Read Online True to the Roots by Monte Dutton - Free Book Online
Authors: Monte Dutton
Tags: General Fiction
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'You know that family in there?' I said, 'Yeah.' 'Is that your family?' I said, 'Yeah, you know, bits and pieces, that's what it is.' He says, 'You guys are a bunch of sissies compared to my family. That ain't nothing.' And I said, 'I'd hate to be over in your family.'"
It's not Keen's only take on the subject. His album Walking Distance includes a sequel called "Happy Holidays Y'all."
Maybe it's the ambience. Maybe being in the little town that surrounds the Opera House has left Keen a bit introspective, but the concert that night is anything but hurried. Between songs Keen's dialogue is rife with his ironic humor.
"Man, in this town you got everything," he says. "You got a place to play, you got a motel, you got a Laundromat, you got Morris's Barber Shop . . . what else do you need?
"Nobody back home's going to believe I was in the Opera House, man. They'll think I was trying to play 'Figaro' or something. Robert Earl Pavarotti."
This is a pretty special night. Keen takes advantage of that great innovation in live music, the remote amp, to walk completely offstage in the midst of one song to perform an acoustic solo in the audience.
And the wry observations flow. Just this very day, he says, he stopped off at a convenience store and tried "the new St. Joseph's Children's Aspirin flavored Gatorade."
When the laughter subsides, there's that little boy's voice again.
"It's really awesome," he says. "Really. It is."
At that moment Keen is the kid with his hand in the cookie jar, dissolving his mother's stare with a mischievous grin. He's explaining to his teacher that the dog ate his homework. Or maybe he's just explaining to a record executive how so much of the material on the new CD just sort of snuck in there at the last minute.
Getting Religious . . . about Country
New York, New York I june 2004
There really is a little bit of everything in the Big Apple. Some of it will inspire you. Some of it will gross you out. The city will teach you things you didn't know.
It's easy to stereotype New Yorkers. For instance, one would think the last place to find good country music would be in the place that is the antithesis of the very word country . But, although New Yorkers aren't country folk, some of them used to be.
At a Tower Records on the east side of Greenwich Village, I find more quality country music than I could find in many music stores in the South. I discover there is practically no interest, apparently, in the music played on most commercial radio stations. Most New Yorkers think it's garbage. That's because it is. There may not be many New Yorkers who like country music, but the ones who do like good country music, which is why I decide to augment my considerable collection with CDs by performers including the late Gram P arsons, Loretta Lynn, and Billy Joe Shaver. None of the CDs sets me back more than $12.99.
I have Louisiana Cajun for lunch and Tex-Mex for dinner. I watch a traditional honker-tonker named Thad Cockrell perform at the Rodeo Bar in the Gramercy section of Manhattan on Saturday night.
Another memorable aspect of the afternoon is the performance of a street band that sets up its equipment and plays in front of a subway entrance near Astor Place. The Lost Wandering Blues and Jazz Band consists of four musicians, all representing different styles. One guitarist looks like Bob Dylan at age twenty but sounds more like Harry Connick Jr. and was born in Stockholm. This I discover when he sings "Walking My Baby Back Home" in Swedish.
The second guy, about thirty-five, toots the French horn and looks like he doesn't wash his long hair very often. Another guitarist is probably in his fifties, wears jeans, a crumpled hat and western shirt, and looks like a man who hasn't turned down many drinks in his life. The fourth fellow basically plucks on a string and beats on an upside down wash bucket. He looks a lot like the late comedian Redd Foxx. In fact, he sings a lot like Redd
It's not Keen's only take on the subject. His album Walking Distance includes a sequel called "Happy Holidays Y'all."
Maybe it's the ambience. Maybe being in the little town that surrounds the Opera House has left Keen a bit introspective, but the concert that night is anything but hurried. Between songs Keen's dialogue is rife with his ironic humor.
"Man, in this town you got everything," he says. "You got a place to play, you got a motel, you got a Laundromat, you got Morris's Barber Shop . . . what else do you need?
"Nobody back home's going to believe I was in the Opera House, man. They'll think I was trying to play 'Figaro' or something. Robert Earl Pavarotti."
This is a pretty special night. Keen takes advantage of that great innovation in live music, the remote amp, to walk completely offstage in the midst of one song to perform an acoustic solo in the audience.
And the wry observations flow. Just this very day, he says, he stopped off at a convenience store and tried "the new St. Joseph's Children's Aspirin flavored Gatorade."
When the laughter subsides, there's that little boy's voice again.
"It's really awesome," he says. "Really. It is."
At that moment Keen is the kid with his hand in the cookie jar, dissolving his mother's stare with a mischievous grin. He's explaining to his teacher that the dog ate his homework. Or maybe he's just explaining to a record executive how so much of the material on the new CD just sort of snuck in there at the last minute.
Getting Religious . . . about Country
New York, New York I june 2004
There really is a little bit of everything in the Big Apple. Some of it will inspire you. Some of it will gross you out. The city will teach you things you didn't know.
It's easy to stereotype New Yorkers. For instance, one would think the last place to find good country music would be in the place that is the antithesis of the very word country . But, although New Yorkers aren't country folk, some of them used to be.
At a Tower Records on the east side of Greenwich Village, I find more quality country music than I could find in many music stores in the South. I discover there is practically no interest, apparently, in the music played on most commercial radio stations. Most New Yorkers think it's garbage. That's because it is. There may not be many New Yorkers who like country music, but the ones who do like good country music, which is why I decide to augment my considerable collection with CDs by performers including the late Gram P arsons, Loretta Lynn, and Billy Joe Shaver. None of the CDs sets me back more than $12.99.
I have Louisiana Cajun for lunch and Tex-Mex for dinner. I watch a traditional honker-tonker named Thad Cockrell perform at the Rodeo Bar in the Gramercy section of Manhattan on Saturday night.
Another memorable aspect of the afternoon is the performance of a street band that sets up its equipment and plays in front of a subway entrance near Astor Place. The Lost Wandering Blues and Jazz Band consists of four musicians, all representing different styles. One guitarist looks like Bob Dylan at age twenty but sounds more like Harry Connick Jr. and was born in Stockholm. This I discover when he sings "Walking My Baby Back Home" in Swedish.
The second guy, about thirty-five, toots the French horn and looks like he doesn't wash his long hair very often. Another guitarist is probably in his fifties, wears jeans, a crumpled hat and western shirt, and looks like a man who hasn't turned down many drinks in his life. The fourth fellow basically plucks on a string and beats on an upside down wash bucket. He looks a lot like the late comedian Redd Foxx. In fact, he sings a lot like Redd
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