The Burrow

I like an eclectic mix of music, but jazz has never been a big part of it.  My kids know musicals and light opera and rock and roll, but if they've ever heard of the gentlemen in the title of this post it's not through any fault of my own. And yet, in high school, I dated boys who knew all about the inner workings of jazz. One after another they came through my living room, introduced to my parents with the added bit of information that "He loves Stan Getz," or "His parents saw Dave Brubeck," or some other bit of trivia that would get my father engaged on a subject about which he could speak.  Left to his own devices, I never knew what he'd throw at my date; it was always safer to have a conversation in mind before the doorbell rang. smittycars.BlogSpot.com In college, the first male friend I made took me to all the live venues in Ithaca.  He was a senior to my freshman, he drove a blue Kharmann Ghia (though his didn't have those very cool wh...

I missed some of the jokes watching the Super Bowl yesterday.  I guess that makes me officially old. There was laughter on the screen while TBG and I were shaking our heads.  It didn't happen often, just frequently enough to be noticed. The culture has passed us by. Is thug  just a replacement for the n word  (a phrase that makes me gag as I type it since we're all saying it in our heads as we read it, anyway) ... and, if so, when did it happen and why did no one inform me? Then, again, why do I think I have to be notified of a cultural shift?  The answer is obvious to me: my generation defined the culture, right up until technology took it away from us.  Before then, we had our fingers on the pulse of what was new, from the electric typewriter to the first generation of portable personal music through the DiscMan's CD's and the ultra-cool, all-in-one Sony radio,  right up until the iPod and the need to understand playlists and do...

Miss Vicki and I were in the presence of a legend last night. No, it wasn't the aging hippie birthday boy with the blown out greying locks above his too tight plaid shirt. It was the bass player Miss Vicki saw toting his instrument into the theater as we arrived downtown for a before the show dinner.  It was also Dr. Ralph Stanley, 87 years young. True, there was the occasional wandering around the stage when he was supposed to be singing at the microphone. A padded chair was center stage, and the whole audience exhaled in unison when, half way through the set, he managed to lower himself safely down onto the seat.  He looked frail and fragile and uncertain, until he opened his mouth. His voice has always been high and reedy. There's none of the roundness his son, Ralph Stanley the Second, carries. There's a mournful, verse-repeating, church-like quality to it.  He told us that he learned to sing in his old Baptist church , a capella, praying to the Lord . ...

It's easy to see why angels play harps in heaven.  On Saturday afternoon, some of them were in the apse of St. Mark Catholic Church. With strong fingers and graceful wrists they plucked and strummed and caressed the strings. With a sharp pull and a graceful release,  hands up, curved fingers freeing the vibrations,  the audience silent, the leader, raising her hand in triumph, as the music died. It was something to behold, something to treasure. I was there because a friend from The Happy Ladies Club extended an invitation. Her church was throwing a party for its new building  and The University of Arizona's HarpFusion was playing.  Auntie Em played the harp in her youth.  I wished she were by my side on Saturday.  I wanted Christina-Taylor, too, so I lit a candle, just in case her spirit was wandering in the neighborhood, looking for a pleasant afternoon respite. I was in church, after all. Harps are beautifu...

As those of you who were dry enough to be here yesterday know, Miss Margo and I were listening to some pretty fine tunes on Sunday.   We heard eight acts in six hours There was very little down-time between sets. Encores were allowed but not encouraged. The early acts were amazed to be awake; "I didn't know that there were two 10:30's in a single day." There was lots of gospel and a maddening urge to get up and boogie. The music touches something in my soul; G'ma loved Woody Guthrie and I'm wondering if it's genetic.   There were contest winners  like Desert Heart, who won a spot on the bill by coming in first in the Friday Night Band Contest. Two are married, all were smiling. The music was fine.  Margo and I enjoyed their joy.   Mark Phillips (in black) & IIIrd Generation  got the crowd up and dancing. A classically trained musician does have a smoother sound than someone who learned at Gran...

without the banjo?  Margo and I looked and smiled and said "Country."  Then we laughed. It was that kind of a day at the lovely outdoor AVA Ampthitheater next to the Pascua Yaqui's aptly named Casino del Sol. Look at all that sunshine, denizens.  Why in the world are you living along the Eastern seaboard?  Have you not checked The Weather Channel?  You won't be seeing skies like this in the forseeable future.  Margo and I sat outside, in shorts, for six wonderful hours today.  I wish you all could have been there, too.  There were plenty of empty seats. Sponsored by the Desert Bluegrass Association (which deserves the shout out for putting on such a wonderful show at such a reasonable price), we saw eight acts, most of them from the front row. And then there was the festival food. Margo was trying to be healthy; there are veggies under the salsa. My Sonoran Hot Dog (no beans, please) made me very happy.  The su...