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.
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.
We stumbled home late. I remembered the song, forever.
posted by tom at 8:12 PM
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