Jug Band Jubilee: the good and the bad

Recently I went to Louisville to the Jug Band Jubilee. It was my second time there, and almost everything was different this year. It was earlier (last year it was in Oct.) which meant it was much, much hotter. It was also all outside. The Carolina Chocolate Drops were not there. It was one day rather than a weekend, but the upside of that was this year it was FREE. I like free.

The common thread was the majestically cool Sule Greg Wilson. No one I've ever met makes being so smart look like so much fun.

This is Sule last year:

The thing that struck me, was the vast difference in the bands that I saw. Admittedly, this type of music (string band, jug band, and the like) isn't the most diverse sounding stuff to the general public. The difference between the bands I liked and didn't like was like the choice between Obama and McCain. The difference can be boiled down to one of aesthetics. The bands I didn't like (to be polite about it - really they turn my stomach and give jug bands a bad name) were the aged hippy, self-congratulatory, unfunny bands of dudes like The Juggernaut Jug Band and the Cincinnati Dancing Pigs.

And I think most of what I hate about this band can be wrapped up by this guy:


I mean, that's a gallon jug of weaksauce.

Their humor is tired. Their playing lackluster, their attitude cutesy and, like I said, self-congratulatory, like they actually thought their well-worn jokes were still funny. "We're the dancing Pigs and that's not just our name but also our faces." ha... ha... ha... shoot myself!
They're not so much revivalists of the jug band music I love (Cannon's Jug Stompers, Memphis Jug Band) but of Jim Kweskin's Jug Band and other 1960s revivalists.

Then there were these guys, Escape the Floodwater.



I was really excited because at first I thought they were a Mennonite Jug Band, until my sister-in-law Kate pointed out that she didn't think Mennonites have tattoos.


Not only are they adorable (I've pretty much fallen in love with the banjo player), but they're everything the aforementioned geezers aren't: fun, high energy, funny, cool, hip, and they show a great respect for the originators of the music, infusing the songs of Earl McDonald, Gus Cannon and Will Shade with a dose of the energy and attitude of Ramones, Sex Pistols, and Nirvana.

They got people dancing, they challenged every jug player at the place to compete in a "jug-off" which is just funny in and of itself. Plus they have a up-tempo songs about how hard it is being in a jug band: you know, the fame, the money, the women.... oh it's all so hard!

Is it age? Not entirely, though I think that has something to do with it. It's attitude, and how you let that attitude come through in the music, how it influence what songs you play, and how you play them, which creates aesthetic.

The Jake Leg Stompers are not kids. They've got their fair share of grey and missing hairs. But they commit to their brand of roarin' twenties aesthetic, visually and musically, and get a general thumbs up in my book. But they didn't seem to be as big a hit as the Dancing Pigs or inevitably, the Juggernaut Jug Band (I'm not even touching those guys because the vitriol runs deep.) That's what I don't get. Why do people like boring music? Which isn't limited to this small jug band festival, but can be seen on MTV, American Idol, your local bar, your "local" Clear Channel radio station.

And when I say boring, while sounding like a matter of taste, isn't meant to be. I don't like Radiohead, Arvo Part, Tricky, M'shell Ndegeocello, but none of them are boring. That's a matter of taste.

These are the things I'm thinking about.

Should anyone care...

I'm bifurcating my blog. "casket, shroud and grave" will continue as a music centered blog, and other thoughts and activities: friends, family, crafting, etc. will (or might be) found at per diem, for those who might care to read about such things.

thank you, that is all.

One Year In Bloomington

I'm not really the sentimental type, but… wait, I'm sorry, what I meant to say was… Since I'm the most sentimental fucker EVER I've been thinking lately about my one year anniversary in Bloomington, Indiana.

August 20th marks one year that I've been here, and I have a few reflections.

Here are some good things:

My life has direction. Each year builds upon the last and I've moving towards something. This was not the case in LA. And I like where I'm headed. I've met some amazing people and I've shared some amazing times with them.

Christie took me to the pumpkin launch. Which was amazing. I can't wait to go back this year.

FARM opened with a great bar in the basement called The Root Cellar, and sometimes my favorite local band, The Fatted Calf String Band play there.

Michael Grove, Gabi, Jen Boles and I started the Mandolin and Banjo society of Bloomington, which implies a little more music making that what really goes on there.

I've started to get CD reviews published: http://blackgrooves.org/

I found a great job which not only gives me a huge amount of responsibility but also provides a platform to meet really fun people. Like this dude, Bill Bailey:

I was at a party in April, at Banjo player Ken Perlman's house with Alan Jabour, Henry Glassie, and Brad Leftwich. This won't mean much to most people, but it was fucking amazing to me! Sadly, I have no pictures.

I got to go to Chicago with Molly, a definite highlight of the year:



The Bad Things:

The bad things I'm not going to dwell on too much. I will say this year has brought a lot of rough times, including points of feeling lost, isolated, dumb, incompetent, heartbroken, broke, and foolish. The fall was stressful, the winter was dreary (goddamned wintry mix) the spring was good, no complaints, (except a $1000 repair on my car!) and the summer was tumultuous and long.

I am glad I made the move. Bloomington is obviously quite different than L.A. but in some ways, it's similar. I think I made a wise move regarding school, as each month I get more comfortable doing what I'm doing. Small town life can be rough, but it can also force you to adapt, and deal with things one might otherwise just avoid living in a big city.

Mostly I miss people. Dustin Hoffman in particular.

Reality vs. the blogesphere

This is an older post I never posted. I just saw it again and thought if was funny enough to put up. Well, at least it's funny to me.

A while ago I did this:


Yes my friends. While putting groceries away I put my parmesan cheese in my medicine cabinet. After about half an hour looking for it, I found it there. Why did I do it? Was I totally distracted? Talking on the phone while putting groceries away? In a rush? Upset? High?

No. None of these things. My mind simply went blank and I put the cheese next to the deodorant. And when I found it I myself was so confounded I had to take a picture.

The Ebony Hillbillies

A few weeks ago I went to New York to visit and old friend and revisit an old city. While I was there I had a chance to see one of the few black string bands playing in America today, The Ebony Hillbillies.

Here are the guys, sans banjo/dulcimer/guitar player Norris Bennet, playing "Fisher's Hornpipe":


This is a short clip of them playing Jay Unger's waltz, Ashokan Farewell, which is perhaps the saddest waltz on the planet. The video doesn't do justice to Rique's fantastic phrasing. I'm going to try to get back there this fall to record just this song if nothing else!


These guys blow my mind for several reasons. Obviously one of the biggest is that these guys are carrying on rural traditions from the Appalachian region, well known for its string band music, but not so well know for the role African Americans played in it, and bringing it to the tunnels of New York City, a area with a complex and interesting racial makeup. These guys have been playing in far too great of obscurity for years. Another amazing thing about the Ebony Hillbillies is that the tunes they play are anything but museum pieces of the old-time repertoire. Their take on Ashokan Farewell was unlike any I had heard before, and I greatly look forward to talking to Rique about his personal embellishments and phrases.

The use of the eleborate percussion kit was fascinating too, and I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk in-depth with A.R. (the washboard player) about the role of percussion/washboards/etc in old-time music, which in most (white) old-time groups is absent.