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There was a clearly defined protocol for drinking it, though. At Tommy's house, everyone was polite and respectful at all times. Refined behavior was expected and enforced. No one walked around with a drink in his hand. Rather, each of us had our own half-pint jelly jar, the kind with the lid that just sits on top, doesn't screw on because it is intended that the jelly should have paraffin over it, and the lid just keeps the dust out. So each of us had a jar, and the jar had some liquor in it. Now you had to keep the lid on that jar because the liquor would just evaporate if you didn't, that's how strong it was. But it tasted clean and sweet on the palate. Everybody kept his own jar stashed in the spot of his choosing in any one of the kitchen cupboards. When you wanted to "TAKE a drink," why you just "eased on over" to your cupboard and discreetly took a sip. And a sip was all it took.
The first time "the boys" got together to play, I was pretty green. I didn't know, for instance, that the refrain "stay all night and don't go home" is literal. They stayed, played, and drank till morning, had breakfast, and went home. If one of them wore out, he took a nap, then went back "to it." You should know that the youngest of these "boys" was in his mid-seventies. Tommy was eighty-one at that time, and strong as an ox.
That liquor got the best of me the first night: I had to go to bed partway through the night even though the boys were still kickin' it up. When I finally dragged myself into the kitchen next morning, my head felt like a well-smashed pumpkin.
Tommy had the cure: a "coffee-lace." That is, strong black coffee laced with a "hair of the dog."
Then breakfast. His version: slowly render a pound of bacon, remove the solids, and carefully slide some eggs into the grease to poach. Meanwhile, thickly cover some slices of white bread with yellow margarine, lay these in a pie pan, and heat in the oven till the margarine is melted and the bread is soggy. Slide all items onto plate. Heave.
After a respectful interval ("Eat that meat, girl. 'Hit's good!") I excused myself and went into the mountains to camp and fast for three days. Renewed, refreshed, and a bit more savvy, I returned to the cradle of my old-time dreams.
The last weekend of my summer is unforgettable. Tommy and Kyle and some other "old 'uns" played a dance in some little town on the North Carolina-Virginia border. I was invited to come along, although I would not be playing.
The dancers were all old-time men and women in their 60's and 70's. The men wore clean overalls and starched white shirts, the women long calico dresses that skimmed the floor, with long sleeves and high collars. That was the way they dressed back then, respectable yet humble. Everyone wore flat soled black leather shoes.
I was invited to "dance in," and I joyfully accepted. The dances were all "traveling couples" big circle dances, with couples making an outer circle dancing with couples in an inner circle, each circle traveling in opposite directions. All the dances were old, and simple, and beautiful. They danced easily, feet barely leaving the floor, the ladies looking as if they were gliding on wheels.
Although I have loved playing for dances and performing solo, my happiest times with the banjo have been just the two of us, all alone. That's when I let it all go, forget that it is I who am playing, and just listen to the drones, the overtones, the mantra of the tune: as Tommy put it, "like the rolling of a wheel." That's when I cease to exist at all, and time is defined by the ebb and flow of the tide of sound.
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After that last beautiful summer real life intervened, until I found my way back to the mountains of North Carolina in 1998. Somebody called me to let me know that they had released a CD that had a track with me playing on it, and I got to thinking about making one of my own.
I got together with my cousin Alan Kaufman, a professional musician, composer, arranger, and teacher who generously volunteered his time to engineer this record. We did our best to try to capture the essence of the old-time open-back clawhammer banjo by recording it in analogue, with the intention of retaining the acoustic properties unique to the banjo, essentially a marriage of a drum with a stringed instrument. We strove to capture the complexities of its ambient sounds, much as you might hear on one of the old 78 rpm records that recorded most of the archives of old-time music. Thus, this CD is not the crisp, clear digital sound of the 21st century, but a little bit funky, just like the music. *****FOR LIVE PERFORMANCE BOOKING, CLICK "SEND ME A MESSAGE" AND LEAVE YOUR CONTACT INFO PLEASE!**********
http://cdbaby.com/cd/la...
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