A Southern Musical Odyssey, to be Expounded Upon as Time Goes On...
Well, well, well, Happy St. Patrick's Day to all of you out there in internet land.
Your humble so and so is currently working on a review of his phenomenal musical, spiritual, and psychological journey through the South. Of course I'm still in shock as to how wonderful it was including just how genuinely awesome the people I went with were and how much fun I was able to have. I've never really enjoyed myself that much in such a short period of time. Of course, I don't get out much with peers so it's kinda my own fault, but it was pretty much like a week-long weekend with no hard-core debauchery on my group's part (please ignore the brief Ben and Jerry's Extravaganza as well as two trips to the mythical Sonic).
Why am I waiting so ong to provide reflections? I'm trying to get an artsy perspective and all especially since I had the ridiculous fortune to attend a swingin Blues/Soul/Funk/R & B dance club, a legitimate Dixieland Jazz Band Performance on Bourbon Street, and the Grand Ole Opry. Needless to say, and yet I say it, this was a great experience for somebody as steeped in music as myself. I was able to witness roots and branches of that loving mother called American music (eloquently and literally expressed at B.B. King's Blues Club in Nashville, TN). Whether moaning through a well-played slide guitar, whining through a pedal steel guitar, thumping through a persistent bass line, or blasting through a trumpet, she was there. That ever-pervailing sense of quality in artistic representation. That same rhythm our ancestors circled a campfire with in the good ol' primeval days. That same groove that has carried us on from mammoth hunts to dance clubs is still with us and more alive than ever in the hearts of almost all people around the world waiting for a skilled band or performer to draw it into the open, toy with it a bit, then lovingly set it back in place.
The communal experience of the music placed it in an even more interesting context. Today with iPods, Walkmans, headphones, etc. music is turning into an even more personal experience. This is alright, as it allows a more personal exploration of oneself and possibly the musicians as well, but it also robs an essential element from the grooves of yore--communion. In a dancehall with a live band you either groove or get out. No asking for the latest sappy emo hit, just dance or drop out, brothers and sisters. This experience makes young dance alongside old, codgers and children tap their toes, white and black and red and yellow and brown boogie with reckless abandon. Communion is clearly one of the functions of music and even though one can say communion is always had through others listening privately to the same recording a new level is brought to the communal experience when we are together, all present with one another, all united in appreciation of something at the heart of the human existence--rhythm.
Maybe it's just me brothers and sisters, but this Foolish Freudian Rocker feels everyone everywhere can dance or at least wants to dance. Let it ride, brothers and sisters, let it ride and become part of the congregation.
Your humble so and so is currently working on a review of his phenomenal musical, spiritual, and psychological journey through the South. Of course I'm still in shock as to how wonderful it was including just how genuinely awesome the people I went with were and how much fun I was able to have. I've never really enjoyed myself that much in such a short period of time. Of course, I don't get out much with peers so it's kinda my own fault, but it was pretty much like a week-long weekend with no hard-core debauchery on my group's part (please ignore the brief Ben and Jerry's Extravaganza as well as two trips to the mythical Sonic).
Why am I waiting so ong to provide reflections? I'm trying to get an artsy perspective and all especially since I had the ridiculous fortune to attend a swingin Blues/Soul/Funk/R & B dance club, a legitimate Dixieland Jazz Band Performance on Bourbon Street, and the Grand Ole Opry. Needless to say, and yet I say it, this was a great experience for somebody as steeped in music as myself. I was able to witness roots and branches of that loving mother called American music (eloquently and literally expressed at B.B. King's Blues Club in Nashville, TN). Whether moaning through a well-played slide guitar, whining through a pedal steel guitar, thumping through a persistent bass line, or blasting through a trumpet, she was there. That ever-pervailing sense of quality in artistic representation. That same rhythm our ancestors circled a campfire with in the good ol' primeval days. That same groove that has carried us on from mammoth hunts to dance clubs is still with us and more alive than ever in the hearts of almost all people around the world waiting for a skilled band or performer to draw it into the open, toy with it a bit, then lovingly set it back in place.
The communal experience of the music placed it in an even more interesting context. Today with iPods, Walkmans, headphones, etc. music is turning into an even more personal experience. This is alright, as it allows a more personal exploration of oneself and possibly the musicians as well, but it also robs an essential element from the grooves of yore--communion. In a dancehall with a live band you either groove or get out. No asking for the latest sappy emo hit, just dance or drop out, brothers and sisters. This experience makes young dance alongside old, codgers and children tap their toes, white and black and red and yellow and brown boogie with reckless abandon. Communion is clearly one of the functions of music and even though one can say communion is always had through others listening privately to the same recording a new level is brought to the communal experience when we are together, all present with one another, all united in appreciation of something at the heart of the human existence--rhythm.
Maybe it's just me brothers and sisters, but this Foolish Freudian Rocker feels everyone everywhere can dance or at least wants to dance. Let it ride, brothers and sisters, let it ride and become part of the congregation.
posted by Nick M. at 12:09 AM
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