← Gone Away
Bluegrass in Duncan
(This article forms part of the Journal that I am writing to describe my impressions of America since arrival in September, 2004. To begin reading this Journal from the beginning, click here.)
I have always liked bluegrass music with its deftly plucked banjos and mandolins, irresistible rhythms and vocals in harmony. Perhaps it is an ancestral memory in me, for the roots of bluegrass lie in the folk songs and ballads of England, Scotland and Ireland, although these had almost died out in England by the beginning of the 20th Century. There is irony in the fact that it was the increasing availability of recordings of bluegrass music in the fifties that led to the rediscovery and rebirth of English folk songs in the sixties.
But it was probably the theme tune to The Beverly Hillbillies that really made me aware of bluegrass. And, when Kathy told me that there was going to be a bluegrass festival in Duncan, I jumped at the chance to hear the real thing.
I had never been to Duncan before but heard of it often through those car dealership commercials on the television - always at "the Lawton/Duncan Y" it seemed. The very name fascinated me; was it a fork in the road or perhaps a huge monument to the letter Y? At last, I was going to see for myself.
The road to Duncan takes one up to the Great Plains and is as straight as an arrow in its path to the horizon. Spring has taken hold of the countryside and the green of new grass replaces the brown of winter. Alongside the road, swathes of wild flowers spread their colors, the brick red of Indian paintbrush, yellow of buttercups and pink primroses. In places, the state flower of Texas, the blue bonnet, has invaded too. This, surely, is Oklahoma at its prettiest.
We came to the Y and I was vaguely disappointed to realize that it is a T-junction where we join another major route from north to south. As promised, however, the car dealerships line the road until we reach the turn off for Duncan. The road narrows and plunges down into a country of wooded valleys, so different from the plains I am used to now. This could be somewhere in England, so green is it with new foliage. Houses nestle beneath the trees so that there seems to be no town here at all; it is a beautiful place.
We found the festival in an RV park on the far side of Duncan. There was one spot left for the car and we trudged up the hill in search of music. To our surprise, it was all happening inside a windowless building amongst the rows of trailers. Music filled our ears as the door swung open. The place was packed but we found seats at the back and settled to listen.
This was the real, traditional bluegrass, plenty of gospel songs and ballads, with the occasional faster tune included. Apparently, bluegrass has been developing and there is something called newgrass these days; but not here - this was the music as it had first come down from the Appalachians. Band followed band but the style remained the same. As I listened, the impressions washed over me and I began to form theories, as I always do.
It seemed to me that a bluegrass band must have a banjo. There are the expected mandolin, banjo, fiddle, guitar and bass, but, of these, the one essential ingredient is the banjo. It is the banjo that gives the music its characteristic sound, helped it's true by the mandolin, but you must have that banjo. And it's the banjo player that the purists watch. Each musician will have a moment center stage and the audience claps each one, but the banjo player must give a virtuoso performance or all is lost. Those banjo players were excellent. How they produce such complex and rattling sounds, cascades of rapid fire notes, with so little apparent effort, I do not know. The skill is just amazing.
Of course, this is one of my theories so it was bound to be proved wrong by the last band we heard. This was a group from Texas and they had the cheek to replace the banjo with a slide guitar. And the worst of it was that it worked; they lost nothing of that true bluegrass sound and the slide guitar added a note of plaintiveness that fitted well with the old songs. So much for that theory, I thought.
Another thing I noticed was the age of those involved. The great majority of both the audience and the bands were old greyheads like myself. Was this a sign that the old bluegrass is dying out, that the young have moved on to other things? Has the newgrass swept all before it, leaving only the diehards to remain faithful to the original sound? I don't know the answer to this but there are signs of hope, even if it is true. One of the bands was a family group from Missouri, the mother and father middle aged and a whole row of kids backing them. And their banjo player was a ten year old, this his first public performance we were told, plucking away with the best of them. The skills are being handed down it seems.
I am no musician so I can only listen and say what I like and what I don't. To my ear they all sounded good. They did teach me a thing or two, however. It seems there is more than one way to play a banjo. There is the three-finger style that everyone does but there is also something called the claw hammer style. One of the banjo players demonstrated this for us but, to tell you the truth, although it was clear that he concentrated more and it seemed difficult, I could not hear any difference in the actual sound. Perhaps only a true connoisseur can tell them apart.
There was an informality to the festival that was quite revealing too. The musicians quipped easily with the audience and joined the crowd when their stint was over. And this, perhaps, demonstrates that bluegrass remains the true folk music of America; that there is no artificial separation between the performers and the people. Other forms of music have become big business with fortunes made by those who rise to the top and armies of fans worshiping from afar. Bluegrass musicians are still your ordinary Joe, making a living but never a million, staying close to the lifestyle of the common people. This, perhaps more than anything, means that it will continue and that bluegrass will still be played when hip hop and punk and glam rock are fading memories.
I like that.
(to go directly to the next entry in the Journal, click here)
I have always liked bluegrass music with its deftly plucked banjos and mandolins, irresistible rhythms and vocals in harmony. Perhaps it is an ancestral memory in me, for the roots of bluegrass lie in the folk songs and ballads of England, Scotland and Ireland, although these had almost died out in England by the beginning of the 20th Century. There is irony in the fact that it was the increasing availability of recordings of bluegrass music in the fifties that led to the rediscovery and rebirth of English folk songs in the sixties.
But it was probably the theme tune to The Beverly Hillbillies that really made me aware of bluegrass. And, when Kathy told me that there was going to be a bluegrass festival in Duncan, I jumped at the chance to hear the real thing.
I had never been to Duncan before but heard of it often through those car dealership commercials on the television - always at "the Lawton/Duncan Y" it seemed. The very name fascinated me; was it a fork in the road or perhaps a huge monument to the letter Y? At last, I was going to see for myself.
The road to Duncan takes one up to the Great Plains and is as straight as an arrow in its path to the horizon. Spring has taken hold of the countryside and the green of new grass replaces the brown of winter. Alongside the road, swathes of wild flowers spread their colors, the brick red of Indian paintbrush, yellow of buttercups and pink primroses. In places, the state flower of Texas, the blue bonnet, has invaded too. This, surely, is Oklahoma at its prettiest.
We came to the Y and I was vaguely disappointed to realize that it is a T-junction where we join another major route from north to south. As promised, however, the car dealerships line the road until we reach the turn off for Duncan. The road narrows and plunges down into a country of wooded valleys, so different from the plains I am used to now. This could be somewhere in England, so green is it with new foliage. Houses nestle beneath the trees so that there seems to be no town here at all; it is a beautiful place.
We found the festival in an RV park on the far side of Duncan. There was one spot left for the car and we trudged up the hill in search of music. To our surprise, it was all happening inside a windowless building amongst the rows of trailers. Music filled our ears as the door swung open. The place was packed but we found seats at the back and settled to listen.
This was the real, traditional bluegrass, plenty of gospel songs and ballads, with the occasional faster tune included. Apparently, bluegrass has been developing and there is something called newgrass these days; but not here - this was the music as it had first come down from the Appalachians. Band followed band but the style remained the same. As I listened, the impressions washed over me and I began to form theories, as I always do.
It seemed to me that a bluegrass band must have a banjo. There are the expected mandolin, banjo, fiddle, guitar and bass, but, of these, the one essential ingredient is the banjo. It is the banjo that gives the music its characteristic sound, helped it's true by the mandolin, but you must have that banjo. And it's the banjo player that the purists watch. Each musician will have a moment center stage and the audience claps each one, but the banjo player must give a virtuoso performance or all is lost. Those banjo players were excellent. How they produce such complex and rattling sounds, cascades of rapid fire notes, with so little apparent effort, I do not know. The skill is just amazing.
Of course, this is one of my theories so it was bound to be proved wrong by the last band we heard. This was a group from Texas and they had the cheek to replace the banjo with a slide guitar. And the worst of it was that it worked; they lost nothing of that true bluegrass sound and the slide guitar added a note of plaintiveness that fitted well with the old songs. So much for that theory, I thought.
Another thing I noticed was the age of those involved. The great majority of both the audience and the bands were old greyheads like myself. Was this a sign that the old bluegrass is dying out, that the young have moved on to other things? Has the newgrass swept all before it, leaving only the diehards to remain faithful to the original sound? I don't know the answer to this but there are signs of hope, even if it is true. One of the bands was a family group from Missouri, the mother and father middle aged and a whole row of kids backing them. And their banjo player was a ten year old, this his first public performance we were told, plucking away with the best of them. The skills are being handed down it seems.
I am no musician so I can only listen and say what I like and what I don't. To my ear they all sounded good. They did teach me a thing or two, however. It seems there is more than one way to play a banjo. There is the three-finger style that everyone does but there is also something called the claw hammer style. One of the banjo players demonstrated this for us but, to tell you the truth, although it was clear that he concentrated more and it seemed difficult, I could not hear any difference in the actual sound. Perhaps only a true connoisseur can tell them apart.
There was an informality to the festival that was quite revealing too. The musicians quipped easily with the audience and joined the crowd when their stint was over. And this, perhaps, demonstrates that bluegrass remains the true folk music of America; that there is no artificial separation between the performers and the people. Other forms of music have become big business with fortunes made by those who rise to the top and armies of fans worshiping from afar. Bluegrass musicians are still your ordinary Joe, making a living but never a million, staying close to the lifestyle of the common people. This, perhaps more than anything, means that it will continue and that bluegrass will still be played when hip hop and punk and glam rock are fading memories.
I like that.
(to go directly to the next entry in the Journal, click here)