You are currently browsing the monthly archive for November, 2007.
Sorry people but by the time I get home from work, grab food, and get ready to go wherever I’m going to go at night, ( it usually involves music) I don’t have time to write lengthy blog posts every day. So I’m giving you this.
Last book finished: Can’t you hear me calling- a biography of Bill Monroe by Richard D Smith.- absolutley brilliant. So good, I cried.
book in progress: “Musicophilia- your brain and music” by Oliver Sacks.
The prelimary tentative performer list for Joe Val 08 is up. I got so excited I almost fell out of my chair. The information put a big smile on my face on an otherwise rainy day and everytime I think about it, I get all giddy.
I’ve been sitting her running late for dancing because I’ve gotten caught up in Bluegrass Gospel Project. I made a commitment to write a post every day this month and now the music has got my soul, mind and voice. I’ve been singing off key interrupting the band’s harmonies. I’ve been enjoying myself but I got to get out of here.
OK. so earlier in the month I said I would post every day for the month of November. It’s only day three and as usual I’m running late. I had a crappy week. ( see other post)
Earlier in the evening I had a splitting headache and out on the couch after eating indian food and watching about a half hour of “Mean Girls.” If you haven’t seen it, it’s actually not a bad movie- written by and staring the most lovely and kick-ass Tina Fey ( though maybe not in literal kicking someone’s ass kind of way- at least I don’t think so) I even missed a Loose Ends gig out in West Newton and “A.K.A.C.O.D” at the local bar. That’s how bad I felt.
I still have a lingering goddamn headache. Is this all a good excuse for a late post? And anyway, I gave you links. Sorry it was late.
Some of the reasons I love bluegrass:
It’s the high lonesome pitch of Bill Monroe, Taylor Armerding, Joe Val and Ron Tomason. It’s the deep reverberating basses that anchor the sound and all the other voices in between that pull it all together. It’s the breathless fiddle, soft meandering tinkle of the mandolin, the rapid plucking of the banjo, the soft luster of guitar. It’s dark bars with cheap and good beer simutaneaously flowing out of cold taps into tall glasses. It’s whiskey neat. It’s people dancing in their seats and tapping their hands and feet in unsnycopated rthythms to the music on the stage. It’s the musicans who will talk to you after the show and answer the email you write them. It’s the fans who still come just to hear the musis. It’s the parents who bring their children hoping some of it will rub off on them. It’s the hot summer nights in small little league fields where festivals are held and the pitchers mound is the middle of the audience. It’s the fans who sing off key and nobody seems to mind.
