Best of the Welcome Columns


Best of the Welcome Columns

Author: Alston, Ed
Musical Karma

Diverse as CBA’s members are, they surely agree on one thing: Few joys rate with the sharing of one’s favorite music. Within CBA, of course, that’s usually bluegrass. But not always. I’ve known some of our members to periodically depart from that high lonesome sound, to share some country (nee “country & western”) or folk or blues favorites. At times I’ve done the same. Especially with rockabilly, doo-wop, r & b, and black gospel, musical forms that prevailed during the early days of rock’n’roll. As one who’s old enough to have witnessed – and been profoundly moved by -- the advent of rock’n’roll, I’ve long enjoyed sharing “roots” music with friends and acquaintances. I started early. During high school I often shared my 45 RPM rock’n’roll records with classmates, usually at our homes. Once, however, I did so at school. [Please bear with this digression, as it’s a karmatic precursor…which youthful readers may more fully appreciate if they google “45 RPM record”…and have faith, bluegrass content will appear, for readers who don’t nod off.] ‘Twas late 1961, when I was an Atwater High School student in Mr. William Rose’s third-year English class. One week he brought a turntable to class, on which he daily played recitations of Shakespeare’s works. Boring! I thought the turntable could be put to better use than blaring the bard’s blather. So I prepared for just the right moment. It came mid-week, when Mr. Rose didn’t appear promptly for the start of class. The day before I’d secreted within my notebook one of my favorite 45’s from 1961: “The Mountain’s High”, by Dick & Dee Dee. With Mr. Rose nowhere in sight I scurried up to his desk, placed the record on his turntable, adjusted its speed to 45 RPM, and lowered the needle arm to launch Dick & Dee Dee’s mesmerizing melodies. Then I returned to my desk and sat down, affecting my well-practiced innocent look. Unlike most classroom disruptions I provoked during high school, this one had a sublime side. I was gratified to find many of my classmates enjoyed “The Mountain’s High” as much as I did. Indeed, most were rocking out like animated character actors in a television sitcom. A few, however, were more reserved, probably eager to see me get my comeuppance. For myself, I’d hoped the two-minutes-and-ten-seconds ditty would finish before Mr. Rose showed up. Oops! He walked in mid-song. Mr. Rose’s famously imperturbable demeanor wavered momentarily, as he paused mid-stride. Evidently he was taken aback by this unprecedented, unseemly breach of decorum. A worrisome hush enveloped the class. We – and especially myself -- all dreaded whatever it was Mr. Rose might do to punish us. Mr. Rose spoke not a word. He strode slowly and purposefully to the turntable. There he deftly raised the needle arm, silencing Dick & Dee. With one hand he lifted up the offending record. He viewed it with furrowed brow, and held it gingerly at its outer edge, as if it were contaminated. Then Mr. Rose raised the record a bit higher and paused – doubtless for dramatic effect – directly above his wastebasket. After a suspenseful moment or two he released my beloved 45. It fell straight downward, landing atop discarded papers within the wastebasket. My classmates, who’d remained perfectly silent to this point, collectively gasped. Primal instincts kicked in. I bolted from my desk right to Mr. Rose’s wastebasket, and gently liberated Dick & Dee Dee. Only then did I reflect on the likely consequences. While my record-rescue mission succeeded, I effectively had confessed to the turntable transgression. I cringed to think of how many after-school detention hours awaited me. Amazingly, nothing happened. Mr. Rose apparently felt I’d suffered enough from the indignity done my precious record. He even gave me my usual mediocre English grade that term: B-minus (not bad, considering California’s public schools had yet to suffer rampant grade inflation). Enough of 1961, back to modern times: It’s only rather recently that I’ve shared bluegrass with others. Regrettably enough, I – like many of my long-time friends – pretty much shunned bluegrass for the first few decades of life. Over the last six years, however, I’ve made up for lost time. I’ve introduced most of my old rock’n’roll-loving friends to the glories of bluegrass. Nearly all have reacted favorably to my proselytizing. Many have joined CBA, and started coming to bluegrass festivals. One such is a college pal, Marc, lifelong resident of Los Angeles. During his youth he favored the British Invasion and Motown sounds. He knew a lot about the Beatles, Stones, Supremes and Temptations…but nothing about bluegrass. After a couple years of trying to persuade Marc to join myself and other friends at various festivals, I finally succeeded last June. He agreed to come to Grass Valley. What an introduction to the high lonesome sound! With 96 hours of fun-filled frolicking at our 34th annual Father’s Day Festival – to include jamming with some notable musicians -- Marc was a changed man. Time and again, he thanked me for helping introduce him to the bluegrass world. Toward the end of summer Marc returned the musical favor. He told me he’d scored tickets for a vintage rock’n’roll concert at Universal City. I recognized every name of the old-time artists slated to appear: The Olympics, Jimmy Clanton, Kathy Young, and – yes! – Dick & Dee Dee. I promptly arranged to attend with Marc and a couple of CBA friends. What a night! Two thousand fans thrilled to half-century-old rock’n’roll songs performed by the original artists. Most singers still had fine voices. Especially Dick & Dee Dee, when they sung “The Mountain’s High”. [Although I suspect their trademark harmonies – akin to those of the bluegrass-rooted Everly Brothers – were electronically enhanced, given that “Dick” is not the late Dick St. John, male half of the duo during its 1960’s heydays.] Unfortunately, this concert -- unlike typical bluegrass events -- didn’t afford most attendees an opportunity to meet the performers afterwards. So when the concert ended I figured our foursome would simply exit and call it a night. However, Marc somehow wangled backstage passes -- for all four of us! Anyone who still is reading can guess what happened just 15 minutes later: We met with Dick & Dee Dee…whereupon I recounted that memorable spin the duo’s signature record took on Mr. Rose’s turntable some 48 years earlier. Dee Dee seemed genuinely amused, and thanked me for sharing that tale. And I was all the more grateful to Marc, who was still thanking me for his Grass Valley experience. It’s really nice, when music seems to come full circle.

Posted: 11/19/2009