Laying It Down
From the very first, we knew we had something. With two brothers, a cousin and an outsider, there was a connection and we somehow felt a long journey was beginning. We were rough, but there was magic and we were intent on playing. Lyric sheets strewn about, hand written and scrawled, guitar cases, lost capos, various seating arrangements, good seats for the guitarists. Essential for all, the lone music stand as the center of the universe when playing. Something about musicians sitting close to each other on these acoustic ventures. May not get good separation, but the live blend is sweet.
Wanted to better learn the songs, so we started recording practice sessions. Single track cassettes got the job done. From there, tried to see how much magic we could put on two sides of a cassette tape.
When going through a number, if the song got tighter, more intense, we were somehow playing as one. Walt, with his big Yamaha – sounded like a Martin D28 on steroids – was himself usually hunkered down close to the bridge. Wasn’t worried about where his fingers went as to better hear virgin sounds leaving the instrument headed for air. When he got going, Walt had no idea anyone was in the room; he could hear your singing, your instrument, but was attuned to only the sounds he heard, what worked for the song. Walter was following the sound.
Walt’s guitar work was intricate and his playing innovative even to himself. I would observe as he’d go along with a mood, but ever intent on forcing the song to its outer limits. He would play an old traditional folk song, then put his influences on the melody, add in runs and fills. The song was traditional, but by song’s end, it was Walt’s.
Rest of the Band
Then there was Mark, a prolific instrumentalist who played mandolin, dobro, guitar, and banjo all with deft skill and relative ease. He always maintained he was only average at best. Mark handled the fills and runs and everything in between, to include putting structure and melody to many numbers. He was far above average in our books.
Chris studied a song in mid-air so to speak, a true prodigy at work. Chris was a trained classical pianist who could master just about any instrument he touched, but his greatest gift was his voice. Angels themselves would announce his presence when he opened his mouth and, well, it worked out just fine. Having a singer who’s that good helps the rest of us off-key characters get by.
I leaned in with the harmonica, blending in with a little color in the background, something to support and build on what I heard coming from the others.
We all sang and that was the magic sauce. There was a four-part harmony that came down from the clouds when we inhabited a song. Whoever sang lead, the rest would come in on the chorus and neck hairs would quiver. When we found what worked, how we wanted to sing it, we built on it, polished it, then gave it back to the ether.
I listened and followed the sound, much like I had done years ago when my grandmother taught me. Much like I had done walking down the street as a youngster, listening to the trains on the tracks not too far away. Much like the hours I spent with my high school friend, Johnny Sweet. We’d drive all over creation, listening to each other while blowing the harps and making up words. Now, that was some improvising I wish had been recorded!