Dancing eyes across the room from me; the so energetic, expressive eyes of the lady fiddler darting in sync to the bluegrass music that we were all playing. You couldn’t miss them. Like a light-house beacon shining across a harbor, you notice them first. They shifted back and forth to the beat of the music. When the fiddle section ramped up the intensity, they swayed and darted to the music. The eyes had it. At that point I couldn’t tell you anything else about her, but she had unmistakably expressive eyes.
I am at the Midwest Banjo Camp, a four-day event at Olivette College, Michigan, sponsored by Elderly Instruments of Lansing. They are one of the nation’s biggest purveyors of new and used instruments and equipment associated with Bluegrass, Old-time and Americana Music. This is where you would come if, say, you were in the market for a scarcer than Hen’s teeth genuine John Hartford Deering banjo. They would have it or know where to get it. There are guitars, banjos, fiddles, mandolins, bass fiddles everywhere you look at this little college. Some of the best instruments in the world are available here—the equivalent of Stradivarius Violins, but banjos, fiddles, guitars and mandolins. The better I get with my banjo—a hand-built, decked out American Wildwood–, the more they tempt me! I am here to tell you that it is true that the more expensive and well-constructed an instrument, the more they tend to play themselves. Actually, they are much more easily played. They respond to the lightest touch.
About 150 people attend every year from across the country and other parts of the world. Interestingly, the average age of the participants is 65. Over half are novices, many are intermediate people who come to work and jam with well-known professionals that are willing to teach you what they know. There are, for example, several different ways to play a banjo—old time clawhammer style, three finger, two finger, minstrel plucking, and of course the predominant Scruggs style bluegrass. All these styles are addressed and offered by competent professionals here and each one tends to champion his own style. This is the second year that I’ve attended. The amount of knowledge, information here is simply overwhelming. Some come for several years straight to absorb what is being offered and or the chance to work and jam with big names in this type of music.
I am an inveterate people watcher. Because my walking has been curtailed in recent years and I am a psychologist by trade, I let my eyes do the walking. I pay attention to body movements, faces, demeanor, aura, but I notice eyes!
We were in a large circle of musicians –an Americana music jam. These jams are something that frequently occur the evening before the formal classes and incorporate all the different styles and ways to play. Actually, these jams often go on despite classes being held too, and all night long as well if the few people who make it to breakfast the next day are any indication. Some people come only for the jamming part, are not even interested in the classes. Participants and many instructors get together and just jam, play for a while, giving everyone a turn at leading if they wish to. Some don’t wish to. These situations can be intimidating with the real, proven talent all around you.
There were maybe 20 people in our circle, consisting of several fiddlers, many banjos, a couple of guitars, a couple mandolins, and a stand-up bass. This was the pre-class jam session, the kick off of the formal event, and something that I look forward to each year. I recognized several of the participants and instructors—bona-fide professional musicians who did this sort of thing for a living, not like us weekend warriors. Hey, there is no way that I could ever out play any of these professionals, but I could at least keep up with them in a jam atmosphere.
She was a fiddler. I knew she was staff—too accomplished, too good, too professional, too sure of herself. She was maybe 45 years old, not exceptionally beautiful by TV and Broadway stage standards, but never-the-less someone you would most definitely notice by her demeanor. The word wholesome comes to mind. Rather, she was someone who kind of looks more like you and me, wearing well worn, light colored jeans and a non-descript blouse. But her eyes talked volumes, even when you met her in the elevator between classes. They danced and darted about as she spoke, “Yes, that sure was a lot of fun last evening, wasn’t it, she responded?” Where was she from, I wondered? The west coast, the south—no, not the south. There is no hint of southern drawl here. Rather, her dialect is Mid-West spoken language. I’ll hazard a guess—Wisconsin, North Dakota maybe! I think I might have heard her refer to her kids while conversing with someone in the elevator. She is definitely real and not some entertainment hype.
Dancing, darting eyes. Do you notice eyes, eye movement, provocative expressions? I always watch eyes. Maybe it was her face. It was sort of round; she had big eyes, almost like some of those cartoon figures that invade us on our TVs, in the stores, everywhere. Big expressive, almost exaggerated, eyes. I notice eyes first. Usually I’d have a hard time telling you what she was wearing, what exactly her body shape was, posture and such. That’s all secondary. But I sure caught those eyes. I never did get to know much more about her except that, based upon the paperwork we received at the start of the Banjo Camp, she was an instructor, had several CDs for sale in the store, and maybe a book on fiddling. I did find out that her name was Erynn. Odd spellings as such in this slice of the music world often mean different countries, different nationalities.
Dancing eyes and bubbly personalities. Boy am I a sucker for that. Always have been.
I can see her now, recall in great detail, how her eyes bounced to the rhythm of the fiddle she was playing. I don’t even remember what song she was playing. It just went on and on like so many jam session songs tend to do. But there was that certain part when the fiddlers died down some and the other instruments picked up and became louder, carrying the melody, then the fiddlers picked up louder and more forcibly. That’s when the eyes came to life. She gleefully bounced back and forth to the rhythm, eyes telling a tale of sheer delight, joy to the world. This is something that many of us musicians sometimes attain in performances. You get into the music, body and soul, and when you do, the sky is the limit. Some call it the Zen of music. Some refer to it as that experience wherein you are, suddenly, magically lifted to another level, playing better than you ever could before. I don’t really know if other people in other endeavors experience this sort of kick into afterburner, but musicians talk about it a lot.
Swaying to the music, the body, soul, and eyes signal this kick into afterburner. It is addicting!
After the fact I found that Erynn Marshall is a 42-year-old Canadian, old time fiddler from Victoria, British Columbia. She is an ethnomusicologist, teacher and author, and regularly performs with an Old Time String Band. She has a Master’s Degree in ethnomusicology and has extensively studied American fiddle styles in Appalachia and Kentucky. She now lives in Galax, Virginia and is the concert coordinator for the Blue Ridge Music Center. She has myriads of fiddling awards and expressive, dancing eyes!
