It appeared only a smidgen strange to me that a group of old men would get together every Thursday at Denison University to pick and strum their favorite, well-known bluegrass tunes in Slayter student union's lowest level, also affectionately known as "the pit." Sitting alongside them would be wives and close friends, often singing, just as often chatting while the cherished weekly routine unfolded. I label this gathering as strange only because these seasoned musicians had no official ties to the university, nor to any student interest groups, at least none that I was aware of. These gentlemen played their bluegrass for themselves, certainly not with an end of catching students' attention and interest. If I remember correctly, they were present and played even in summer and during our winter semester break, when student numbers on campus were slim to none. (My own residency on campus one summer and significant winter break time logged on the hill with our basketball practices and games spur memories of their consistent musical presence.). That isn't to say though that students are unwelcome listeners. "The pit's" design is such that those bluegrass medleys float up the ever-active principle Slayter staircase. Students occasionally pull up a chair or nonchalantly occupy a table nearby, soaking in the live version of whatever alternative might await them on a playlist or their favorite Pandora station. Never would I have thought during my Denison years that those familiar bluegrass sounds would eventually define the musical culture of where I live. But here I am, living in the heart of bluegrass country and today's reflection comes from the vibrant life found amid this impassioned, traditional art form.
One of my first experiences with bluegrass here in Virginia came in the second week of being in Jonesville. My supervisor and his family suggested we go as a staff to a local hang-out called Wayne's Place. As told to me, Wayne was a stand-up, community-minded gentleman who lived in the area and died just a couple short years ago. Close to his home, where his wife still resides, there is a sizable building with a multi-purpose sort of feel, including a small stage and various patriotic decorations that grace the walls. Wayne's place serves as a community center that keeps its doors open solely from donation funding. Nearly every Friday and Saturday night, you can find (if you can actually find Wayne's Place way back in its holler') fills up with folks yearning to tap their toes and pick a good bluegrass tune or two (or many). The Friday that we went, our dinner contribution included a large platter of macaroni and cheese and coleslaw. On arriving, we found that a spread of several soups, sandwiches, deviled eggs, other vegetable dishes, pies, cakes, donuts and mounds of cornbread, among numerous other dishes awaited the crowd that had gathered. Talk about a full table of bounty to enjoy once the meal had been blessed.
Then the playing began. A handful of guitar players, a base, a banjo or two, a mandolin, and even a dulcimer, not to mention the enthusiastic spoons player in the audience, played classic tune after classic bluegrass tune. We even enjoyed the sweet crooning of the sweetest 3 or 4-year-old little girl who adamantly told her grandfather that she wanted to sing; she actually knew the vast majority of the words to her couple of songs and was far from shy about "kissing" the microphone to make sure her audience could hear the inevitably sad ballad of her tunes. We stayed til around 9:00 PM that evening, but I have no doubt that the dedicated regulars of Wayne's Place were easily there til midnight-- picking, singing, laughing, dancing, and just sharing life with one another.
Since then, I've had the pleasure of listening to two other official bands here at our ASP center in Jonesville. Typically, we try and host a "culture night" once weekly for our volunteers, and what could be more culturally appropriate, more true to southern artistic roots or a more enjoyable way to spend an evening on the porch here in Jonesville than with a local bluegrass band taking the stage to show off their stuff? The Town Branch Bluegrass band provided our first cultural entertainment here on the porch. With a traditional sound and talented crew, Town Branch is a well-known name in the region and finds themselves steadily booked with gigs (noted from the local paper's repeated mentions of their performances at many a local festival).
Most recently, we've played host for the Sycamore Hollow Band who was also received with a captivated attention and excellent reviews from our volunteers. The following cultural observation, though, is the thing that made me most excited about experiencing their music: everyone in the band is so YOUNG! While I had friends at Denison who studied and focused on performing bluegrass music, very few of them were dedicated to this style of music as something that had been pulsing through their veins since they could walk. Several of Sycamore Hollow's musicians are probably younger than me, and I feel like I could say with a certain assurance that none of them are older than 30.
I became so enthused about this, I think, because bluegrass music is so intimately tied to the heart of a Southern, and especially Appalachian, identity. While Sycamore Hollow calls themselves an "Outlaw Bluegrass band," attributable to their mixing of traditional bluegrass with their own upbeat, musical twists, bluegrass music is reaching a new generation in very relevant ways through the ways they write and perform their music. In just one evening of observing these musicians act out age-old traditions, the talent and soul that Sycamore Hollow pours into every tune was evident. And when you have a lead vocalist who is both playing on a camouflage guitar and who looks like he could be, maybe, 18 years old but sings with the dark, smooth, mature voice of Johnny Cash (Josh Turner anyone?), I believe you've probably won over a few in the audience already. Yes, I believe the invaluable, distinctly Appalachian legend of bluegrass will live on.
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