This past weekend, the band came to town. By this past weekend,d I of course mean this past weekend but by ‘the band’ I mean Jamie’s two friends from school, and by ‘to town’ I mean to my house.
Saturday morning, we loaded up our mighty steed to head to the Old Time on the Onion in Cabot, VT, of creamery fame. Our caravan was laden deep with two banjos, two guitars, a fiddle, and an upright bass. We had the makings for a real hoedown shingid folk music bash. As a first-time attendee of an old time festival, I brought with me a sense of curiosity, no experience whatsoever jamming with randos, and my banjo. ‘Festival’ is a loose term in this case, because all it meant was that we old time attendees had a designated field to ourselves. I think technically it was a campground, but in all actuality it was just a 3-acre plot of land. Around the perimeter, pine fronds, moved by the breeze, pet the heads of the Subaru Outbacks that belonged to the weekenders. We were humble wayfarers, just in for the day.
We set up under the shade of our own Subaru Outback and began to play. The fiddle calls the tune, and we join in when we can. To end, the fiddle raises his her or their leg to signify one last refrain. I tend to read the chords of the guitar player and just copy him her or them. It’s an entirely different way of learning to play music than I have any prior experience with.
The way I see it, there are three main ways of learning music:
taught by a teacher, with sheet music. The teacher’s job is to teach you technique and how to read sheet music.
taught by a teacher, sans sheet music. Think suzuki method or the american gospel tradition. The teacher’s job is to teach you technique through teaching the tunes themselves.
no teacher, no music, figure it out in real time on the spot.
This was the first time I found myself in #3, in the deep end, no less. It is an entirely different way of listening to music; it is listening to perform at the same time. To be a well-rounded musician, I think you must challenge the foundation of your musical sense. I am fluent in sheet music, but cannot for the life of me translate a tune from fiddle to my banjo frets. Practice makes better, but in the meantime, I am making a fool of myself.
Another aspect of this whole environment was the other attendees: Old white dudes who probably followed Phish in their younger and more vulnerable years but have now retired to the old time string band festival circuit. I’m not sure you could even imagine that. It’s a very niche New England stereotype. They were also very quiet. No pleasantries or small talk whatsoever. The longest sentence one of them said to me was ‘what key are we in?’ We were in D.
There is something to be said, though, for playing music with strangers without knowing who they are. We establish a relationship without words, only fiddle, banjo, guitar, and bass, and then part ways at the end of the day. What key are we in, you ask? We are in the key of F for Farewell, D for Dismissal, A for Adieu, and G for Goodbye.
