Doctor B., Bluegrass and Fiction

We became acquainted with Dr. Tom Bibey a couple of years ago, when we shared a lunch table at a literary conference with him and his agent. Dr. B., as he is known on his blog, is a self-described “bluegrass physician novelist.” His book, The Mandolin Case, was published last year. We have the very first copy sold through Amazon. Autographed.

On his blog last week, Dr. B. commented on why he puts so much time and effort into writing, and playing the bluegrass mandolin, when his days are so full with his first career, family practice medicine. Seems some person criticized him for having a second career instead of concentrating on medicine. Dr. B. made this the subject of an explanatory post, “To Be The Best Dr. B I Can Be.” His position is that only by stretching himself into the arts can he keep perspective, and be the best he can be in other areas.

I’m with Dr. B. on that thought, and commented to that effect. You go, Doc.

Buy the book, you will be delighted. And sometime in the next year or two, there will be a second. You can read about that, too, on his blog.

Irish Things

From the long ago sixties, when folk music of all kinds was in vogue, an appropriate lyric from the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem:

The Parting Glass
after the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem

Of all the money that e’er I spent
I’ve spent it in good company
And all the harm that ever I did
Alas it was to none but me
And all I’ve done for want of wit
To memory now I can’t recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all

If I had money enough to spend
And leisure to sit awhile
There is a fair maid in the town
That sorely has my heart beguiled
Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips
I own she has my heart enthralled
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all

Oh, all the comrades that e’er I had
They’re sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e’er I had

They’d wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I’ll gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be with you all

Sláinte!

Gettin’ that Old-Time Music…

…and proving thereby that young folks can be independent and appreciate tradition. A friend’s young son, not yet eighteen, posted on his Facebook page that he is tentatively planning to take his girlfriend to Merlefest rather than to the Prom at his school. Will is a junior dorm student here in Chattanooga, hometown is Greensboro, NC. His father has posted approvingly of his son’s plans and apparently the young lady is enthusiastic.

Will plays the saxophone, not to my knowledge a commonly included instrument in bluegrass, the staple of Merlefest, but on the festival website I see a fairly eclectic assortment of entertainment. And you don’t have to play bluegrass to enjoy it, as I have found, lacking as I do all musical talent.

Another recruit saved from hip-hop and other disasters.

Dismembered Tennesseans at Nightfall

The Dismembered Tennesseans tonight: Fletcher Bright, Ed “Doc” Cullis, Bobby Martin, Laura Walker and Brian Blaylock. Most all of these folks play more than one instrument, and do vocals, but tonight their instruments were, respectively, fiddle, banjo, guitar, bass fiddle and mandolin. The band opened for the Gibson Brothers, and in typical self-deprecatory humor, Fletcher Bright remarked that opening at Nightfall was their favorite gig, since the audience was always larger when they finished than when they began.

I heard the Gibsons’ music on the local NPR station this afternoon, and would have liked to stayed to hear them live, but we had already put in a full day, so left toward the end of the DMT’s set. It was oh, so good. I have listened to the DMTs for many years, not quite as long as they have been playing – they are a few years older than I, but not much – and this year they sound better than ever. That may partly be true because of my paying closer attention to bluegrass this year, although they have been so good so long they may well be getting better. My attention to bluegrass has increased mostly because of a fellow I met last Spring at the Conference on Southern Literature, Dr. Tom Bibey, who I call “Doc Bluegrass,” because as he describes himself, he is a semi-retired country Doc and twenty-year bluegrass mandolin player.

Because of Doc Bibey, I have revisited bands and performers familiar to me in a casual way for years. Flatt and Scruggs, Doc Watson, Bill Monroe, Ricky Skaggs and many others. I have encountered so many new (to me) acts that my mind boggles. If you do not pay attention, getting most of your music information from broader media, you would not believe the depth, breadth and quality of bluegrass being played nowadays. Children, by my measure, not yet out of high school. Performers who have day jobs but  jam every chance they get and sell self-produced CDs. I will not live long enough most likely to hear all the talent in this field.

The Nightfall concert series is partly sponsored by Fletcher Bright, who has been playing bluegrass violin longer than he has been a real estate professional. He does well at his day job, but watching and listening to him you know where his heart is.

Next weekend another event, over two days, October 2 and October 3, also sponsored by Fletcher Bright, The Three Sisters Music Festival takes place at Ross’s Landing in Chattanooga – another free event. Among others, the Grascals, the Del McCoury Band, the Dismembered Tennesseans (both days) and eight other groups will play from noonish to night.

Songs

Listening to NPR All Things Considered tonight, I heard an interview with Ricky Skaggs, a tremendously successful country music figure who has gone back to his roots the past several years, playing acoustic music flavored with bluegrass.  Ricky Skaggs newest release is  titled, “Songs My Dad Loved.” Most of the interview focused on the background of music that started this man in his long journey through country, crossover success, and back to bluegrass.

Ricky Skaggs woke up one morning at the age of five to find a little mandolin beside him in his bed, a present from his father. According to the account in the interview, Mr. Skaggs taught young Ricky three chords, sang a few songs with him, then went out of town on a job which lasted a couple of months. When the father returned, the son had progressed far enough that Mr. Skaggs went right out and bought a new guitar (the old one had been loaned out to a friend) so that he and his son could make music together. They did so, for the rest of Mr. Skaggs’s life.

Now, a dozen years or so since Mr. Skaggs Sr. died, his son has recorded a number of the songs his father loved to sing. All parts are played or sung by Ricky Skaggs, in tribute to his father. It is obvious in hearing Ricky Skaggs talk about his father that a tremendous bond existed between the two, probably would have done so without the music. But the music made them closer and so influenced the son that in tribute, he has recorded the musical bond that contributed so much to his life.

I must get this CD, I know that. Soon.

Bluegrass Rollin’ on the River

fiddlin' on the river

I’ve been getting educated in matters bluegrass this year, courtesy of Doc Bluegrass, Bibey, that is.

Seeing a card in my mail for a local event, the Three Sisters Music Festival, I recognized some names that are on the Good Doctor’s Approved list, including the Grascals.

With a name like that, I like them already. Must give a listen to them on the internet. And in person two weeks and a few days hence.

The festival takes place in a riverside park with wide expanses of green space, a bandstand, restaurants and shops nearby. Across the Tennessee River another riverside park with a carousel of  hand-carved horses provides more to see and hear, if the music of the festival is not enough.

Looking forward to it. Oh, and I just listened to some samples of the Grascals off their website; if they were any closer in harmony they would be one person. With an awesome voice.

Y’all come.

Music Generations

At my age looking backwards comes more naturally than looking forwards, except for the influence of my grandchildren, of course. Lately I have noticed other young folks who make me think of the future, and in a good way. Musicians spanning two generations  or more are playing together in bluegrass bands, often involving whole families carrying on traditional music. Given the age of some of the pickers, bluegrass and traditional music, in the South, and in other places, will roll on deep into the 21st century.

Surfing through some old links lately, I see that the music lineup at the Jack of the Wood microbrewery in Asheville for July 4th features The Sons of Ralph, Lewis, that is, Ralph being a mandolin picker well into his seventies, playing with his two sons and others.

Like the McCoury family, apparently the Lewis family will keep bluegrass going on for years yet, maybe into the third generation. The best of old traditions do not die, younger folk just make the tradition their own.

Musical Irony

I understand that bars and pubs and taverns exist to sell beer and alcohol of all kinds, everything else on the agenda is sales support for adult beverages. And certainly, having done my share, I understand that loud conversation goes hand in mug with serving booze.

None of the above reason and temperate comment helps on a night as we have had, however. Each Sunday night, a shifting group of musicians who love Irish and Gaelic music jam at our favorite neighborhood beer emporium, the Tremont Tavern. No cover, no demands on the audience, just musicians enjoying what they love the best. We love their music, as well. Tonight, two couples at the bar were so engrossed in their loud conversation that we had trouble hearing the acoustic sounds of the Celtic jammers. We eventually moved closer to them, and enjoyed ourselves.

There are two ironies here, since the conversation was so loud, I heard most of what the two couples were saying. They were all very impressed by a band that performed late one night after the big show at Riverbend, the eclectic music festival played out on the Tennessee River at Chatanooga. The Travelin’ McCourys are the sons of Del McCoury, Bluegrass Power, who tour in their own band when not appearing with their father.

The enthusiasm of the folks next to us for McCoury music was a  bit odd since their converstation interfered with some of the root music of Bluegrass. Celtic heritage emigrants carried the bones and foundation of Bluegrass to this country centuries before Bill Monroe and others, including the McCouries, shaped the old harmonies and instrumental riffs into the compelling music that so entranced the two couples at the Tavern. The second irony here is that only applauding the end of each group improvisation by the Celtic musicians interrupted the flow of racous conversation. Why could they not just listen?

Music à la carte

Between the explosion of digital electronics, the internet and wireless technology, musicians have in the past dozen years been able to make their own audiences. Web pages, song downloads, storage of large volumes of music in small, portable players have set up parallel distribution systems for indie and alternative bands. Some of these developments, principally the internet file-sharing sites, have felt the wrath of the recording industry, seeing their own business model threatened.

I look around Chattanooga, my home town, and every night of the week there are small venues available to bands and singer/songwriters in dozens of locations, covering a wide variety of music. Most will never have the old style major label recording contract, they sell their self-burned CDs, or even better, offer downloads on the internet payable through PayPal or similar services. In many of the places I visit for entertainment, or just a beer, employees jack in their personal iPods into the business-owned sound system, and play mixes they have created themselves from a variety of sources.

I have been amazed recently to see the extent of one type of music, familiar and well-established, but enjoying accelerating growth. Bluegrass enthusiasts gather for jams, festivals and post their thoughts in online websites dedicated to their music.  Young bluegrass musicians are coming along, sometimes mixing other influences into their acoustic compositions. I heard one such youngster this afternoon on NPR; Sarah Jarosz, just turned 18 and releasing a recording. Traditional music of other kinds also prospers, sounding from small clubs and bars on odd nights, sometimes in an open mike setting, sometimes in a regular jam, like the Celtic evening each Sunday night at our favorite place, The Tremont Tavern.

This democratization of the music business, dispersed and decentralized, has made it possible for thousands of musicians to support themselves partly through their music, occasionally not needing day jobs.

I like it.

Instruments of Grace

Hammered out on the anvils of life by forces we cannot fathom, our spirits fail, our strength ebbs, we see no way out. We have all been at such a place, we will be again, this grim darkness is part of life. We, ourselves, must find some help, at any cost, or sink.

For many, religion is the frame and support making sense of pain and suffering and loss. Grace is what we call the measureless well of heartlift and support, that in Christianity is the free gift conveyed by Jesus, through his free sacrifice to the things of this world which are evil. Those things we cannot bear he provides a way to bear, a way to lift ourselves out of little pilgrim’s Slough of Despair.