#1 came in last night carrying the local artsy what-to-do-this-week newspaper, and was excited as anything. "Guess what? There's a country music festival this weekend, and it also benefits the Downtown Mission!"
That's how we both ended up in the middle of nowhere this afternoon. Trust me, you really can't get there from here. We finally found it, paid our $3 ("That's each, eh? Not a carful." the gatekeeper warned). I should have taken that as an omen.
When we walked into the tent, the average age of attendees went down by a good 50 years. I'm not kidding - these were not just seniours, they were octogenarian seniours. There was a row for walkers. I felt much less out of place with my cane than I usually do.
We got settled, and then saw the sign at the front of the stage, announcing the name of the band.
"The Old Country
Campers"
Visions of old Jewish men playing the banjo and interjecting loud 'Oy!'s ran through my mind. I was just glad I hadn't had to drive behind them on the way to the concert (driving all that way going 30 in a 50 zone behind someone with right turn signal winking smugly away would have caused a bad case of road rage, or at least indigestion). However, the band was not from the Old Country -they are just old, they play country music, and - wait for it - they own a camper.
As far as live music goes, they very nearly weren't. Ok, that was harsh. But still. I am thinking that they are having hearing issues, judging frm the absolutely breathtaking ability they had to totally ignore the concept of playing in tune with each other. There were some talented musicians, and the fiddle player was just amazing! I want to be him when I am old - he kept trying to keep everyone else playing in the same key, with mixed results.
We both sat there with polite grins fixed firmly on our faces. Until our faces hurt, actually. I kept clicking the heels of my pink cowboy boots together three times and whispering,"There's no place like Nashville. There's no place like Nashville" over and over, but it didn't work.
A new group of musicians joined the old ones on stage, and lit into their rendition of 'Murder on Music Row:
"They thought no one would miss it, once it was dead and gone
They said no one would buy them old drinking and cheating songs (I'll still buy
'em)
Well there ain't no justice in it and the hard facts are cold
Murder's been committed down on music row."
We both agreed that somebody was murdering country music, we just didn't think it was on Music Row in Nashville.
Finally, we decided to walk around and take a look at the flea market which was near the stage but far enough away that it sort of dulled the sound a little. After a really quick stroll through the aisles we discovered that a) you can sell old stuffed animals which look like the dog gnawed them, b) you can making charming and attractive vases out of empty Jack Danials bottles by gluing a shot glass to the top and c)nobody over the age of , say, 12 ought to wear spandex. Especially not spandex short shorts. It can make varicose veings bulge unattractively. I'm just saying.
We went back to the stage, and finally, a great duo came onstage. This lady and her husband, both in their late 70's, got up and sang Hank Williams like you cannot believe. We were actually standing up and cheering! These two were amazing, and sang four songs. Then, the real discovery of the day: The Old Campers were the only band for the entire day - and anyone who wished could tell the stage manager and be added to the lineup. So, a person who didn't know a fiddle from an axe handle could go up onstage- backed by, of course, the Old Country CAmpers.
We discovered this because a man who sat in front of us suddenly leapt up wielding a banjo. He turned to the crowd shaking the banjo at us, and with an air of grim determination went onstage. I was actually quite excited- I love bluegrass. And honestly, at that point I would have applauded a dog-howling contest to get the singer gleefully romping through 'I'm Just a Blue-whoo-whoo Ken-en-entuckyeeeee Girrelll ' ("who never met a pitch I could match")
The banjo player faced the audience, grinned boyishly, and said,"I only have a couple songs here I can get all the way through. I sure hope y'all enjoy it, eh?"
Can I just say that "ya'all" and "eh?" should never, ever, under any circumstances be allowed to be used in the same sentence. I'm just saying. Anyway, Mr. Banjo was half right - he was able to get almost all the way through both of two songs. However, he didn't technically know the songs- more like, once, before he was born, his mother was frightened by a banjo. It left its scars. I wanted to begin shouting "Oy! Oy! Oy!" at this point.
Just before we left, they announced the singing conest. That anyone could enter. And win $400. "But" the nice announcer reminded us all, "you have to enter to win! Come on, we want to hear what you've got!"
All the way home, #1 and I discussed what songs we would sing if we entered this contest. I am torn between "Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw?" and "They Ain't Makin' Jews Like Jesus Anymore":
Well, a redneck nerd in a bowling shirt was a-guzzlin' lone star beer
Talking religion and-uh politics for all the world to hear.
They oughta send you back to russia, boy, or new york city one
You just want to doodle a christian girl and you killed god's only son.
Or not. But from a purely academic point of view, it surely would be interesting to see just how long my performance could go on before I would be run off the stage by a band of irate seniours armed with pitchforks and walkers: "Ya'all get off our stage, eh?"
When Poe ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
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