The group of 3 guys and myself, who go together last month in Mount Prospect to play some old-time and other fun stuff, has yet to reschedule for a second practice. But I'm hopeful. This group consists of me, Paul Krickl (who was two years behind me at Fenwick High School 35 years ago, but we didn't really know each other), Paul's brother Ray, and his friend Patrick. We played everything from "Bonaparte Crossing the Rhine" to "Gimme Three Steps." My assignment, should I choose to accept it, is to come up with fiddle parts for all these various and sundry tunes.
Since there are three other guitar players, and one other mandolin player, I think my role is kind of set out for me for the most part. Unless I quickly drop two octaves or so and buy myself an upright bass. My only bass expertise in this life was back in 1969 when I was briefly part of "Buck Young," the folk-rock group that played at "Grounds" coffeehouse in River Forest. We were the official band of the Coffeehouse Movement in Oak Park and River Forest for Depressed People. I played bass on the bottom three strings of my Gibson ES-335. Not even dropped tuning. But I did discover the indispensability of being a bass player. Now if I can only be as indispensable on the fiddle, an instrument that draws attention to imperfection with painful clarity.
Anyway, what to call us. On our trip to Turkey Run this Thanksgiving, we drove through Rosedale, Indiana (which, like Dousman, Wisconsin, is a Brigadoon-like town that you find yourself in every so often but can't quite figure out how you got there). Rosedale is the home of a covered bridge, one of 33 in the county, which sported a graffito a few years back that said "Tursts Suck." In honor of the Covered Bridge Festival, no doubt. But I digress. Outside Rosedale, there is a thriving business that does stump grinding. So, there's a perfect name for us: The Stump Grinders.
I'm also partial to the Turkey Buzzards, after the birds that hover over Turkey Run State Park whenever we're there. Which has been for the last 15 Thanksgivings. I understand that turkey buzzards are intelligent and kind animals with a strong sense of loyalty to each other and to humans. Besides that, they eat things that even my college roommate's Polish uncle wouldn't eat, even if they were stuffed into a sausage casing with a ton of garlic. With no ill effects. They have stomachs that can disinfect anything. Even Taco Bell food. Scientists are studying them. There's already a song called "Shoot That Turkey Buzzard," also known by many other names as most fiddle tunes are. But my wife and kids don't like The Turkey Buzzards too much as a band name.
Then just yesterday as I was passing the kitchen counter where my wife had cut the tags off a new sweater, I saw a little envelope that inspired another name: The Extra Buttons String Band. Extra buttons being especially fitting, when all of us are in our 40's and 50's. But the family didn't like that one too much either.
So I guess the Stump Grinders is the leading contender. By the way, I don't know if the availability of stump grinding services in Indiana has anything to do with the prevalence of "Hoosier Trees," the name my family has given to that peculiar custom in Indiana of cutting all the branches off a tree that stands near a house, and leaving just the trunk standing, to sprout new branches later. Some farms have a whole line of Hoosier Trees along the side of the house. And houses in town do it too.
But the custom must be spreading: our next door neighbor here in Lyons did that to his maple tree a couple years ago; and just a week or two ago he repeated the surgery. And he's not even from Indiana; he's Mexican-American. Not that I mind -- it's cut down really nicely on the number of leaves I have to clean out of our pool.
I saw a band playing on the Channel Nine Morning News the other day that I thought were called the Love Handles. I thought that was a pretty good name until I heard it again and realized my bad hearing had tricked me again - it was actually the "Lovehammers." I like The Love Handles better. And maybe it hasn't been used yet. Also appropriate for my age group.
Someone reminded me about Commando Cody and the Lost Planet Airmen, which raised the possibility of using 50's-60's childhood nostalgia references as band names. Hopefully the copyrights have expired. How about The American Flyers, or Cocoa Marsh, or Spinner and Paddlefoot?
But other obsolete terms might work - my photography essay suggests Reciprocity Failure as a name. Kind of deep, when you think about applying it to interpersonal relationships. How about Stop Bath, or The Fixers? Nah.
Best to stick to old timey names. One fiddle tune I researched had an alternate name that was Somebody's Mule. Some Civil War general. Shelby's Mule, that was it. (Also known as "Waiting for the Federals," which was in turn an alternate version of what I know as "Georgia Boys," by Jim "Texas Shorty" Chancellor). But, according to my son and daughter, Shelby's Mule is similar to the name of an existing band, Government Mule. So I guess that rules it out. Oh well, enough Quirk of Consciousness writing for tonight.
One more random note: My son has taken to calling the cranky computer lady who lives in his GPS program "Jo-Jo." That's from my name for the computer opponent in my Palm Scrabble game on my Treo: I name her "Jo" because whenever she gets a "J" she uses it to spell "Jo (a sweetheart)." Among other stupid and ridiculous words she comes up with from the Scrabble Dictionary, a tome obviously written by a bunch of Scotsmen who used to get high a lot (Khef, kif, kef are all forms of marijuana). But Jo grossed me out totally when she used the word "tup (to copulate with a ewe)." Those Scotsmen, they have no shame...
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