Tuesday, September 01, 2009

Branson Fiddle Festival- 2009
Branson has had a fiddle festival for years and I never attended before. So, I decided to go on Sunday for the finals. I got to see the playoffs for the last division where a father and son went head to head for several songs before the judges could decide who got in the top 3 and who didn't. (dad won,btw) and then the playoffs for the grand winner- over all the age groups. The Top picture shows the winner- Bubba!
The bottom picture is one of the men from the older age group- He told me he was 71. Sure doesn't look it to me.
One thing that did show was how close these people are, compeating and then turning around and playing backup for the others who they were compeating against.
Delaney was with me. She didn't enjoy it, but she tolerated it to do some shopping. I decided to tell her a story.
Have you ever had anything mystical happen in your life? Something you can't explain? Just a feeling of rightness with no reason why? This is one of mine:
When I was a teen, I loved to read and would go after school to the library then go home with my mom after work. They had albums there you could check out and I started checking out a few. Most of them were not "cool" music but I checked them out anyway and that's how I discovered the Dillards. They played Bluegrass music and from the moment I heard it, I loved it. To me, it was the happiest sound,it just made me feel good.
Once I discovered Bluegrass, I found several festivals in the area. My friends and I would go, spending the day listening to music, swimming in a river or spring, eating funnel cakes, just generally having a grand time of the day. One of my most treasured memories was sitting on a blanket, at night, listening to Claire from the Front Porch String band as her voice seemed to just rise, like smoke, to the heavens and into a starry night.
I have to also add here that while there was music in my home, it came either from my mom's love of church music or my sister's love of rock. My father didn't contribute to the music at all, in fact, I don't even remember him playing the radio in his truck. So, it was a big surprise to me when my Aunt Elizabeth mentioned that he used to play music. I couldn't even imagine that.
A few months before my dad passed away, I asked him about it. He did play when he was young. He played the guitar, mandolin , never liked the banjo, but loved the fiddle. He played with a group, at church, then for community events and later he played in some bars as well.
I asked him why he quit. He said that, after he was wounded in WWII (he was shot in the elbow of his bowing arm) he couldn't play. I believe my dad was an "all or nothing" kind of person. I suppose just being around the music would remind him of what he lost, and so he seperated himself from it compleately.
So, when I sit and listen to the music, I wonder if there's something in the concept of "cultural memory". I felt such an instant connection to a music style I'd never heard before, but was something my father had a deep connection to. I watch the community of the performers, how the children learn from their fathers, and I wonder if I had grown up around it, would I be able to play as well? What would my childhood have looked like had he continued to play? Would music be the secret language it seems to be to me now?
I sit and there's a mixture of happiness, saddness, regret and wistfulness. I take photos to record the event and I make art based on those photos.

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