Pickers Coerner-Why I Love Bluegrass

Why I Love Bluegrass

By Roger Luth

Roger, a guitar and banjo player, plus and raconteur extraordinaire, has been involved in SWBA for many a year, bringing mirth and merriment, and not a little musicianship, to the various jams that he has favored with his presence. He penned this piece back in early 2002, at which time it was published in the SWBA newsletter, The Bluegrass Soundboard, and it has remained an ongoing inspiration to those who similarly bask in the beauty of Bluegrass.

A warm Labor Day Weekend evening. Immense oak trees spreading their hundred-year-old branches over a rustic campsite. Two dozen or so pickers arrayed around a blazing campfire, furiously operating their instruments, belting out Monroe and Stanley tunes while, in the background, a battery operated blender rattles over fresh peach daiquiries. This could only be the Bluegrass Bottomfeeders' campsite at the ever-popular SWBA campout in Fillmore, California, and I was right in the middle of it, my mellifluent, baritone voice joining in the chorus, and my ever-agile fingers dancing across the frets of my instrument (at least that's how I recall it).

Although a relatively recent convert to Bluegrass (the bug bit me in 1994), I could feel an emotional connection to times gone by -- the ancient tones that Mr. Monroe spoke of so eloquently. Also the liquid libations being produced by the sturdy blender.

As we eased into the "Clinch Mountain Backstep," a fellow across the campfire ripped off a particularly tasty break on his Flatiron five-string. He looked vaguely familiar, but I assumed I had seen him at the Huck Finn festival in Victorville, California, or elsewhere...somewhere.

Later, I walked over and asked, "Hey, would you show me that break you used on the Backstep?"

He looked at me real funny like and said, "Say that again?"

I repeated my request, and he asked, "Is your name Roger?"

My jaw dropped a little, as I nodded in affirmation. He says, "Remember me--Dave Matthews?" One of my best high school buddies, one I hadn't seen in forty years. He had recognized me by my voice.

So tell me, what are the odds of us both taking up the five-string banjo and bumping into each other across a campfire in Fillmore, California, forty years later?

As it happened, a month later, we got back together at the South Gate High School Class of '61 Reunion at the Long Beach Marriot Hotel. Half-way through the evening, Dave leaned over and said, "I'm sick of looking at photos of grandkids. Let's pick one." I had anticipated this eventuality and packed an appropriately aged 1961 Martin D-18...just in case. As the doo-wah music droned on in the ballroom, we began a parking lot jam session that attracted quite a crowd and lasted well into the night.

D**n, I love bluegrass!