Here's one for the. Fourth

Here's a story - I can no longer give you a song. I lost my hearing a few years back, though I have devices, so that explains why this site has been fading a little into the woodwork. I can write about music, but how can I feel what it's like without getting sad about losing it? I can't but I can still tell a good story.

This happened one fourth down in southern Illinois which as you may know is quite steamy. We were invited out to a party in the country, on somebody's front yard that faced a road and beyond that, a kind of woods. Everybody was drunk. I was vaguely aware that the fireworks weren't going off as intended. Perhaps someobdy told the guy not to fire them in the woods, but there was no other place, and they kept coming disturbingly close to us people,

As a fiddler, I was just coming into my wings; I could now play what I wanted although I often failed when I was trying to get fancy or go too fast. The question was whether I could really haul out and doo something great but to tell you the truth I still coonsidered myself somewhat of a beginner, even after a few years. But on this particular evening I at least had my fiddle. I was prepared.

Any musician can tell you that The Star-Spangled Banner is a difficult song. It spans a couple of octaves and demands precision. But I learned something else that evening (the sun was just going down, I think, and fireworks were still just kind of randomly and vaguely threatening us). I learned that you'd better not mess with it. The same is true of Willie Nelson soongs in Texas. If you want to play around, be experimental, take a chance - find another soong, don't use one of Willie's.

I found this out very quickly into The Star-Spangled Banner. I didn't intend to be fully experimental or even a little experimental. But in doing something that sounded like I messed with it or at least intended to, I got some dirty looks from some drunken guys and I decided to rein it in quickly, play by the book, just hit the real notes.

At this party I'd met someone who actually kind of inspired me. He had a two-foo-long beard and an equally impressive pony tail, as if he hadn't cut either for over twenty years. And that was very possible. In any case he'd been tellling me how the Fourth was his absolute favorite holiday. At first I couldn't relate, since I was never a big fan of fireworks. But it wasn't about fireworks for him. I'm not sure what it was about, but I think it related partly to the fact that he was a veteran. It was like "this is the day that I remember all that stuff we went and did that for."

So anyway, I get a little ways into The Star-Spanglled Banner, and I start getting into it. I make it louder, clearer, stronger, as now I have most of the party listening to me. I'm playing straight by the book, having been warned against flourishes or experimentall runs. But Hendrix's version came to mind, and I couldn't resist leaning into it a little. I couldn't make bombs with my fiddle, or do what Hendrix did, obviously, but there were things I coould do that would be clearly not messing with it but allso clarly emotion-invoking, inpiring. And I did them. I played probably the best version I've ever played. And definitely unique.

That's one good thing about the song - you play it, or sing it, and almost by definition you've put your mark on it, you've made a unique version that will last in people's minds. It's a powerful song, whether you buy into the symbollism or violence or whatever. Just as a song, it is its own battlefield victory.
When I was doone I made a little bow to everyone and put the fiddle away, eager to fade back into the party and keep my eyes open for bad fireworks again. I had taken a chance there, for a few minutes, hoping. that one didn't just come and land on my fiddle or something, but it hadn't; perhaps those who were setting them off knew better than to try us that way. Perhaps they'd just set them down for the duration of the song, just so everyone could hear it and appreciate it. It sure felt like that's what happened anyway, so I was grateful for that.

We stumbled home late. I remembered the song, forever.

Kinky Friedman

 

Here's a memorial to Kinky Friedman, who died in late June. There are several things I liked about him:

He turned his parents' ranch into a no-kill shelter for animals, the first in that part of Texas, and this made all his shows benefits, as he would be paid by the shelter out of the proceeds. He didn't need the money that much. He wasn't a fantastic musician but it didn't matter because he was funny as a performer and everyone knew and loved him.

He included all his friends and acquaintances in his books; this took a lot of moxie I thought but it's one way of memorializing all those friends as well as the general feeling of those friends in Austin in his era. The people who knew him thought it was a riot though they were somewhat traumatized by the possibility of his misrepresenting them.

When he ran for governor and other offices, he was entirely an independent. He didn't just take the liberal view. he often used humor so you weren't always sure he was serious. So for example on gay marriage, he said they have as much right to be miserable as any of us.

His band name and his songs made fun of racism. The Texas Jewboys? I was curious about that from the first time I saw the name. But parody was the currency he dealt in. Lots of times people didn't get it. Didn't matter. It's a crazy twisted world and he was just having fun.

He once said that when you get to the afterlife every pet you ever had will be there to greet you. This won't be good for everyone I think. But it will be great for him; he saved a lot of lives. RIP Kinky.

The Way to Go

Linder, B. (2024, Jan. 21). Grammy winning country music star ‘died on stage after a successful encore’. Penn Live, online.

Jo-El Sonnier joins the list of musicians I admire who died on stage performing, or immediately after. I was a fiddler in Carbondale, Illinois, when an older fiddler who I didn't really know well passed away while performing Ashokan Farewell. Those that knew him were grief-stricken and set back, but, because I didn't know him, my main reaction was that that was a great way to go. I later found out that Miriam Makeba and a number of others died on stage as well. If you're still up there performing when your time has come, you have succeeded in a very special way.

I doubt this will happen for me, though you never know. I am due to get a cochlear implant pretty soon here, but even that will not restore the ability to hear well enough to actually perform. I sometimes fantasize that if I could get someone to tune the banjo for me, I could still attack it with the vigor stored up over the six or seven years now that I've been unable to hear well. If this were possible, maybe I could join this club and die on stage somewhere.

As it is, I've more or less let this site go defunct, and will probably die in silence. It's fifteen below, and I'm not even watching television. I am, however, trying to write about my musical experiences. I may be able to put more of that on this weblog. Cheers!

My autobiography & more

http://tlevspress.blogspot.com/2021/09/just-passing-through.html

Here's an interesting story. Those who follow this page know that I have a dream, or possibly a plan, or maybe just a pipe dream, to write a biography of Bela Fleck and Abigail Washburn. I feel they have made an important contribution to our understanding of the banjo and to the world of music, and I want to document it.

But I did a practice run. Biography is not easy, and it involves getting inside someone's head and sometimes making assumptions about their feelings. I wrote a biography of my first cousin three times removed - Frank Leverett (1859-1943)(see post above). He was a famous geologist but also a family hero. He was worth paying tribute to because in short, whatever we know about the family we know because of him.

The biography wasn't easy and made me question whether I want to stay in the biography business. It didn't sell a whole bunch right off the bat either, though that may be typical for biography. There are good things about biography and bad, obviously, but I am limited in a couple obvious ways too.

First, it would have helped with Frank, if I went to Denver or East Lansing, to just look at all the papers. It seems like an obvious thing, but I said right from the start, I'm not going to do this. I just can't leave home. I've got four teenagers and a delicate balance relies on me.

Second, most authors invest in their project. Like I'm talking, buy a few dozen books, haul in the facts. In the case of Mr. Fleck and Ms. Washburn a minimum investment would be a trip to someplace where his tour lands, and an interview, probably a motel room and a dozen meals on the road. I figured I could do this, or set up a zoom interview, but I'm not even sure about that. I so far have not invested big money into any of my books. I'm not sure if I'm willing, much less able, to do that here. Willing, yes, I'd love to meet him. But you look at a tenuous household budget with teenagers, going to college, and it may not stay that way.

Anyway, thought I'd let you know how the mulling is going. I love music - I'm still not hearing it well - and want to stay involved in it some way or another. When I get computers in my ears it will be a whole new ball game. For now, it's trying to stay on my feet, not get dizzy, keep a good perspective.

tall corn state - now on ACX

That's right. It's narrated by Donald Davenport.
HERE
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