Goodbye to all that...
Another wonderful weekend of music up at Paint Rock Valley Lodge - perhaps the most fun festival we've done, but one that also made me totally miserable that I'm going to be leaving all of this in two days.
As my last gig with my wonderful band, it was the perfect way to cap off my year with them, but still, thinking how at my first festival here, I knew nothing at all about how to play all this old music, and what a fantastic learning curve I've had since then and, listening to the other bands that were playing at the weekend, how much I still could be learning, it's heartbreaking to have to leave it all behind. No matter what I manage to find in England, music-wise, it's going to be nothing compared to the whole-hearted, genuinely communal musical events that happen here.
The festival had the best buck-dancers and cloggers that I'd encountered here, perfect for the old-time fiddle tunes and claw-hammer stuff that we play. I've never had a bigger thrill than playing for a six-times national buckdancing champion, the crowd whooping and hollering, and him taking centre stage surrounded by fantastic dancers of all ages. As always, we met some fantastic people, learnt new tunes, swapped licks, told stories and jammed in the campground till the wee hours.
I got back to Greensboro and moped around on the verge of tears, torturing myself further by listening to old-time string music on my iPod while coming up with every more ridiculous plans for getting myself back to Alabama as soon as possible.
As my last gig with my wonderful band, it was the perfect way to cap off my year with them, but still, thinking how at my first festival here, I knew nothing at all about how to play all this old music, and what a fantastic learning curve I've had since then and, listening to the other bands that were playing at the weekend, how much I still could be learning, it's heartbreaking to have to leave it all behind. No matter what I manage to find in England, music-wise, it's going to be nothing compared to the whole-hearted, genuinely communal musical events that happen here.
The festival had the best buck-dancers and cloggers that I'd encountered here, perfect for the old-time fiddle tunes and claw-hammer stuff that we play. I've never had a bigger thrill than playing for a six-times national buckdancing champion, the crowd whooping and hollering, and him taking centre stage surrounded by fantastic dancers of all ages. As always, we met some fantastic people, learnt new tunes, swapped licks, told stories and jammed in the campground till the wee hours.
I got back to Greensboro and moped around on the verge of tears, torturing myself further by listening to old-time string music on my iPod while coming up with every more ridiculous plans for getting myself back to Alabama as soon as possible.
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