Cripsy Duck's view from Charlottesville - 3.13.01

3/9/01
Beppe Gambetta and Dan Crary at the Prism Coffeehouse

Not since blind flatpicking guru Doc Watson convinced his son Merle to be his accompanist have two acoustic guitarists steeped in the bluegrass tradition melded with such a varied but resounding success. Why is hard to say. Guitars make ideal accompaniment for each other, explaining why so many famous electric bands have two. But the steel-string acoustic guitar-- and specifically the large-bodied dreadnaught-- was originally designed and built by Martin to be a rhythm instrument for backing mandolins, fiddles and banjos in the old-time folk troups of the '40's. As such, it was always an only child, and for a number of years, it only strummed.

But by the '50's, guys like Dan Crary were taking up the instrument to play fiddle melodies-- lead parts-- and the steel-string guitar started to take on a life of its own. The new style was called "flatpicking," and, along with the burgeoning folk movement of the day, it helped the guitar take over the place of prominence in American popular culture previously occupied by the ukelele and piano. Crary was among the first to attempt the conversion of the guitar into a lead instrument and thus is considered one of the more important flatpickers of his generation, a legacy that eventually inspired the Taylor guitar company to build a line of Crary signature models.

Beppe Gambetta comes from the other side of the tracks, er... ocean. Hailing from Genova, Italy, Gambetta's early fascination with American guitar styles led to the development of a distinct hybrid sound-- half European Renaissance, half North Carolina corn bread-- and he has become one of the more visible international celebrities promoting the music of the Appalachia on a global scale. Besides being a renowned Italian chef with a very popular cookbook selling well planet-wide, Gambetta brings elements of the Italian classical tradition to the musical table, occasionally leading the duo into unfamilar territory where odd time signatures prevail and lyrics resound in sweet Italian dialects.

The two men together provide a little slice of guitar heaven, burning super-fast harmony runs and backing each other on material ranging from standards like "Rolling In My Sweet Baby's Arms" (sung in Gambetta's Italian accent for a humorously charming effect) to originals penned by each. But neither artist seems content with bluegrass traditionalism, so their show works its way stealthily through old-time hillbilly classics and a smorgasborg of heady guitar feats in a number of styles and languages, all of which, for the acoustic music fan, are ultimately engaging.

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3/10/01
John Jackson at the Prism Coffeehouse
The Elderly at Trax
Hogwaller Ramblers at the Outback Lodge

John Jackson, now in his '70's, has been packing the Prism since the early 1970's. An acoustic fingerstyle bluesman, a country gentlemen, and an individual experienced enough to have actually known many of the artists whose blues classics he regularly revives in his down-home performances, the Falls Church-based Jackson is an unsung link to the blues of old Virginia.

Hauling his old Gibson guitar up onto one knee for a set of goodies ranging from "Red River Blues" to "That's Allright, Mama" to his own "Red Lips," Jackson's weathered voice and jangly guitar work invite the listener to come and sit by his feet. When he opens his mouth to speak or sing, you'd swear you were listening to something out of the Smithsonian folk archive.

There's a certain quality there that can't be contrived, and Mr. Jackson has it in spades, from his good-natured survivalist demeanor down to the way he ends every song by announcing the title. He might not be the hottest blues picker I've ever heard (Corey Harris is really far more proficient-- then again, Mr. Jackson is in his '70's) but he has a certain guitar style-- a kind of chicken-pickin' cross-finger thing-- that is distinctly his own, and that tone!... well, it can't be beat.

I could have hung out at Mr. Jackson's place all night, but I'd made plans to hook up with my buddy Barndoor Cowlegs for a night of punk rock at Tokyo Rose. But as it turned out, the punk rock wasn't at Tokyo Rose at all-- it was at Trax.

This, in and of itself, is not so bad. Trax is actually a great punk venue... if you fill it. But local punks, no matter how good-- and the Elderly may well be the best-- generally draw 100 or so people. And a hundred or so people in Trax means... emptiness. The same crowd would fill Tokyo Rose.

We drank beer and rubbed elbows with the mini-moshpit working up front while the Elderly ripped through a set of their rough-hewn raucouness (admirable considering the unwell state of their leader and guitarist, Josh Mustin) before deciding to bail to the Outback Lodge.

The Hogwaller Ramblers drew a nice crowd to the Outback-- a bonus since the band has been playing every Thursday at Starr Hill to mixed results, and I, for one, missed seeing them in other rooms. No problem, a large group of Charlottesvillians still call wherever the Hogs play home, and they danced and cheered as the band roved through everything from their own "Shorty" to their rendition of B.C.'s "American As Fuck." Refreshing like a forgotten but well-loved holey T-shirt recently rescued from the trunk of your car. Now that's Charlottesville.

--Cripsy Duck

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