Jamming

The Bard himself could not have penned a more lovely opening scene for an evening of fun and outdoor frolic than what embraced the Heartland on the last Friday of July- the regular calendar date for a monthly jam session at the yogurt shop hosted by the owner (blue shirt left). Respite from stifling humidity and the scorching heat of a drought, crystal clear skies and refreshingly moderate temperatures enveloped the capital city, and the sidewalk was teeming with families, friends, and revelers from a class reunion at the bistro next door.

Picking and singing with reckless gusto, the Bluegrass musicians were greeted with waves of eager applause from passers-by while our clogger (red shirt right) instructed children on dance footwork as smiling parents looked-on and took pictures. Old pals were reunited in this cheery streetside scene.

The dreamy weekend concluded with a gentle breeze and cooling rainfall that bathed the surrounding soybean fields that thirsted for moisture. During our weekly Sunday afternoon gig at the family-friendly brewpub, siblings joined us onstage for some familiar kids` songs. Tips from both performances went to the Children`s Hospital.

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In the foothills of the Ozarks resides a village that enjoys a Bluegrass jam session one afternoon each week at a town eatery. Not infrequently, a local nursing home sends a van of clients to the premises for an afternoon of entertainment. Some of the regular musicians recently recruited the BRC founder to join them on banjo for a gig at the nearby community Senior Center at its monthly dinner. That night, a dense stormy weather front hung menacingly over southern Missouri as the band took to the stage. The quartet kicked-off with a spirited and familiar hoedown tune.

Despite a hi-tech sound system provided by the venue, deafening thunderclaps soon began to rumble over the building, and the eyes of the audience were drawn to the windows which were illuminated by ominous crackles of lightening. Although only first a trickle, when the wind and chilling rain intensified, the senior citizens began streaming to the doors to get home before the tempest reached its full fury. The band soldiered on to complete its performance before a nearly vacant hall sprinkled with a few dedicated Bluegrass fans and a couple of dutiful staffers. Driving afterwards on a rain-whipped road through a dark and featureless hinterland, the banjo player was glad to return home to the BRC.

The cold and cloudy weather front slowly dissipated and was replaced a few days later by week-long temperatures soaring into the mid 90`s. The musicians regrouped for a sidewalk gig in front of a popular yogurt shop in our capital city. Passersby paused to sing along with sun-filled familiar tunes heralding the arrival of summer to the Heartland. Signaling the end of Missouri`s annual 72 hours of springtime, a seasonal tide of humidity crept over the Show-Me state, and it  will not dispel until autumn.  A portion of the buskers` tips were donated to the Children`s Hospital.

Each mid week, the BRC founder journeys to a jam session at the McD`s burger shop in a rural village located south of the Missouri River and near the sprawling Lake of the Ozarks. En route, Highway 54 winds through the small roadside town of Brazitio which is home to the Missouri Wildflowers Nursery. This cultivated and natural Show-Me garden was the source of the moniker for the “Wildflowers Trio” who were inducted into the BRC Hall of Fame last month.

This threesome of women specializes in sweet gospel harmonies. Lisa picks the guitar and mandolin, Becky fiddles, and Angie is a clogger who teaches youngsters how to dance to Bluegrass music.

At the most recent jam session, the pickers graciously provided some birthday festivities for the BRC founder to celebrate his yearly calendar milestone, as he is a March Hare. Or is it March Heir? Springtime cannot be far away.

Affording some relief from bitter and unseasonably frigid weather inherited from gusting Arctic blasts, Missouri fans and Bluegrass musicians convened at a capital city hotel and its convention center last weekend to enjoy the annual Mid West convention of the Society for Preservation of Bluegrass Music of America. While the main auditorium hosted a roster of regional bands punctuated by awards ceremonies, Bluegrass pickers converged in the hotel`s cavernous lobby where spontaneous jam sessions erupted like springtime flowerbeds heralding the long-awaited end of an icy winter.

Curious hotel guests lingered about to investigate the spirited and spontaneous music.  With some wonderment, one puzzled onlooker inquired what was the “Society for the Prevention of Bluegrass Music…” all about? The jammers politely paused and courteously clarified that the Society`s goal was the “Preservation”  and celebration of the Bluegrass music genre. The listener returned, “Kinda like the Preservation Hall Jazz Band in New Orleans?” Smiles were exchanged.

In the face of inclement weather, folks from the Show-Me State devotedly invoke Mark Twain`s meteorological injunction, “If you don`t like the weather in Missouri, wait five minutes.” Twain lived much of his later years in Hartford, CT, and he is buried next to his wife in Elmira,  NY. The actual quotation attributed to him is, ” If you don`t like the weather in New England, just wait a few minutes.” Twain was a professed banjophile.

A requisite five minute wait notwithstanding, promptly after Missouri`s  all ready frosty weekend temperatures in the teens, the thermometer plummeted to below zero in the subsequent glacial and snowy days.

P.S. Check-out the “5 string BRC open back `Fleur-de-lis` banjo” on eBay Jan.14-21.

As the end of summer draws nigh, the days grow quietly shorter and evening temperatures  slowly ebb. To bid farewell to the vacation season and greet the crisp nights ahead of autumn, the brewpub gang and our pickin` pals from the Ozark foothills convened for a jam session at a yogurt shop in our capital city in the shadow of the state legislative house (click to enlarge).

Celebrating the arrival of back-to-school days, parents and kids streamed through the shop all evening to share a family yogurt treat together and pause to enjoy the high lonesome sound of mountain music. It was a scene of Americana befitting a Norman Rockwell painting for the cover of the Saturday Evening Post. Do yogurt and Bluegrass mix? Yep, big time.