musical thing was happening in many parts of the United States, but my musical listening and viewing experience was a little unusual in that it happened in southern California in the early 1960’s. What made it really unusual is that Leonard Smith was playing the fiddle with one arm. Yes, playing with one arm because that is all he had (check out You Tube, “Leonard Smith – one armed fiddler,” if you want to see how he did it).
Within the California Bluegrass Association we have many folks who play and carry on the tradition of fiddling. You can see them playing at various musical events that we have in California, and you can witness a plethora of fiddlers at the annual CBA Father’s Day Festival held in Grass Valley, CA (40th Annual coming up June 18-21, 2015).
If you are looking to learn the fiddle, or learn more on the fiddle, there is the upcoming 15th CBA Music Camp at Grass Valley, CA, June 14-17, 2015, just before the Father’s Day Festival. Beginning to advanced fiddle classes are offered.
Want a big dose of fiddling inside a convention sized room full of fiddlers? Attend a fiddle contest. Upcoming in California is the State Fiddle Contest held in Oroville, CA, March 20-21, 2015. Following close on the heels of the state contest is the Cloverdale Fiddle Festival on April 11th, 2015, held at the Cloverdale Citrus Fairgrounds.
If you are a musician, you know that playing a musical instrument can take you to places you wouldn’t ordinarily go. You may find yourself at festivals, busking on the street corner, Jam Fests, or jamming at a person’s home with bluegrass music paving the way to new relationships. Recently I had the opportunity to attend a jam at the home of Charles Brady, along with some relatively new faces and a place I haven’t been before. Guitar, banjo, mandolin, and fiddle made the jam come alive.
Mr. Brady is not only a musician, but is also a writer, poet, and educator. During a break in the jam, the group’s attention was brought to one of his poems, “Crick Wedincamp, Fiddler.” Old “Crick” was crippled by a logging accident. The poem was from Brady’s book, “The Riceboro Poems.” Charles Brady’s poems in his book focus on Riceboro, Georgia, a small town where Mr. Brady grew up on tenant farms and other isolated rural areas throughout Georgia during the 1930’s and 1940’s. Fortunately for those of us interested in fiddle music, with one of his poems, Charles Brady has preserved a look back during the early 40’s when Crick Wedincamp used his fiddle to lift the spirits of rural folks who came under the musical spell of the hand carved wooden box and bow that made its way back and forth across four “strangs,” long into the night.
During that short pause in this bluegrass jam held in San Francisco in the year 2015, memories from the 1940’s of fiddlin’ Crick Wedincamp came alive as Charles Brady turned to page fifty-five of his “Riceboro Poems,” and began reading aloud…
CRICK WEDINCAMP, FIDDLER
On hot yesterdays when my folks danced
at night and sweat shone by lamp, like satin,
and days worked in the same clothes forgotten
until Monday when the sawmill whistle blew,
they came by logging roads to the railroad house
where the mill’s pine slabs and drain pond were
so dangerous for bare feet and thick black snakes.
That’s where the fiddler came and my kin danced
in one big room, floors sagging under boots
as my fat Uncle George in his work overalls
called squares and rounds and spun them on home.
With my two-finger chords on a dollar guitar,
I changed grips when Crick Wedincamp slid
up or down the cracked neck of his red violin.
If I got lost or fell behind he’d catch me up quick,
standing wet, sawing fast in the railroad shack.
Crick lived for the squeal of a mail order tune
Rubbed raw from the gut by his home made bow
and the love of his mandolin girl in her cowgirl hat
who sat in his lap and drank her moonshine straight.
Oh, that was the rare sweet sweat and stomping feet
in the Summer nights of our made-up dance
on those hot Julys in a railroad house by the tracks,
where Crick Wedincamp fiddled all night for his life.
