Bluegrass Rain Reducks

Hehe. Seems I already finished this blog back in Joon, (Lord God that was an eon ago!) and I finished it again away up there in Jew-lie, so now there are parralel versions of this blog, which means you can't read them both at the same time or they will be like matter and anti-matter and change the course of history.)


hehe. That's funny stuff, right there. I kinda like the original--which is this one. Seems I'm kinda harsh on the old-timers up in that other one. Also I made an errow in my use of footnotes.

That's gonna cost me some serious academic leverage right there.
Oh, well. Read and enjoy!


t's been raining here for 40 days and 40 nights. Those would be dog days and nights, but still. The water is a little excessive, me thinkses.
the tribe has survived the twists and turns of outrageous fortune, we are all deposited where we were meant to be, and life as a "normal, routine" thing begins again. Let's see how long this round lasts before we get a stiff upper-cut to the psyhic jaw, eh?
In the meantime, it is back to business as usual for this lad and the Ramblers. OATS is this weekend, and perhaps I will crash that thingumie wit bud Neil, just for a hoot and the chance to play some mandolin.
In the meantime, back at work-a-day world, I got a call from a nice fella from up in Layton, NJ, who wants to work with the PB&FS* on a project that involves a folk icon whose name I cannot even type on account it would get me in trouble with the law. But the guy is really really good, a huge stage presence, and well-known to all who are worthly of the name "Bud."

Or, as the Dutchies around here prefer, "Chooney."

We got to talking about how it all might work, because to this guy, music is music and if it's good, why wouldn't in belong on the same stage?

Well, some folk say that opera is pretty good, and then some folk say that the rip-rap stuff is fly. Or whatever. I'm pretty sure that those two don't belong anywhere near each other--it'd be like matter and anti-matter, or vinegar and baking soda (what the hell does that "soda" word really mean, anyway?), or even like


Blue states and Red states.

ohhhhhhhh!

However, when it comes to bluegrass and folk music, you just landed on the oil and vinegar or the blood and water or the fat and lean of the music world. As a lad schooled in both of the traditions, I could write a book about all this crap, but this is the way it seems to me.
Bluegrassers are Red staters all the way. They got the pick-up truck, the gun-rack, prolly don't mind NASCAR much, they wear boots and they call girls "babe" if they are guys, or if they are girls they call the guys "babe", which is some kind of strange equality, I suppose. They favor meat, beer and whiskey, stay true to their school and never dis their mother. They go hunting and fishing, smoke Marlboros, join the service and sometimes they die from excessive activities of one sort or another.


Now your average folkie, on the other hand, is more likley to be found sipping a nice Piniot gregio while wearing berkenstokers er whatever, eating granola and slapping "Save the Whales" stickers on everything that doesn't move, even if they are surronded by twelve tons of whale-shit that is just stinking up the place, like that whale they blowed up on spike TV where it rained rancid stinky piles of blubber for like ten minutes and everyone within a mile wondered what the (*^*( they was thinking about watching somebody blast a dead whale with a half ton of TNT.

Bet they was wishing, initially, that they had a small tactical nuke.***

Well, that was what they call balanced journalism right there, where you mention both sides and then you let the reader figure out which music form is better, one that is more like AMERICAN football or one that is more like some kinda OTHER football.

And they say it's so hard being balanced. Sheesh. Just sit down and let you Buds do the rest!