Workshopping: Lanesboro, part 3
There are lots of reasons to attend the Bluff Country Gathering – the scenic environs, the delicious lunches, the incredible jams, Bob Bovee’s uncanny resemblance to Sam Elliot making you wonder if you’ve wandered onto the set of some kind of old-timey Western – but the actual reason people go is the sessions. I wasn’t able to work with all of the different instructors, so I can’t really speak to the quality of instruction in general, but what I did attend was fantastic.
In some ways the most interesting session I attended was Carl Jones’ “Mandomazing.” I first got into fiddle tunes playing this beat-up old mandolin a friend of mine gifted me years ago, and its great fun to play. Going into the session I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the title was appealing, so I rolled in, sat down, and tuned up. It was held in one of the gathering’s smaller spaces, a meeting room in the basement of the community building, and the seating was set back into the room. I came in a little early, so I sat farther in, and by the time it became clear to me that the session was geared towards beginners it was also clear that getting up and leaving would feel at least a little rude. I’m glad I stuck around though, because it turns out Carl Jones is an amazing teacher.
As someone who makes a living teaching somewhat complicated, slightly obscure material at the introductory level (community college courses in economics), I can appreciate skilled instruction, and Carl Jones is clearly a master of the craft. The entire lesson flowed logically from one thing to the next, paced so that nearly everyone was able to follow along step-by-step. Jones interspersed the lesson with humorous asides that put space between individual pieces of the lesson and gave it a kind of rhythm while also giving a sense of easygoing informality. He’s very good about making eye-contact with people, so that even though he did nearly all of the talking, it was clear that he was paying attention to us, listening carefully to our responses to the lesson. He evinced a kind of easy-going confidence that felt authoritative but also welcoming and inclusive.
The lesson itself covered what Jones calls “Slants and Reaches,” a method for working out different chord shapes on the mandolin. Having studied music theory as a teenager (and later playing rhythm guitar in a Gypsy Jazz group), this was all familiar ground for me, but the approach was nevertheless fascinating. Music theory is one of those things that can be so obvious its hard to think about in technical terms, and breaking it down in such a way as to make it legible to the casual learner is no mean feat.
I would hear similar commentary from folks who attended Patt Plunkett’s sessions on playing ukulele. “I can play a c-sharp diminished chord!” exclaimed one person following a session, before saying that they still didn’t fully understand what a diminished chord was, but they knew they could use it after a C chord in the key of G-major. Little things like that can be really empowering because even though they’re just one step beyond the basics, it feels advanced, like, “that person knows diminished chords, they must be really serious about playing ukulele.” I think stuff like that is how people gain confidence in their playing and that can be so important early on in the learning process. This is especially true with old-time music.
Old-time music is all about jamming (and also dancing) – that is, playing with other people. When you’re a beginner that can be a really daunting prospect. Conversely, that first time you manage to lock into the rhythm of a tune is transcendent, even if you’re just playing simple chords. It’s a little like the first time riding a bike, or maybe the first time skiing all the way down a slope – you’ve been wandering around on your feet all this time and suddenly you’re flying. Getting folks to that experience is in some ways an instructor’s hardest task. Up until the moment a person finds themselves jamming with others, playing music is just a pleasant dream. Once you actually experience it, then it becomes something you want to do again and more and better.
A lot of the folks who attend fiddle camps – like Bluff Country – are looking for that experience. They’re older, and they have the time and wherewithal to do something for themselves. Old-time music is remarkably accessible as an art form – simple enough that you can learn it even if you only get started in middle-age, when your brain has lost the elasticity that makes learning stuff as a teenager easy, but sufficiently expansive to make a lifelong project out of it. The folks teaching the sessions at Bluff Country are the ones who have made it their life’s purpose to play traditional music – and part of that tradition is bringing people into the circle. Carl Jones – perhaps the most accomplished player in a roster overflowing with talent and experience – demonstrated what it looks like to invite someone into a musical tradition by taking the rudimentary elements of playing basic chords and showing people how to turn that into something special.
If there’s a single session I would have liked to see at Bluff Country, it would have been a panel discussion with Carl Jones, Erynn Marshall, Charlie Walden, and Patt Plunkett – a pair of old-time power couples, incidentally – on teaching. They’re all seasoned instructors (with YouTube channels! Check them out: Jones & Marshall; Charlie Walden), and I imagine it would be fascinating to hear them talk about the finer points of how to make music accessible. It would also be interesting to hear Walden and Marshall talk about their contrasting experiences as fiddle players. Walden came up playing contests in Missouri in the 1970’s, whereas Marshall (as well as Jimmy Triplett, another fiddle instructor at Bluff Country) learned at the feet of North Carolina fiddler Melvin Devine.
In sessions led by Marshall and Triplett (including one where they shared memories, stories, and photographs of Melvin Devine) it was once again made evident to me just how different the Appalachian fiddle style is from that of the Midwest. The Appalachian style of bowing especially stood out to me – at one point, when Triplett was demonstrating a bowing that he described as common among Appalachian fiddlers, I inquired if there was anywhere I could find an example in musical notation. His response was a simple “no.” There is only one way to learn Appalachian fiddling, it would seem: the old fashioned way. Listening and watching closely. Which is appropriate, I suppose.
There was a range of styles among the instructors at the Bluff Country Gathering. Notable on the roster was a group of younger musicians from the Pacific Northwest, the Forty Drop Few. They had apparently connected with Bob Bovee over a shared love of old 78-rpm records, and arrived at the gathering hot off a North American tour. The group consists of guitarist Candra Edwards, banjoist Ethan Francis, and fiddler Elliot Kennedy. They’ve cultivated a style reminiscent of Leon Redbone, learning tunes exclusively from the pre-war period. The resulting style seems more rooted in a time rather than a place, although they clearly have a passion for the music of the Southwest.
Their performance at the Saturday night barn dance was a bit funny – it was evidently their first time performing at a dance, despite having a repertoire of highly danceable tunes. I had an especially humorous moment during the dance when Kennedy told the audience that he was not himself much of a dancer. “You’re wearing dance shoes!” hollered one of my neighbors. He’s got the style, as Tom Waits would say, but not the grace.
The range of styles was perhaps one of the best parts of Bluff Country. Old-time music, despite the occasional policing of stylistic boundaries (if one asks “is this bluegrass?” the answer comes back “thems fightin’ words...”), is remarkably diverse in practice. And part of that practice seems to be learning from everyone else. Sometimes you hear fiddle players who are clearly steeped in a particular tradition, and that can be fun, too. But, as Paul Tyler told me, “[t]he old time community, for the most part, is committed to live and let live. They love their music, but don’t claim supremacy.” There’s a lesson in there somewhere...