Ode to Folkmoot, ode to the what’s next
July 2012. When I was in the running for the open position of arts and entertainment editor here at The Smoky Mountain News, I had to drive from where I was living at the time (Plattsburgh, New York) to Waynesville (1,100 miles each way) for the final interview.
This must be the place: ‘I have something on my mind, was it you on the other side’
Hello from Room 310 at the Apres Hotel in Whitefish, Montana. It’s currently 10:36 a.m. (Mountain Standard Time). Tuesday. The skies are overcast with a slight drizzle this morning. The streets in this small outpost town are somewhat quiet, too, especially after the whirlwind of the Under the Big Sky music festival this past weekend.
Horizon behind me, no more pain: The Black Crowes land at Harrah’s Cherokee
When it comes to American rock music, you’d be hard-pressed to find a more talented and sonically important act than The Black Crowes. Thankfully, in recent years, the Robinson brothers (Chris and Rich) have patched things up and put their storied music right back where it belongs — in front of a raucous live audience.
This must be the place: ‘Let’s welcome the change, no song unsung’
It’s been a few days since the Telluride Bluegrass Festival in Colorado ended. And I’m still riding the high on that experience, all while I sit here and do my laundry in West Waynesville, the air-conditioning of the establishment a reprieve from the intense heat and humidity this week.
This must be the place: ‘Sounds you might hear when you’re opening up your window’
Hello from 34,000 feet. I’m currently on a United Express flight from Asheville to Denver, Colorado. Probably somewhere over Kansas at the moment. Who knows? What awaits me is another adventure, this time to the Telluride Bluegrass Festival. My first time there. Lifelong dream.
This must be the place: 'Dear lord, do right by me, you know I'm tired of being lonesome, ornery and mean'
It happened to me, again. Somebody stole my laundry. All of it. And it wasn’t even in the dryer yet. They ran out the door of my neighborhood laundromat in downtown Waynesville with two loads of wet clothes, never to be seen from or worn out and about one more time.
This must be the place: ‘All the summer, all of fall, trying to find my little all in all’
It’s 12:23 a.m. and I can hear the tires from sporadic cars splashing through small puddles on nearby Walnut Street in downtown Waynesville. They say a big rainstorm is coming later today. For now, it’s another pull from the lukewarm Coors Light can.
This must be the place: ‘You can capture every instant, live your life like it’s a stage’
Wednesday. Late morning. Another bluebird sky day here in the mountains of Western North Carolina. Warm rays of sunshine greeted my face when I stepped off the porch of my humble abode apartment in downtown Waynesville. Put the truck in drive and begin the day.
This must be the place: 'Your flag decal won’t get you into heaven anymore’
It was one of those moments that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
A moment just to myself, where when the moment was unfolding in real time, you feel an immediate and deep gratitude for, this intrinsic connection to the universe.
This must be the place: ‘Blow up your TV, throw away your paper, go to the country, build you a home’
As I was cracking the third of four eggs into the bowl to then scramble the yolks, the chorus of John Prine’s seminal 1971 number “Spanish Pipedream” echoed throughout the room. I decided then and there that to make breakfast with Mr. Prine playing in the background is the only way to start your day.
