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Imagine dusk in the Appalachian mountains - the crickets are chirping through the tall grass, the moist air wets your back as a cool breeze sweeps through the dense heat. It's finally that time. The time when friends and family congregate on the front porch for some cold drinks - iced tea, beer and maybe some whiskey - and best of all, live music. The sounds of the fiddle, banjo, guitar and bass will soon be echoing throughout the mountain air. Lonesome lullabies, rapid-fire fiddle tunes and tight harmonies are heard throughout the night - some loud and rowdy, others soft and heart-felt. In between songs, friends and family circle around entertaining everyone with exaggerated stories about each other. No one minds the comedic elaborations; in fact, they're embraced. Time is unimportant - a non-issue, or an inconvenience. After several hours - though it seems like minutes - of music and stories, friends and family make promises to meet again, to offer relief from the challenges they confront day-to-day.
Alison Krauss and Union Station brought the Appalachian Mountains to urban Philadelphia last week, and what a relief it was. Other nights find me sitting on my front porch dripping with sweat, where instead of sweet melodies and lullabies, sirens and the loud obnoxious music of passing cars reverberate off the concrete and brick that surround me. The humidity annoys, the sirens pierce and the five-second samples of passing music push me back into my secluded, air-conditioned home. The couch comforts me - the TV in front of me offers endless choices of entertainment, while next to me the laptop connects me instantly to friends and family miles away. Though I'm entertained and connected, the lack of human contact makes the night feel insincere and unfulfilled.
Krauss' music and unpretentious (and often outrageous) stories brought "home" back to the audience instantly. She started the evening with "Every Time You Say Goodbye," her crisp, clear vocals echoing throughout the air. Everything was effortless - even the story-telling. After three songs, Krauss acknowledged the audience with a story of her trip, the day before, to the King Tut exhibit at Franklin Institute. "I saw me some King Tut," Krauss said with a Southern drawl, "and I'm a good fact retainer. You see..." and she proceeded to tick off many facts about Egyptian people. She continued with how King Tut was discovered and then got fixated on loin cloths. After introducing her right-hand man, Dan Tyminski, she asked the audience to "imagine Dan in a loin cloth." Awkward moment and pause. "Ooh...can you feel that? The energy just changed." The audience laughed - some at her, but most with her.
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After each three or four song set, Krauss would introduce us to another member of her incredible, talented band. Each introduction included a reminder about Tyminski's loin cloth and again she included an elaborated story about the band member by way of introduction. Every song, whether it was an instrumental or included Krauss' singing, evoked a sense of connection to the audience that is often missed by musicians. This connection is what made this performance powerful and unforgettable. With her music and her backdrop (a beautiful reinterpretation of a living room), Krauss was able to make the audience feel like they had been invited to an intimate gathering of musical story-telling on her front porch. She truly captured the very essence of bluegrass in her music and stories.
Some highlights of the evening: Dan Tyminski singing "Man of Constant Sorrow," and the finale, "When You Say Nothing At All." Throughout the night, the band continued to change the instrumentation, ranging from standard bluegrass - fiddle, guitar, banjo, bass - to added percussion (drum-set), organ, piano and ukulele. The constant additions to the instrumentation kept things fresh and exciting. Jerry Douglas on the Dobro was also a sight to be seen. Never in my life have I seen someone play so intricately and incredibly on a Dobro. Absolutely stunning. No wonder Douglas is touted as "the best Dobro player ever." Krauss' pitch-perfect vocals and genuine showmanship are the reason why she has been playing professionally since the age of 16. The 20 Grammy Awards are there for a reason. The singer-songwriter has more talent than many other artists combined. Her music connects us back to roots long forgotten - to a place without concrete, TVs ,or air conditioning. That is why her music works - it's a little piece of home.
Photo courtesy of flickr user: Spector1
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