Friday, July 25, 2008
You can always go home to Galax
Ralph Berrier
Riffs, the regional music scene as heard by The Roanoke Times reporter Ralph Berrier, will appear weekly on Sundays.
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When I was in high school, I went to the Galax Old Fiddlers Convention for the same reason all my friends went.
Girls.
That's the reason boys go to fairs, the mall, fiddlers conventions, graduate school and just about anywhere, really. For all I know, girls go to the same places because they know boys will be there, which leads to a chicken-and-egg, who-went-to-the-fiddlers-convention-first question that we'll leave for another time. All I can say is that if you were a teenager in the Twin Counties region (Carroll and Grayson counties) the Galax fiddlers convention was the place to be every August.
After I went to college, the fiddlers convention became the site for many summertime reunions. The same guys and gals I'd hung out with years before could be counted on to show up, many of them bearing plastic cups filled with explicitly banned beverages.
By the time I was out of college and settling into a workaday (and, being a young, low-paid sports writer, workanight) routine, I maintained my summer trips to Galax, where I discovered something new and fascinating about the old fiddlers convention: Hey, they play music here!
I was a musician, too, and my family had a long association with bluegrass music, but what I knew about mountain music could have fit into a shot glass (or plastic cup). My musical preferences veered toward styles based upon thoroughly plugged-in guitars and loud drums. I knew mountain music involved fiddles, banjos and -- what is that thing? A ukulele? Oh yeah, a mandolin.
Things began to change in my 20s as I went native and listened to bluegrass and old-time music more closely and with more reverence. In fact, I didn't know there was even a difference between bluegrass and old-time music -- they both have banjers, don't they? -- until I started paying attention. Much of my schooling came by way of the scratchy, static-drenched signal of WPAQ, the legendary bluegrass station in Mount Airy, N.C. Not only did WPAQ play bluegrass "hits" by the likes of Alison Krauss and Claire Lynch, but it ladled out generous portions of local artists, including my grandpappy's various groups.
I became more deeply involved in the music after my wife made the mistake of getting me a fiddle for my 28th birthday, a move I am sure she has regretted for many years. I didn't begin to learn to play it until my early 30s, but soon enough I wasn't just a bluegrass and old-time fan, I was a player. Not a very good one, but a real player, nevertheless.
For 15 consecutive years, I had gone to Galax to see old friends, listen to music and simply soak up the scene (and beverages). In 1999, though, I stepped on stage as a real, bona fide competitor. I had been playing barely a year at that point, and my skill level was one-half step above "godawful" (to "goshawful"), but I played well enough for the judges to return my admission fee, which is why most folks play on stage to begin with.
Accompanying me on rhythm guitar was my grandfather, who made his return to Galax for the first time in 60 years. Let's just say that appearing on stage with me was not his crowning achievement as a musician.
I played several more times on stage after that, both solo and in bands. I haven't actually competed -- if you can even call it that -- in about five years, but I still try to get down to Galax and jam a little with friends old and new.
This year, I filled out a registration form for the old-time fiddle convention, then forgot to mail it in. I'll still go sometime during the convention's run from Aug. 4 to 9, this time toting a toddler who already shows some interest in the sounds of fiddles and banjos.
Maybe the next time I step on the Galax stage, I'll be playing rhythm guitar for a pint-sized fiddle player sawing on a half-sized instrument. Or maybe she'll be a dancer, clogging and tapping away to a fiddle tune. Or singing an old mountain ballad like her great-great-grandmother used to do.
Or maybe she'll be into rap. Which is OK, because as I've shown, you can always come back home.
All a-twitter
I've been asked to inform y'all that the cutNscratch music blog is now available at twitter.com.
Music writer Tad Dickens is twittering away as you read this. Wait a minute. Check that. That's just my chair squeaking. OK, now we're twittering.
You can get cNs updates texted (I believe that's a verb) to your cellphone. Don't worry, Tad says we won't send more than a couple a day, so you won't go broke getting all blogified (which is probably not a word but who knows anymore?).
Got to twitter.com/cutnscratch. Tad will be posting from FloydFest all weekend.
Gotta say goodbye for the summer
In other late-breaking Riffs news, this will be my last column for a couple of months. I'll be away working on another project, but I expect to return this fall with more riffin' and grinnin'.
I will still check e-mail occasionally, so feel free to stay in touch.
