Classing U Supa?

2008-4-1

Stepping off the number 9 tram at the Bertramka stop as usual, I headed up the hill, threading my way carefully around dog messes, human urine marks, and broken glass.  My mind had been wandering on the tram ride;  I realized one of my trains of thought as I saw what looked like a drug deal go down on the cross street I was approaching.  The crumbling, dirty Smichov surroundings of this Country Saloon are a harsh contrast, a dark flip side to the tended garden green of the Stresovicka neighborhood Emily and I enjoy from our apartment windows.
We found an unusually good deal with out flat, but it still is a privileged spot, one that a normal university student would have only through significant financial family intervention.  So we’re not normal, we don’t enjoy the networks of personal ties that enable “normal” Czechs to build a comfortable life on a shoestring; we’re foreign, we have to pay to get things done.
That difference, my outsiderness and (though it seems laughable to see it this way) my comparative affluence, hit me on the street.  “Tonight at the jam, I’m going to try and pay attention to difference.”  I had read through my colleague Michael’s summary of “whiteness” that day, and was reminded of “class.”  How do I deal with class in my work – the range of folks who take part in bluegrass activities here in Czech Republic?
U Supa is a good cross section: between the tuesday and thursday jams there are businessmen, tram drivers, graphic artists, students, and more.  The Czech-language group on Thursdays seems to be a more working-class crowd, but then again, I really have no idea.
When I reached the top of the hill and the door, a new sensation hit – I was tired.  Setting down my equipment (the fiddle, the camera, jackets) at the table and greeting everyone, I found myself responding to Jirka, “Yeah, I’m still tired from our vacation” — the trip that ended several days ago.  I didn’t arrive with a bunch of energy to add to the group.
The whole scene seemed fairly low-key.  lots of absences (no banjo players, or bassists) and a mellow mood.  Jirka and Slavka and I did make a strong fiddle section, though, and we tore through some “fidlovky” that got my blood moving and fingers warmed up – I hadn’t really played for two weeks.  Petr’s songbook yielded some songs that flew “without banjo”  -some brother-duet-type material and ballads.  Jirka and I pulled off a credible improvised double fiddle break for “Danny Boy,” and traded off some fun jazzy licks on some of the other slower songs.
Just as things were picking up, I felt the tug of home, of Emily waiting.  It was time to go.  I made some farewells, but then reinforcements arrived.  Tomas’ flashy banjo-playing got us going, and then he requested Whiskey before Breakfast, and showed that he’d pretty much got the tune down since hearing/learning it at a jam a while back.  I allowed myself to be tugged back into the circle for a few more tunes, then packed up for good.
On my way towards the door, a gentleman tugged mea side – the guitarist from the other end of the table, Petr.  He’d bleted out some interesting songs tonight, and I was impressed and surprised – the quiet night had allowed him some space, and I was glad to hear a new side to that side of the room.  He was acting a bit shifty and I wasn’t sure what he was taking me aside to do – at first I was worried that he was inviting me for a shot or something…  But it turned out he just wanted some help decoding english lyrics from a song he and his band were trying to learn.  Sure!  As I told him “I have a chance to use this language I’ve been learning for so long.”
Equipped with partial lyrics sheet and a CD of the track in question (Red Bird, by the group Cadillac Sky) I made for the door again, and finally made it out, after a short talk with Petr about the current Bells and Whistles situation (there’s a new bassist who seems to be working out well, and the CD is an ongoing project that still needs a lot of work, on the whole things seem ok) I was able to pay my ticket  (i went easy tonight, just one Mattonku) and push through the swinging saloon door into the street.  Trudging down the hill I realized that I hadn’t kept to my goal at all – what about “class?”
I suppose feeling included and a part of the group is a bit of data on that front.  I don’t feel the divide in the moment of playing, in the circle of the jam.  For what that’s worth – which is a lot.
PS – This evening also saw another American at the table, a mandolinist name Josh, who let me sample his sweet Vana (Miroslav Vana, maker from Jirkov, CR) mandolin.  He also endeared himself to me by saying that he reads (and what’s more enjoys) this blog!  I’m flattered.  He also introduced me to Martin Krajíček, a mandolinistic artist I’ve not heard of yet.  This link leads to some sample tracks; cool sounds.  Thanks, Josh!

Hymns in Kasperske Hory

8-14-2007 I copied the words to the hymn “Nearer my God to Thee” in my journal, copying them from Fanda’s (nickname for “František”) “spěvník” (songbook). Last night we sang this one, as well as “Amazing Grace” (it’s first in the songbook; arranged with the first verse as a chorus, and with only two verses: “Twas grace” and “when we’ve been there”).

I think it was Fanda who commented – “wouldn’t it be weird if Americans knew we were here in this little town in the Sumava, singing these songs?”

It seems Zbyněk is the source of all this sacred singing – he comes to Kaspersky Hory often, with family, and plays and sings with some local guys, Frantisek, Luděk, and Adam – I think that’s right. Anyhow, these folks sing some obscure hymns that I can’t imagine anyone but a hardcore gospel bluegrass band singing. I was pressed into service for baritone lines, and even a few tenor screechers, and waqs thrilled to be singing, and actually did well – mostly because I am familiar with the harmonies of this genre and some of the songs. I have no idea why I knew how to sing through “nearer my god to thee” but somehow it worked – and was lovely.

I glanced through Fanda’s spevnik some more, and found some celtic-sounding pieces (he blazed through a few of those the other night on guitar – smokin’) as well as some classic czech-grass numbers like “Myslim na Coloradu.”

When we have been playing, though, it’s just classic bluegrass and maybe a touch of country. (Zbyněk is also very into classic US country, and of course the steel guitar – but this trip did fine on guitar, and even tremelo-ed out some credible solos on a plywood mandolin he borrowed from Ludek).

Practice: relational

(July 25, 2007) I just ran up the stairs to type in what just struck me while practicing – yes, practicing, the fiddle. (I’ve been feeling out of shape…)

Last night at the U Supa jam, Eda asked me, after I played a break on a song led by Petr Hruby, if I ever practice fiddle. I said something like “not much” or “not as much as I should.” [what did I say?] While it really is true–I haven’t practiced that much in recent years on fiddle, or on any instrument. But my answer in this situation (where I am sure these folks all practice a LOT) my response created what seems to me now a clash: of my typical forced humility, the “off the cuff” brashness of youth, and a smug satisfaction with the stock of experience and privilege I enjoy in playing bluegrass.

Eda’s words earlier in the evening about my fiddling come back to me now. He asked how I started – and was surprised that I started in classical music – violinists here who move from classical to bluegrass don’t have–how did he say it? They don’t fiddle well. He might have been referring to what he noticed in my playing in another comment later about his attempts to play the fiddle; he can do the left hand, but the “smycec”, the bow is really hard. Maybe there is something in my right hand technique that Czech fiddlers don’t have.

This all gets me thinking about how I am situated, how my playing is socially networked. My facility to improvise, my knowledge of BG repertory, my ability and awareness all came from people early on in my life – Frau Kitz, David Fontana, Rick and Darl and the Rangers, and many more – even Bob Cantwell in the mix there for a while in my early Fescue days.

My playing is grounded in my own body, but is dependent on my connections to all sorts of people – this cloud of active witnesses now includes a heck of a lot of Czech folks. Jirka Kralik, Ivo Drbohlav, Rohlik, and a flood of others have shaped specific parts of me, my musicality – and not just in the huge general hospitality – I pick up little musical details, store them, and use them again.

*aside on borrowing from other instruments* Just last night I caught myself playing a mandolin riff, the typical caricature of Monroe style in staggering triplet stretching of the straight beat–on the fiddle. (and later doing it on Eda’s mandolin as well…)

Just now I was practicing a fiddle break for the song “Heart to heart” / “Is it true” in B, gambling that Petr Hruby or someone else is going to want to do it way up there in Monroe territory. I wanted to start the break on the two central strings with my 3rd on D (G#) and my 1st on A (B), making what seems to me a traditional-sounding double stop that I was chopping into vigorously: (rest, quarter, quarter, quarter – whole note ; descending from G# through G to F# on the last stroke)

I was getting frustrated with myself; I wasn’t consistently hitting the chord in tune. I figured out that I was placing the 3rd in relation to my 1st, but I still couldn’t get that B in tune every time. Then I instictively–or at least unconsciously–used a trick from playing baroque music – or at least from my lessons and previous playing: I dipped my bow over for a taste of the E string, and tuned my B against the fourth.

I can’t just DO this thing myself, placing my fingers and trusting that every time they hit the fingerboard they will sound in tune. I have to place myself in relation to others, to sounds, histories, and people.

I’m not sure what this particular moment of insight is going to lead me to do, but it is good to remember that I have a lot of support in the work I am doing — trying to write interpretively and analytically about CZ bluegrass while trying to document and record it. I have technical abilities and musical training – and there are a lot of folks whose part in my life is or will be significant – who shape and inform what I do. Can’t hurt to remember that now and again.

Back to practicing…