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Notes from Mark Simos

Call It Campground

Note from Hogie Siebert

On "Campground Music"
and Playing Tunes A Real Long Time

Notes from Mark Simos

The Cliffhangers' On the Edge and Clifftop Notes Vol: 1 are the first two in a trilogy of albums of old time string band music old and new, inspired in various ways by the Appalachian String Band Music Festival held annually at Camp Washington Carver, near Clifftop, West Virginia. The albums are part field recording of sorts, part musical memoir, tribute and tune-acious paean to the music that we and other friends have made over the years at Clifftop.

Old time musicians tend to be scrupulous and attentive to source recordings and the provenance of their tunes. But in the heat of play, new sounds are often forged and new territory explored in the midst of the sought-after archaic. Though we did not record at Clifftop itself, but rather in the redoubtable Tim Brown's living room, all the music on these records was played live, and for the most part we left tunes played “at session length” as our goal was to capture something of the sound and spirit of these late night cabals and misadventures.

I’ve been attending Clifftop for more than a decade. My knowledge of traditional old time music has been immeasurably deepened by the long days and nights of music there, and each year old friendships have been renewed, new friendships shaped. For me, making up new tunes has always been part of being a traditional musician. At Clifftop, over the years, I have made up many tunes; many of them have sprung from the fiddle bow unbidden in the midst of a session (like Athena springing from the brow of Zeus but not nearly as alluring). Many of these tunes were written while playing with the Cliffhangers or various groupings of those players and other friends. A goodly assortment of these Clifftop Notes are included on these albums.

We all learned an incredible amount in the process of recording these albums. Over the coming weeks and months we will try to reveal some of what went on behind the scenes, which we hope will be of interest to other players and lovers of traditional old-time music: issues about how to get a live sound down on record, the pitfalls of equal vs. just-intonation tuning, "triangulating" among multiple source recordings, and many other such questions. Enjoy!

Here is the first rambling "musing" of more to come — about my candidate new genre name for the long-winded, improvisatory version of old-time music I associate with Clifftop—call it campground!

Call It Campground

The Appalachian String Band Festival, held each August near Clifftop, West Virginia, has been a favorite summer pilgrimage for the old-time music community. It is one of many festivals, fiddle contests, and less formal gatherings that happen around the country during the year. Unlike Mt. Erie and Galax, two other, longer-established fiddle contests that happen in the summer that are Meccas for enthusiasts of old-time music, Clifftop caters to the old-time crowd. At Mt. Erie or Galax old-time music fights for its place alongside bluegrass; at Clifftop, old-time music rules the roost.

Stroll the campgrounds at Clifftop late at night, after the day's contests and the evening's dance, and you'll hear a glorious cacophony which would have delighted the heart of Charles Ives (that composer of antiphonal marching-band collages): fiddles ring, growl, and scratch, banjos, guitars, banjo-ukes and unnamed instrumental oddities twang and thunk as countless circles of friends—some old, some just-made—gather to celebrate the diverse glories of old-time music. Some of the tunes played are, like the players, long-time friends, mysteriously refreshed and made new with each rendering. Others are crooked treasures unearthed by some diligent collector or tunehound, to be savored and instantly snatched up by cronies. Occasionally, brand new creations in the old-time style may leap forth—like some mountain-girl Athena, dressed in gingham, bursting bravely from the brow of a fiddling Zeus. But even in playing old tunes, round about the 15th time through the loops and coils of those dervish strands, mysterious things begin to stir… like half-glimpsed golden carp gliding through absinthe-green pond waters.

I contend that amidst such extended witching-hour colloquys, a new old-time sound has evolved—a music that hews closely to the old sound while breaking new ground. This form of music is less about stage performance than rapturous, entranced, endless musical conversations about the unfathomable depths of the humblest of fiddle tunes. Call this modern form of old-time music “campground”—or maybe “heavy wood” if you like. It's a sound that's been captured “in the wild” on countless cassettes and minidiscs over the decades, but has rarely made it onto recordings.

I’ve started to grow fond of the term “campground” for this extended, improvisational, organic form of old-time music. But to nail down the sound I mean, I must distinguish it from a few things. First, I am hopefully talking about something more than what has been contemptuously referred to by some as “festival fiddling.” This is a 'lowest-common denominator' kind of old-time music. There’s a certain kind of old-time sound from someone who got a little lazy when working out the bowing, and has fallen into some “patterny” playing that doesn’t serve the tune well. A certain way of slurring and pulling hard on certain notes with an incessant busy rhythm that does not convince the aficionado. I hear less of this type of music as the years roll on. More of us older players have stuck with it long enough to almost figure out what we’re doing. And the younger players coming along, iPod, podcast, MP3 and MySpace-savvy, have all managed to get their hands on obscure old field recordings that put them several decades ahead of the rest of us in getting the repertoire and the feel.

By “campground” I also don’t mean the sort of mega-jams that happen when twenty or thirty musicians decide to dogpile into a sort of musical sauna and sweat their collective way through some tunes. You could call that sort of music “organic” I guess in the same way that a large, mobile mushroom moving towards a major population center is organic; but in neither case are we sanguine about the long-range prospects.

Last but not least, not all the really good music played in the campgrounds qualifies as what I’d call campground music. You can hear some amazing music wandering around as long-time friends sit down to share a few tunes, no frills, no messing around.

For many years, I’d always have one great session each Clifftop with the ubiquitous John Herrmann, a great banjo, fiddle, guitar, bass, uke and anything-else-he-gets-his-hands-on player who has also spent a lot of time studying Buddhist philosophy. Each year I’d trot out my latest carefully studied old tune, such as something from John Salyer (a great Kentucky fiddler whose home recordings were released some years ago). I’d play the tune and then start noodling away on my endless clever improvisations. We’d finish up, and John would sit there a minute, then say: “Yeah—that’s all right. You can play it that way. And then there’s the other option—you could just grab the tune by the throat and play it straight through…”

As a fiddler I have always loved to improvise. Until those conversations I had never really thought of “choosing not to vary” as a form of variation—but once I made that discovery a great doorway opened for me. I realized that the compulsion to endlessly “think about” what I was playing—to be clever, to play around and with and alongside and under and surrounding the tune but never, or rarely, actually just playing the tune—was just that, a compulsion, a lack of freedom masquerading as an apparently unlimited freedom.

And so my years playing with the Cliffhangers and other inspirational musicians in the campground have tempered my wanderings and helped me lean further in toward what Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (see below) was talking about when he said:

“I wouldn't give a fig for the simplicity on this side of complexity; I would give my right arm for the simplicity on the far side of complexity.”

In a recent conversation I had with Bobby Taylor, he described a flash of insight he had one day, looking out at a crowd scattered with many of our day's great old-time players. He found himself looking back as if from fifty or a hundred years in the future, and realized that Clifftop had truly become part of the history of old-time music. In offering these recordings, full of music that has been played (or indeed composed) at and because of the Clifftop festival, the Cliffhangers and friends are proud and humbled to be part of that great stream of “bygone days and days to come.”

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (29 August 1809 - 8 October 1894) American physician, writer, and poet; father of US Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

From: The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table (1858): He must be a poor creature that does not often repeat himself. Imagine the author of the excellent piece of advice, "Know thyself," never alluding to that sentiment again during the course of a protracted existence! Why, the truths a man carries about with him are his tools; and do you think a carpenter is bound to use the same plane but once to smooth a knotty board with, or to hang up his hammer after it has driven its first nail? I shall never repeat a conversation, but an idea often. I shall use the same types when I like, but not commonly the same stereotypes. A thought is often original, though you have uttered it a hundred times. It has come to you over a new route, by a new and express train of associations.

---

 

Notes from Hogie Siebert

 

Hogie was the inspiration behind "Hogie in the Midst" on Clifftop Notes Vol. 1. When I finally tracked her down to ask her about her recollection of the night the tune was written (actually for a while the title of the tune was actually "That Night at Clifftop with Hogie" and it was in A, in AEAE tuning), this is what she had to say:

Hogie writes: “I had a new freedom because there was absolutely nothing intentional about what I played that night. I was letting the banjo lead the way. I’ve never played like that since, because of course I always have some idea of what to do or how a tune goes and neither of those kinds of info were available to me that night since you were making up tunes and I was new to the fretless… I decided that the only way I could approach playing the fretless for the first time would be to unhinge my mind...”

---

 

On "Campground Music"
and Playing Tunes A Real Long Time

From the FIDDLE-L Newsgroup ("Fiddle Players' Discussion List" <FIDDLE-L@listserv.brown.edu>)

OK - the context...
> Date: Fri, 22 Dec 2006 00:19:28 -0500
> From: Joe Cline <kilocycles@carolina.rr.com>
> Shawn sez:
>
>> As
>> far as playing tunes 20 times through, I've been in "old time" jams where
>> this takes place and I usually leave those jams.
>
>> Joe wrote:
> I'll agree with that, and add that the old-time sessions that indulge in
> such shenanigans are usually made up of "revivalists" rather than
> musicians
> native to the tradition; "natives," unless they're playing for dancing,
> usually play a tune five or six times, and then move on to another tune.
>
> Date: Sat, 23 Dec 2006 12:15:07 -0800
>
> From: johnmary <johnmary@charter.net>
>> How freakin' rude! yet another biased division in the "old time" scene.

So - to intercept a little spat a-brewing and turn it into a more interesting conversation (for me at least!): I have a funny story, some questions, an information request, and a theory about playing tunes a long time in jam sessions, especially in the context of old-time music.

Funny Story: Departing Clifftop a few years ago, catching a ride with Elizabeth and Tom Pittman (the latter of the Austin Lounge Lizards), Tom (who had just survived a week-long full immersion in the hard-core old-time scene) said: "One thing still puzzles me... It seems like people sit around and play the same time 20 or 30 times. How do they know when they're done?" Elizabeth: "Well, see, honey--when they're done the fiddler lifts his foot." Tom: "Right - but how does the fiddler know when it's time to lift their foot?"

Questions: Because our available recordings of old-time music performances may typically involve renditions of about 5-6 times through a tune isn't direct evidence of what the practice might have been in a variety of other musical settings. Commercial recordings, field recordings, and other settings where there was awareness of the recording being made, as well as settings like contests and competitions, would all have the potential of changing the practice followed in other social settings. Further, the telling phrase "unless they're playing for dancing" casually tosses off what surely was one of the most prevalent performance settings for old-time music, when playing for legendarily long periods of time has certainly been noted. On the other hand, we sometimes forget that solo playing, and particular playing FOR NO AUDIENCE, has always been an important part of the tradition, along with the social aspect. How long did a fiddler play a tune when sitting alone on his or her front porch of an evening?

Also, curiously, in other contexts "revivalism" has been associated with the exact opposite trend. A friend of mine who was a trained folklorist studying village dances of what was then still Yugoslavia (that tells you how long ago this was!) once told me the following: She had learned dozens of dances in the international folk dance scene, where dances were done for a few minutes (while the record played). But when she went to do field work and danced with villagers, she discovered they would typically do one simple dance for 30-40 minutes or more. She said that only after seemingly endless repetitions of the familiar dance moves did she begin to understand what the dance was really about. (Of course, even so her experience as an outsider would still have been no doubt different from the "natives." But the natives certainly did do the dances for a very long time.)

Request: I would be very interested in hearing from people on the list about their _direct_ experiences, or documentary evidence about, performance practice and attitudes on this question among the older generation of players. Please try to avoid speculation, hearsay and fisticuffs, however!

Theory: Regardless of whether playing tunes for a very long time was part of "native" (whatever that means!) practice in old-time music, (and regardless of whether you like playing in or listening to such sessions yourself), we can certainly agree that in certain musical settings today this has become a performance practice. Some of this is no doubt bad, boring music, festival mosh-pit fiddling, or music to help beginners learn a tune through multiple repetitions. But I also believe that in the midst of these long late-night jams there are some interesting and new musical things happening. Curiously, I've seen some of the strongest young players coming out of the bluegrass and "fiddle camp" scenes responding with enthusiasm to this jamming aesthetic, though it is the polar opposite of the disciplined "round of solos" format of bluegrass. I actually don't really care whether this is "traditional old time music" or not, though I am curious as to how it might compare to what the old-timers did in various circumstances (see my question above). But if what is happening is good music--to play, to listen to, to dance to--then it is worthy of respect and interest in its own right. To avoid such debates about traditionality, I propose a new genre term for this extended-form tune playing. I call it Campground. Now all you have to decide is if you like it!

 

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