Nobody crowds you, and nobody goes it alone

Thoughts after spending most of Saturday soaking up the final chords of the International Bluegrass Festival:

• There’s something about a young fiery bunch of 20-something kids tearing up the Johnny and June Carter Cash nugget “Jackson” that was almost enough to restore my faith in the future of music. Thanks to Flatt Lonesome for that.
• For me, the real pleasure was seeing and hearing the lesser-known “no-name” bands, who seemed to be playing just for the joy of it.
• There sure were a lot of great pickers around, and every one of them made me never want to pick up a guitar again.
• I heard hours and hours of great music, and did not have to spend one cent. What a bargain.
• Alternative-country boy Jim Lauderdale’s 45-minute set was a bit sloppy, yet still heartfelt and far too short.
• Where were Dr. Ralph Stanley, Larry Sparks and the Nashville Bluegrass Band?
• There is no more communal music than bluegrass. Which made me it feel all the more detached and lonesome wandering around listening by myself.
• Bluegrass remains the sound of warm Sunday afternoons on my grandparent’s farm. Ironic because I never exactly heard the music there, but the central bluegrass themes of God, death and rebirth, in concert with it traditionally being the sound and language of plainspoken folks, take me there every single time.