I'm With the Band

This is my grandfather Carl's dance band, or one of them, anyway.  It could be the Red Birds, the band he was in when newly married to my grandmother Esther while they were both in college, but he led a dance band even earlier than that, since it helped him pay his way through high school, so I'm not sure.

Carl is the banjo player in the above photo, although he played clarinet, too, and several other instruments, I believe.  Now, when you see a banjo you think BLUEGRASS, right?  Fancy picking, intricate melodies interwoven with jangly chords.  Or is that just me?  My dad and me.  Because Dad had expectations from banjo players, and those expectations didn't involve rhythmic strumming.  My grandfather was probably the source of my band-geekiness, so I LOVED to hear him play the banjo, even if he played only a rather uninspired rhythm banjo by the time I got to hear him.  Dad, however, was not interested.

Whump, whump, whump.  That became shorthand in my childhood home for "Papa's prowess on the banjo."  Whump, whump, whump.  Not exactly Roy Clark or Earl Scruggs or Grandpa Jones.  Whump, whump, whump.  That's okay; I'm impressed that a (mostly, if not completely) self-taught musician could support himself by leading a dance band and playing the banjo.

When I was about eight years old I got to hear Papa play in a local production in the town where he and my grandmother retired -- Fort Brag, California, neighboring fishing town of the more quaint and famous Mendocino.  Aunts, Uncles, and cousins all attended the broad vaudeville show put on by the town's performance troupe The Footlighters, of which Papa was a band member.  Couldn't tell you anything about any of it, except for one thing.  I was allowed to stand on the very large booth seat because no one was behind us and I could see better that way.  A guy in a red- and white-striped jacket, white pants, white spats and a straw hat came onstage to perform a song called "Hot Nuts."  I think he threw roasted peanuts to the crowd, who must have been mildly titillated by his bawdy lyrics.  After all, this was the early 70s in extreme-northern California, and Hot Nuts sounded pretty risqué to us, I think.


(Photo stolen from these guys)

I blew kisses to this oddly-dressed stranger on stage, and he blew kisses back to me.  I was instantly star-struck and mortified the same time, which, if you think about it, is probably how Oscar presenters and Capitol Hill pages feel all the time.

I shrank down in the booth in humiliation.

A defining moment for me.  Had I remained standing and blown more kisses I would have attracted the attention of the crowd and the theater's lone spotlight, eventually going on to achieve even greater fame than old White Spats throwing the nuts, becoming the darling of Salinas or Modesto, eventually torpedoing my gin-soaked career in some sleazy cow town production of "Auntie Mame."

Wha- what?   Oh yeah -- "Hot Nuts."  So much for my visions of stardom; there's room for only one star in the family.  Whump, whump, whump.

Comments

[Bob Cleveland]

As far as I can tell from the picture, that's a plectrum banjo ... 4 strings .. not 5. That sort is strummed like a ukulele and not picked like a 5-string.

5-string types usually were played "clawhammer" style with fingernails and fingertip callouses until Earl Scruggs invented the modern bluegrass style with fingerpicks.

I play a 5-string occasionally myself.

:)

And I STILL think you're the girl in the Veramyst commercial.

[Asthmagirl]

The line about capitol hill pages was awesome... but I bet they only feel that way about certain politicians!

I've always wanted to play the banjo. I have about as much rhythm as a goat though, so the world is better off!

[Chesapeake Bay Woman]

You have such an interesting family and great stories. I wonder how one goes from non-banjo player to deciding they want to play the banjo. I mean, piano, sure, guitar, maybe. But you don't hear a kid say, "Hey, Ma. Can I have banjo lessons?" It's fascinating to think about.

[foolery]

Thanks for the clarification, Mantel Man. I guess I was a little inside my head when I wrote this, and it needed a bit more explaining. Gotta quit smoking so much crack in the evenings.

Oh yeah, and Mantel Man? Your pants are PLENTY silly. Never fear.

[ok, where was I]

I love Julie Andrews. I almost put her on my other/girl list, and probably she should be on there. I snorted. That is the perfect person to have Just Farts and Diarrhea for a memoir.

[Mantel Man]

Criminy - my pants weren't one tenth that silly, and he was Mister "Hot Nuts" while I got "Sideshow."

For those of you in the studio audience, our dad's opinion of rhythm strumming is mentioned because whenever anyone mentioned our grandfather's banjo talents, Dad would begin complaining to anyone who would listen - and quite a few who wouldn't - about how "whump whump whump" wasn't any way to play. He described it with such vehemence that you'd think strumming were an act of violence being committed on the instrument.

We found it amusing that Dad could be such a banjo snob when the only instrument he himself ever played was the radio - and that was just for Giants games.

[Ok, Where Was I?]

Great post. And I don't know about the early 70s, but hot nuts sounds pretty risque to me NOW. And painful.

[The Mom Bomb]

This was great. And no false modesty: you coulda been the star attraction at Auburn's Gold Country Fair. You coulda been a contender!

[Rick's Cafe]

I can only hope that my granddaughter has such kind words sometime in the future!

[Jenn @ Juggling Life]

My stepdad played Banjo--I loved hearning the theme from Deliverance around the campfire.