Who woulda thought?

I was raised in one of the homes of Rock and Roll.

There were other homes, of course; Memphis. Cleveland. Liverpool. And even though San Francisco seems to think They Built This City on Rock and Roll....well, that song sucks, and Jefferson Airplane sold out, so f**k them and their noise.

I was raised on Bob Seger, and Ted Nugent, but there was also the Holy Trinity of the Beatles, the Stones and the Who. Aerosmith and KISS.

That's what my peers listened to.

But I was also raised on a whole collection of 78's, and they contained Benny Goodman, and Tommy Dorsey, and The Firehouse Five and Stan Kenton and Gene Krupa and
Bunny Berrigan, and every trumpet player that ever existed, including a cornet player named Red Nichols. And of course, Satchmo.

This confused my peers; every generation disbelieves the last one.

I was never a big fan of country music growing up, but it was a staple of the radio stations in Harrison; it was too twangy and depressing, really. I have since come around to some of the contemporary 'country' music.

But there was this thing, that came upon me suddenly one summer afternoon, late in the day. A weak signal from a radio station in Louisville, KY; a program about Ozark influences; and all of a sudden, it was there.

The Dillards.

The song was called, Let It Fly.

Been a fan every since.

I'm listening to it now, because it's been a hazy day and it doesn't look to improve. There is a trace of sadness and I miss a few people more than I wish I had to...

But Steve Martin was right, way back in the day: You can't play a sad song on a banjo.