Cigar Box Guitars and Russian-American Surf Rock
Intro: Wherein a Longass Backstory is Given
Seven-thousand-and-three days ago, that's an estimate folks - don't fork me over it, I went to a music festival called Muddy Roots. It was held in Cookeville, TN.
I danced for three days.
Seriously, smalls. I fucking danced for three days straight. Nietzsche said, "And we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once." And none of them days was lost. I slept maybe 3 hours a night. Maybe. Me and my swells - Nora, Frank, Amanda, Joe, and Shawna Banana - danced to oddball country and dark American roots music all weekend.
I have several soul mates. Or friend mates. Or would be life partners. Whatever they are, they are my lovelies, my dearest, my PRECIOUS.
Cooney is my writing friend.
N is my best friend from sixth grade.
and Banana...she is my maniac, dancing, will do anything friend.
Anything. Parking lot dancing at 1 in the morning? Check. Fence climbing up on to roof tops? Check. Head shaving? Check. Lap dances? Check.
Yes, Banana. Love of my dancing life. She who was the only human not slamming stomach-spilling levels of moonshine, willing to stomp around to everything from the super-curled rockabilly of Pearls Mahone to the always poetic Joseph Huber as he played an outdoor stage when a hundred-year-rain sheeted the hills.
This was a weekend of EPIC everything. And I needed it. It was days after I moved into my own place after T and I broke up.
Banana and I walloped the red dirt into submission with our endless rug cutting. These are some, but not all of the bands that our hips sassed to:
Filthy Still
The Dirt Daubers
Don Maddox
Dale Watson
Wayne Hancock
Th' Legendary Shack Shakers
Jayke Orvis and the Broken Band
Cutthroat Shamrock
Pearls Mahone
Dad Horse Experience
James Hunnicutt
Joe Buck Yourself
Goddamn Gallows
Hillbilly Casino
Slim Cessna's Auto Club
Ralph Stanley
Reverend Horton Heat
Rachel Brooke
Pine Hill Haints
Joseph Huber
The Devil's Cut
Viva le Vox
O'Death
Owen Mays
Valerie June
It goes on. Ramblin Jack Elliot, Possessed by Paul James, T Model Ford, Huskey Burnette, Hooten Hallers, Calamity Cubes, Molly Gene One Whoaman Band, Last False Hope, and SO MANY MORE.
And really, I can't help but put a few songs up that are so GOOD. Here. Have some music.
"Fell off the Wagon" - Joseph Huber
"Down at the Laundromat" - Viva le Vox
"Dreadful Sinner" - Jayke Orvis
I bring all of this up because Banana and I met some Michiganers. Long story short, Banana and I go looking for F and N, end up climbing a hill (goddamn my calves were amazetits after that fest) to a tent full of people who were waving to us. We thought it was F&N, and really it was Michiganers being friendly. This contingent was mainly made up of folks from the band The Devil's Cut. They who showed us the "Michigan Stomp" (if you were at WFC this year, you would've seen Banana and I doing this at Charles de Lint's lobby concert). We ravaged Muddy Roots together. Turns out, people from Michigan are awesome.
Part 1: Wherein I get to the Fucking Point
Two of the Michiganers were J and M. They're long, tall, tattooed men. You know those musicians yer momma warned you to guard yer heart about? They're probably them, but they'd never wreck yer heart on purpose, they'd make you laugh a hell ton before it happened, and then they'd write songs honoring you after. They are half of The Devil's Cut from Lansing, MI. Hey look, here they are:
"Bridge Diving"
AND!
J and M were in Chicago this weekend, so they stayed at my house.
SEE! I did it. Long story long. Point almost gotten to. BOO and YAH!
I picked up M and J, along with their guitars, at Union Station on Friday night. While waiting for their bus to come in, I was propositioned by an old man. When that didn't pan out, he wanted to sell me acid. When that didn't fly, he wanted my gum. Not just one stick. Two. He had a good smile. I gave him two sticks.
M and J and I danced at Neo till two in the morning and then they played guitar in my living room till 5.
I'm tellling ya, if you haven't been serenaded by drunk men from Michigan at five in the morning, you haven't lived.
Part 2: No Seriously, Here's the Real Point, the Whole Title of This Post Thing
M and J knew about this crazy little thing called:
The First Annual Cigar Box Guitar Festival.
It was being held in a bowling alley in a town an hour north from Chicago that I'd never heard of. Aww hell yes, we went. Where the hell is Green Oaks, IL? I've been there and I still don't understand where I was or how I got there. It has a diner and a motel and a road. And a bowling alley. And that's it. That's Green Oaks.
I know nothing about cigar box guitars. I like learning. I like music. We went to the bowling alley. I beat Max's ass at air hockey. HUZZAH. M, J, and I were joined by my friend, Professor M. We saw about five hours of one to two man bands, all featuring cigar box guitars.
Who I really wanted to see was Purgatory Hill. Why? Because there's a broad in it that actually makes the tambourine an important instrument and not just some ridiculous add on. She looks like she could kick your fucking ass with her maracas and her tambourine.
But we left at abt 7 pm...so we could stop at my house and the fly off to Berwyn. Yes. Yes we did drive a hella large amount north and south of Chicago on Saturday. Why would one want to go to Berwyn?
Because the RED ELVISES were playing.
If you don't know the Red Elvises and are interested in samurais, kitsch and the end of the world, buy the movie Six String Samurai. They did the entire soundtrack. Great movie. Great soundtrack.
All I'm saying...is if you like conga lines, tiger stripes and rockabilly, then you MUST GO SEE THEM.
Hella dancing was had.
...the Michiganers left my house on Monday. It is quieter. There are less empty bottles about. I miss listening to them play guitar.
*
Shit man. I'm tired. Twas a long night at the library. I want cinnamon toast. And a pillow.
I'mna get these things.
You, you though. You should put the Red Elvises on and strut up your living room.
Seven-thousand-and-three days ago, that's an estimate folks - don't fork me over it, I went to a music festival called Muddy Roots. It was held in Cookeville, TN.
I danced for three days.
Seriously, smalls. I fucking danced for three days straight. Nietzsche said, "And we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once." And none of them days was lost. I slept maybe 3 hours a night. Maybe. Me and my swells - Nora, Frank, Amanda, Joe, and Shawna Banana - danced to oddball country and dark American roots music all weekend.
I have several soul mates. Or friend mates. Or would be life partners. Whatever they are, they are my lovelies, my dearest, my PRECIOUS.
Cooney is my writing friend.
N is my best friend from sixth grade.
and Banana...she is my maniac, dancing, will do anything friend.
Anything. Parking lot dancing at 1 in the morning? Check. Fence climbing up on to roof tops? Check. Head shaving? Check. Lap dances? Check.
Yes, Banana. Love of my dancing life. She who was the only human not slamming stomach-spilling levels of moonshine, willing to stomp around to everything from the super-curled rockabilly of Pearls Mahone to the always poetic Joseph Huber as he played an outdoor stage when a hundred-year-rain sheeted the hills.
This was a weekend of EPIC everything. And I needed it. It was days after I moved into my own place after T and I broke up.
Banana and I walloped the red dirt into submission with our endless rug cutting. These are some, but not all of the bands that our hips sassed to:
Filthy Still
The Dirt Daubers
Don Maddox
Dale Watson
Wayne Hancock
Th' Legendary Shack Shakers
Jayke Orvis and the Broken Band
Cutthroat Shamrock
Pearls Mahone
Dad Horse Experience
James Hunnicutt
Joe Buck Yourself
Goddamn Gallows
Hillbilly Casino
Slim Cessna's Auto Club
Ralph Stanley
Reverend Horton Heat
Rachel Brooke
Pine Hill Haints
Joseph Huber
The Devil's Cut
Viva le Vox
O'Death
Owen Mays
Valerie June
It goes on. Ramblin Jack Elliot, Possessed by Paul James, T Model Ford, Huskey Burnette, Hooten Hallers, Calamity Cubes, Molly Gene One Whoaman Band, Last False Hope, and SO MANY MORE.
And really, I can't help but put a few songs up that are so GOOD. Here. Have some music.
"Fell off the Wagon" - Joseph Huber
"Down at the Laundromat" - Viva le Vox
"Dreadful Sinner" - Jayke Orvis
I bring all of this up because Banana and I met some Michiganers. Long story short, Banana and I go looking for F and N, end up climbing a hill (goddamn my calves were amazetits after that fest) to a tent full of people who were waving to us. We thought it was F&N, and really it was Michiganers being friendly. This contingent was mainly made up of folks from the band The Devil's Cut. They who showed us the "Michigan Stomp" (if you were at WFC this year, you would've seen Banana and I doing this at Charles de Lint's lobby concert). We ravaged Muddy Roots together. Turns out, people from Michigan are awesome.
Part 1: Wherein I get to the Fucking Point
Two of the Michiganers were J and M. They're long, tall, tattooed men. You know those musicians yer momma warned you to guard yer heart about? They're probably them, but they'd never wreck yer heart on purpose, they'd make you laugh a hell ton before it happened, and then they'd write songs honoring you after. They are half of The Devil's Cut from Lansing, MI. Hey look, here they are:
"Bridge Diving"
AND!
J and M were in Chicago this weekend, so they stayed at my house.
SEE! I did it. Long story long. Point almost gotten to. BOO and YAH!
I picked up M and J, along with their guitars, at Union Station on Friday night. While waiting for their bus to come in, I was propositioned by an old man. When that didn't pan out, he wanted to sell me acid. When that didn't fly, he wanted my gum. Not just one stick. Two. He had a good smile. I gave him two sticks.
M and J and I danced at Neo till two in the morning and then they played guitar in my living room till 5.
I'm tellling ya, if you haven't been serenaded by drunk men from Michigan at five in the morning, you haven't lived.
Part 2: No Seriously, Here's the Real Point, the Whole Title of This Post Thing
M and J knew about this crazy little thing called:
The First Annual Cigar Box Guitar Festival.
It was being held in a bowling alley in a town an hour north from Chicago that I'd never heard of. Aww hell yes, we went. Where the hell is Green Oaks, IL? I've been there and I still don't understand where I was or how I got there. It has a diner and a motel and a road. And a bowling alley. And that's it. That's Green Oaks.
I know nothing about cigar box guitars. I like learning. I like music. We went to the bowling alley. I beat Max's ass at air hockey. HUZZAH. M, J, and I were joined by my friend, Professor M. We saw about five hours of one to two man bands, all featuring cigar box guitars.
Who I really wanted to see was Purgatory Hill. Why? Because there's a broad in it that actually makes the tambourine an important instrument and not just some ridiculous add on. She looks like she could kick your fucking ass with her maracas and her tambourine.
But we left at abt 7 pm...so we could stop at my house and the fly off to Berwyn. Yes. Yes we did drive a hella large amount north and south of Chicago on Saturday. Why would one want to go to Berwyn?
Because the RED ELVISES were playing.
If you don't know the Red Elvises and are interested in samurais, kitsch and the end of the world, buy the movie Six String Samurai. They did the entire soundtrack. Great movie. Great soundtrack.
Click to viewAll I'm saying...is if you like conga lines, tiger stripes and rockabilly, then you MUST GO SEE THEM.
Hella dancing was had.
...the Michiganers left my house on Monday. It is quieter. There are less empty bottles about. I miss listening to them play guitar.
*
Shit man. I'm tired. Twas a long night at the library. I want cinnamon toast. And a pillow.
I'mna get these things.
You, you though. You should put the Red Elvises on and strut up your living room.