rock and roll musings by Tim Byrnes

GET HAPPY: COMFORT & JOY IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE

     OK, picture this. Yr on a long, winding country road in the middle of nowhere, Colorado. Set back from the road is a small, wooden building, built in 1891 by newly arrived Danish settlers as a meeting hall. This night a group of men are loading amps and speakers and drums out of their pickups. There's no other structures as far as the eye can see, just a steady stream of headlights coming towards the building like the last scene of 'Field of Dreams. Ok, not that many cars, but you get my drift, right?

     The occasion is a Xmas/New Years dance at the Dane Hall, just on the outskirts of Fowler, Colorado where me and Kenny, our friends Jay, Melvin, Tom and Dennis are gonna set up and play a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll for some townfolks. To say that we're loose is something of an understatement. We have no band name (at one point I introduced us as 'Jay Fosdick and a bunch of other guys), we've rehearsed just once and we're all reading chord sheets on stage.

     Only there is no stage, just 6 middle aged guys with guitars and drums making noise in the middle of nowhere as about 200 people dance and laugh and visit and share. Share their lives, the news of the day, food and, dare I say it? something very nearly approaching the good will of the season that I keep hearing about.

     In a small town like Fowler (population 1,200 SAAAA-LUUUUTE!!) everybody ''knows' everybody. That is we all have preconceived notions about the merits of those we see, but rarely, if ever, talk to. I suppose to a lot of the more upscale Fowlerites, I've been perceived as something of a lowlife. I don't deny the charge outright, I certainly have some lowlife tendencies, but like everybody in the world I've been misunderstood as I've misunderstood others. No biggie.

     But this night I really felt like part of a community. Besides playing exceptionally well (a  surprise considering our lack of rehearsal), our little band was the receipient of so many compliments; some by folks I swear I've seen cross our Main Street, just to avoid (some of) us. Props must be given to our fearless and nominal leader Jay, for having Kenny and I (2 long haired, 'off the grid' Fowler characters) in the band. Jay is a very successful rancher, as well as being a member of one of our town's oldest families, in a town that values it's oldest families. By giving Kenny and I the opportunity to do what we do best, that is play music, he gave us the chance to bee seen in a different life by the folks I'd written off, mostly, as White Power Structure types, who were vague enemies.

     So maybe all this disapproval is all in my head. Wouldn't be the first time.

     Anyway, we played Yr Cheating Heart and Jambalaya and Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain and such and the townsfolk waltzed and 2 stepped. Smiling and laughing all, the crowd literally ranging from 8 months to 90 years old. There wasn't one occurence to mar the night. No drunken brawls, nobody yelling 'You guys suck!!! (I've seen other bands deal w/this. It's never, of course, happened to me personally) not even the typical drunk guy wanting to show me how to play 'Indian Reservation'. A charmed night. One to renew faith in human nature.

     As readers know, I've been in a Christmas Depression roughly 2 times the size of my soul lately and I am happy to report that playing this dance, being given a chance to do something well, for a change, has lifted that particular veil. At least for a while (old A.A. adadge, that applies to sensations both good and bad: This too shall pass), nothing llasts forever but I'm gonna ride this wave as long as I can. 'cause I feel good this morning. Good about life with all it's vissic, uh, vissicut.. er, oh, ups and downs, OK?

     Vignette from the night: About 2/3's through the 1st set, when most bands keep the tempos slow and the volume low until the old folks shuffle home, my man Jay turns to me and calls out 'Johnny B. Goode'. I suggest we wait till later, but Jay just gives me his zipper grin and say's 'It'll be alright.'  I trust him. So, after counting off, we storm into the song, Jay's acoustic guitar more distorted than mine. Dennis' drums rolling like a subway car rolling down an endless flight of stairs, Tom's pedal steel crying in crystal cascades of impossibly high rolling waterfall noteflurries, Melvin's sawing his guitar in half and Kenny's beard is boppin like his bass, the whole floor's rolling. While hitting the doublestop chorus riffs and singing the ancient refrain 'Go, Johnny, go!' I notice, sitting in a row on a bench to the left of me, the group of preadolescent girls who had been sitting politely but bored through the country material, now clapping their hands, bopping in their seats and singing along with the chorus.

     Getting happy. The power of punk rock. OK, maybe this whole 'life' thing has it's good points after all.

Happy New Year from me, Buster, Bleeker, MacDougal and all the ghosts and ganders that haunt punk rock blues. I'm stealing a riff (again) from my friend Carl and will be back soon w/my top 10 records of all time.

peace and noise,

tb

Posted by: timbyrnes at 17:08 | link | comments (1)

Comments:

#1  30 December 2005 - 17:26

 

"...subway down an endless flight of stairs...".

Pretty good there.

CrazyHoss

Comments: