Just back in from playing at a high school graduation party with a couple of the Misfits, Bob Van Metre and Logan Claytor. The party was for Logan’s lovely sister Hannah who is now college bound. Son Chris was kind enough to join us for a set and I must say, with him on the mandolin, we sounded mighty fine! All that practice we’ve been getting at the Wednesday night jam stood us in good stead.
Logan was sounding particularly strong on banjo, probably the best I’ve heard him play. He was playing Dalton Brill’s old RB-250 (possibly an RB-800), as you can see from the picture. (Chris calls that banjo Wildcat #1 after Dalton’s old group the Wildcats.)
Bob Van Metre (also pictured) did himself (and us) proud on the bass, even if I did throw him for a loop by calling for “Salt Creek” in A, when we usually do it in G during the jam.
A partial song list includes most of the songs we normally do on Wednesday nights plus:
I’m On My Way Back To the Old Home
East Virginia Blues
You Go To Your Church And I’ll Go To Mine
Foggy Mountain Special
Salty Dog (Logan’s request)
Hazel Creek (Ditto, as Logan had just learned it. Sorta.)
Roll In My Sweet Baby’s Arms
I had to laugh after we did our first tune because, while people had been milling around on the porch and telling us how much they were looking forward to our playing, as soon as we started, they all left and went inside the house. Where the food was! Just one of those weird party things. Eventually they came back, causing Chris to refer to them as the “prodigal crowd.”
After we finished (with a rousing two-banjo version of “Foggy Mountain Breakdown”), Bob and I headed over to Cork Street Tavern for a “sasparilla,” as Marshall Wilborn is wont to refer to golden nectar in long-neck bottles. (And which I just found out is spelled “sarsaparilla,” thanks to Google. Who would have thunk it?) We had a fine time solving all the problems in the world while declaring things were much better in the good ol’ days. As we were getting ready to go, the perfect ending for this Blog landed in my lap, so to speak. A man walked in with one of those T-shirts that said, “Paddle Faster. I hear banjo music!” And there you have it!