Picture Rock, Installment Two
Jam
By EZ Ryyder
Climbing up the
worn wooden stairs, we’re surrounded by promo photos of musicians from the days
when bands had press kits. I smile
at Katy, and the Prophet just nods as we stroll through the front reception
area. I slip the mandolin case off
my shoulder and stash it behind the Elvis statue. The Prophet hangs on to his
banjo case.
The restaurant
is packed with mountain bikers, kayakers, local families, tourists, climbers
and an assortment of people that just can't be classified. The wait staff is bustling around,
explaining the beer selections, taking orders and carrying trays with a mixture
of plates and glasses. There
doesn't seem to be an open seat and there is no hint of what's to come.
We wander into
the other room, sort of an upstairs bar with “seat yourself” tables in the
center of the room, high tops along the walls and windows that look out on the
hills and redstone cliffs. There
is a wrap around porch outside with more tables through the heavy glass
door. There are a couple of seats
at the bar and we slide in and stake our claim. Annie’s blue-green eyes sparkle our way from under her curly
brown hair while she fills two pints and talks to an older gentleman with a
fishing cap and a scraggly beard, and before you know it, she asks us what we’ll
have. I order a Devious Ale and
the Prophet gets a whiskey and a glass of water.
We wait for the
other musicians to show, sip our drinks and talk about how quickly the trails
are drying out.
Kasey and Erik host
the weekly bluegrass jam at the brewery.
Most of the time, at least one of them is off touring with a band.
Tonight, they are both in town and there is a buzz of anticipation as a few
more folks carrying instruments walk into the bar and tuck their instrument
cases out of the way. Or try
to. The cases are always in the
way.
Around eight o’clock,
the last guests finish their dinner and as soon as they get up, people start
clearing the tables and carrying them out to the porch and stack them on the
outside tables. Next, the chairs
are dragged across the wooden floor and arranged in a circle. The instruments come out and banjos,
fiddles, mandolins and guitars somehow get spaced out so there aren’t too many
in a row.
Erik kicks off
the jam with a John Hartford tune, “Here I Am In Love Again.” After the first verse, the solos start
snaking their way around the circle.
When it gets to me, I do my best to play crisp notes that project across
the room and don’t get lost in the volume of the jam. Then it’s back to the
next verse and the solos pick up at the spot in the circle where they left off.
Most of the
pickers are quite competent. Some
are spectacular.
After the song
finishes, the next person in the circle selects the next song and around it
goes. By now, there are 15 people
in the main circle and there is barely room to stand in the bar. Soon, additional circles begin to split
off in other parts of the building and as the evening rolls along, the real
pros start to show up.
There is a jam
circle in the front lobby, two in the main dining room and one on the back
porch. That’s not counting the
main jam that got things going.
The place is mobbed. The
Tuesday night ride from the Cyclery has occupied the large, Viking-length table
in the back—which seems fitting as this group has been pillaging the most
technical terrain above town for the past few hours wearing headlamps.
Clusters of
people fill the open space between the jams. It’s hard to tell the musicians from the fans or the random folk
that stumbled into something real and alive, ebbing and flowing with notes
flying through the air and bouncing off the walls.
I wander into
the other room to check out another circle and see the Prophet tearing it up
with Kasey, Joseph, Topher and some fiddle player that I’ve never met. Kasey is singing “I’ve Endured” and it
strikes me that this is probably one of the most enduring jams anywhere.
© EZ Ryyder 2012
EZ Ryyder spends his time a little bit farther down the road. Past the city limits.
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