Bluegrass Festival

The bluegrass festival is at the fairgrounds this weekend, just 5 miles as the crow flies. Riding the mules there is more like as the quail walks, about 8 miles, but I may take them once again. The nostalgic in me makes it irresistible to arrive in style, 1800s style. Each year I recommend to acquaintances and co-workers that they would enjoy the traditional string bands, but alas few will try. Why do middle class suburbanites affect the clothes, attitudes and music of disenfranchised inner city folk and propped up pop tarts but eschew their own roots music? Is it risky to go beyond mainstream pop and try bluegrass, or reggae, or scotch-Irish or classical, or anything else? I don't mean those that listened to rap or hip-hop before it was pop. Now it's just another bandwagon to hop on. No pun intended. Once in a while I find someone who will let their guard down and let their ears and heart decide if the music is worthwhile. Once in a while I find there are others that feel the excitement of a mandolin tremolo or fast fiddle riff. There was the special colleague that shared Nickle Creek with me, the Missile Defense program manager that likes Iris Dement, and the friend who used to have a Metallica poster on our office wall but now wants to learn the banjo. Those discoveries are always heartwarming. If you go to the bluegrass festival Saturday, you'll see me there.