The Never Ending Pool

QUOTE:
A ten song set that takes an hour

Well, we took a little drive last night to hear Ramblin’ Jack over in a Blue Ridge Mountain valley and got two five-song sets separated by a 15-minute break that totaled close to 90 minutes. Jack would tell stories about his travels and his musician friends for five or ten minutes, then play for three or four. My wife doesn't get what all the fuss was about, but I had a great time.

I used to live in downtown Staunton 20-some years ago, but that was before all the upscale restaurants opened and the old-time music scene took root. It's a college town, but a little college town, and I don't know where all the new money is coming from. The handsome streets are narrow, but dark and pretty much deserted by mid-evening. The place is charming in a homey kind of way, and lonesome at the same time. The evening’s venue was one of those part restaurant, part club places. At one point in the second set, Jack kept strumming but stopped singing and took notice of a waitress down front, asking her, not unkindly, to finish her business before he continued. Opening and closing doors were another pet peeve, and I was reminded of his set at Newport a few years ago when photographers were the issue.

Jack came in 45 minutes before show time and chatted with a couple of guys wearing handlebar mustaches and – I’ll wager - Civil War re-enactor duds. Before the show, the M.C. announced that it would be up to Jack if this was to be a one or two set night, and that Jack would stick around for photos afterwards –“ he has a real pretty face, you’ll look good next to him.” The M.C. apologized for not having merchandise for sale - Jack had sold it all at previous gigs, but there was plenty on his web site. This led Jack to say later that he couldn't figure out a computer to save his butt, but that he didn't have much butt left, having lost his ass in the music business, so that he needs suspenders to keep his pants up.

The opening act was a young couple – he in a work shirt and cap, she in a turquoise dress with her hair in two long black braids, and an unfortunate mess of red and green ink up and down her right forearm – playing "old time mountain music," as it's called around here, on the fiddle and the banjo. Now I think it’s really wonderful that young people are taking up traditional music, and sometimes I’m even in the mood to hear it. Other times, as the saying goes, it’s better than it sounds. In this case, I was in the latter mood, but they played well and they were so sweet, they were impossible not to root for. And they only did four tunes, the best of which was when the young lady danced – “flatfooted” – to the young man’s banjo.

Jack ambled onstage about 10 minutes later, chatted a bit, sang a quick San Francisco Bay Blues, and put his sunglasses on. He asked for more bass in his microphone – “more Johnny Cash, less Tiny Tim.” The song list was largely the same as Toronto show : The Cuckoo, Talkin’ Columbia Blues and Talkin’ Sailor Blues (both of which he credited to Woody Guthrie – is that correct?) and Diamond Joe.

After the break, during which he kept his sunglasses on as he talked with fans, he took them off and played Engine 143, then the Arthritis Blues, then another train disaster song, Wreck of the Old ‘97. Somewhere in there came the story about his dog Caesar, who could drive – “I didn’t teach him to drive; that would have been irresponsible” – and drove 25 miles while Jack napped in the back for two hours before calling the club he was supposed to play that night and placating the club owner who called him “Rambling Jack” by singing the audience songs over the telephone.

Then Don’t Think Twice with the one line of Dylan imitation, preceded by the story he told at Newport about being holed up in a cabin with a friend during a snowstorm with a bottle of Cutty Sark and a Dylan record, and learning that song and singing it the first before a packed audience of folkies that included a drunken Bob slurring out “I relinquish it to you, Jack.” For a last verse, he ad-libbed a few lines about going up to Maryland; Maryland is his next stop. He was in good voice for a man his age all night long, singing with plenty of volume and mostly on key, but he gave this this song his strongest performance.

Before the encore he asked for a half shot of good bourbon – “not Jim Beam” – for his throat, and told us a sad and remarkably revealing thing, that he’d “introduced” his wife to Jim Beam, and that “she fell in love with him” and died about 10 years ago, and he still feels bad about that.

The encore was the longest story of the night, maybe 15 minutes, about another road trip that ended up in New Orleans, in Jackson Square and the Café Du Monde and with a good look at the Mississippi River. He strummed through most of it, then sang just one line, “Did you even shiver, just because you were lookin’ at a river,” and that was the set. No photo ops afterwards.

The audience gave Jack a huge hand when he came on, and standing ovations after each set, and he really basked in their affection. Like I said, I had a great time and it was nice to see a few audience members in their twenties, even if the majority were older. The tall tales, one-liners and reminiscences, and the legend embodied in the reminiscences, very quickly became the focus of the evening. The songs punctuated the stories, and the songs were mighty good too.