THE EMERALD ISLE
The trip to Ireland, in early September, was a whirlwind. A bunch of us (XRamblers and Joe Newberry, the Jerusalem Travelers, the Branchettes with Wilbur Tharp, King Wilkie, Jack Bernhardt and Marylee Porterfield) sallied forth over the pond in an Aer Lingus Airbus landing in Dublin in the early morning hours. At least one of the Jerusalem Travelers had never flown before. "They even bring your food right up to your seat," he was heard to remark. A three hour van drive to the north brought us to Omagh and our various residences. We (Bill and Jim and Anne Berry and I) were lucky enough to be staying in Clanahogan, at the Golden Hills Guest House -- a pleasant little seat perched up in the exceedingly beautiful Sperrin hills, surrounded by farms and pastures and cows and sheep and giant bunnies, and fields of heather. This is me>>> -- trying to "be" the Sound of Music (with eyes closed). When asked, our hosts Joyce and Billy Donnelly confirmed the rumor that Ireland has no snakes, "also no mosquitoes," added Billy. Well, Bill and I can confirm that they have mosquitoes but they just don't bite. Also, there's no extremes of weather, no blizzards, no droughts (gulf stream). It's always green and the countryside always smells like... well, like Irish Spring!!! There's also universal medical coverage, and no taxes in some of the subsidized farming areas of Northern Ireland. "Then what's that cannon fire we keep hearing," Jim asked? Billy informed us that this was the "banger" -- periodic reports which scare crows away from the ripening barley harvest. Just then a rainbow broke through the clouds, from the west all the way over to the Galantos Gold Mine on a near mountain. 
"It's just like a Lucky Charms commercial", somebody said. I also saw real honest to God magpies in the field outside of my bedroom window. They're handsome black and white birds, and very large -- maybe even bigger than crows -- and bright and fine featured enough to look practically "ceramic" in detail.
Our "gig" went well enough - the 14th Annual Appalachian and Bluegrass Festival at the Ulster-American Folk Park. The main venue was a huge tent that seated about 1000 people (just right around the corner from the more important Guinness tent!) -- although there were various smaller music stages spread out among the historic sites of the park. We played four sets, three in the main tent and one from an open barn on the historic trail. It was my favorite, as it had no sound system and was very informal. We even sang "I Wish I'd Bought Me a Half a Pint and Stayed in the Wagon Yard", which Bill thought was pretty appropriate. We also got to do a gospel set with Robin and Linda Williams (Jim's "other" group). I got to do "Fifty Miles of Elbow Room" which I hadn't done in a long time and didn't know if I could remember the words or not... (I did!) and we also did "Daniel Prayed" to which Linda added a fourth part.
The festival atmosphere was very familiar -- a heady mix of nerves, anticipation and "band" egos -- everyone vying to be the hit of the festival. 
This year it was King Wilkie (pictured at right), a Charlottesville based bluegrass sextet that is currently making the rounds and wowing the folkies-- and no wonder, as they are tall, nice-looking lads in dark suits and good musicians and writers to boot. Bit of a 'tude too. One of them is from my hometown, so naturally we had next to nothing to say to each other. But the women in our bus went crazy over King Wilkie, and talked of nothing else on the way home that first day. The men, however, were strangely silent...
It was interesting to be doing some foreign traveling once again with Bill and Jim. I hadn't done that since the early 80's. Alot of those old days came back, the good and the bad. When you're in a band you temporarily give up your own personal identity for the most part. You're part of a group and that is how you are referred to and related to, and most of the things you do are done with this identification in mind. It requires considerable esprit de corps. Loners beware!!!
THE TALE OF THE IRISH TWEED CAP
One item of frippery I vowed to purchase during my trip to Northern Ireland was a real Irish tweed cap. On the morning of our third day we arranged a road trip to Donegal Bay. On the way back we passed through the little town of Belleek, which is home to all that beautiful cream colored porcelain China, which looks like wicker and is adorned with green leaves. Billy gave us 15 minutes to shop, as we had a deadline to be back in Omagh. I made a fast case of the Belleek shop, quickly determining that items for sale there were out of my price range. I then dashed up the street to find a small haberdashers and there in the window saw the Irish Tweed Cap of my dreams -- a sweet misty grayish green little number.
It fit me perfectly and the friendly clerk helped me change my pounds into Euros, and I was back at the bus with a new cap in no time. Watson perused the label inside: "It says 'new wool' -- as opposed to 'old wool'???" Good question. "Ah, it's an authentic Hanna Hat from Donegal," said Richard Hurst, checking out the label in the lining. Richard's a long tall drink of water, a former weaver/police detective/footballer who's now in charge of the entertainment at the Ulster Folk Park. He's also an ex-Scotsman living in N. Ireland. I met quite a few of those as a matter of fact. Richard is further aided and abetted in putting up the Folk Park festival each year by Susan Newberry, esteemed wife of Joe. Susan, executive director of PINECONE, was very much in evidence on site, acting as Svengali, liaison, den mother, escort officer, and general all around interlocutress.
It finally got cool enough to wear my dandy new cap at our last set on Sunday evening. After we finished playing I laid my cap on my gear backstage as I went to take care of some CD business. When I returned several minutes later it had disappeared from the face of Ulster Park. I was heartbroken.
Fast forward to our last day in Dublin (or Baile Atha Cliath if you're Gaelic). We're in the Departures Lounge at the airport, finishing our last Irish breakfast (fruit, Alpen, yoghurt, deep fried eggs, three kinds of meat, fried potato bread, four kinds of toast, jam, braised tomatoes, juice, coffee, tea, etc. etc...) when Joe spied a whole rack of Hanna Hats at the duty free store. I went lickety split. They didn't have my misty gray green model but I did find a nice blue-ish version which Joe said he actually preferred. SO... I got to leave the Emerald Isle with an Irish Tweed cap, paid for dearly, but happily.
I didn't experience any of the Joycean/Yeatsian/Red Hanrahanian wild-side of Irish Romantic metaphysics during my stay, per se..., but I did take a long walk that last day down an ancient country lane, the hedges on either side filled with juicy ripe blackberries (or brambles as they're known there) of which I consumed a goodly amount. The road meandered past an old ruined stone cottage tucked in the tall birch shade of a sunny Irish hill. I felt like I was either meant to live there, or indeed had lived there in some fiery, passion-filled Romantic peasant past. In cases like mine, a wink is as good as a nod. (Ireland photos by Anne Berry)
For more photos and blogs of the XRamblers Irish trip go to http://redclayramblers.tripod.com/pics/ireland/ireland.htm
MY BROTHER CHIP
The day before I was to leave Omagh a call came through from my sister informing me that my brother Chip had died. He had been really ill for the last year, precipitated by a long and severe addiction to alcohol. I got home just in time to be with my family for the visitation, in 
Asheville, and the military funeral in Black Mountain. I hadn't been close to my brother in years, but his death has affected me very powerfully. I think when anyone suffers from such an disease, family and friends will feel responsible. We all think there was something we could have done, if only we'd had the courage and the strength. Chip was a very private person and didn't invite confidence or intimacy. There was so much about his life than none of us knew. But his daughter Angie had spent the last three months assembling a scrapbook of his letters, particularly those he wrote (and received) while he was serving in the Army in Vietnam around the time of the Tet Offensive. A portrait emerges of a man who took service to his country much more seriously and was in much more danger than he ever let us know. "I just sit behind a typewriter. I never see action," he would tell us. But in reality he took part in combat missions, and served heroically, even receiving an impressive military commendation to prove it. None of us knew about this until we saw those scrapbooks at his visitation. What we did know was that he was an independant and intelligent person, a good writer, had a great ear for music, was definitely the best looking one of the family, worked hard at his career in the U.S. Forestry Service and raised two wonderful children, Josh and Angie. I know I'll be thinking about him the rest of my life. 
I include the following photograph for no particular reason except it is one of my earliest memories! My sister Jane had dressed Chip and I up like little girls and snapped our picture. What I mainly remember is how we laughed our little butts off. I don't know if Chip would have chosen this particular Kodak moment, but as he was a faithful reader of these web pages, I think he'd have a sense of humor about it. For my own part it surely must have prepared me for my dramatic future as one half of "The Swindle Sisters" -- an elderly spinster duo in RADIO GALS.
Chip, who always seemed to me like a combination of Dobie Gillis, Pigpen and James Dean, said a long time ago that he wanted them to play rock and roll at his funeral. Instead he got the the flag and the rifle shots and Taps. I guess that's the way he ultimately wanted it, though I kept thinking about what he had said and so I told as many people as I could last Thursday. Maybe after we listened to that mournful trumpet we could imagine hearing some Jackie Wilson, Ray Charles and Dion and the Belmonts too. Maybe it was rock and roll all the way home.
Piccadilly update:
"Lunch at the Piccadilly", the musical play that Clyde Edgerton and I have been working on and which he adapted from his latest novel by the same name, will receive its first production at the Cape Fear Regional Theatre, Fayetteville, NC, in March of 2006.
"XRAMBLERS" Hit The Road
Friday August 19th we're playing at the The Down Home, in Johnson City TN. The Ramblers were the very first band to play the Down Home in the summer of l976. Since then the club has become a showcase for acoustic music in the Southeast. We'll do Dave Carter's "Studio One" show at 1PM the next afternoon. You can tune in via the Internet and listen live at WETS-FM. 
Saturday night we'll be at the The Carter Family Fold in Hiltons, Va, near Bristol/Kingsport. The "Fold" has become a veritable institution. The music shows take place in a big barny structure built by the late Joe Carter, son of AP and Sara. He and his sister Janette have been carrying on the Carter Family tradition by putting on these shows every Saturday night since the mid 1970's. The old AP Carter grocery store next door is now a museum. For those of you who haven't been, it's great fun and truly a cultural and social phenomenon. Everybody dances -- to everything, even slow ballads! There's a concrete dance floor and it fills up with young and old and rich and poor and fat and thin and everykindofperson you ever could imagine -- from all over the US and the world. It's even better people watching than the Pittsburgh airport!!
Wednesday Aug. 24th we're at The Six String Music Hall and Cafe in Cary, NC. Sadly, the Six String will be closing at the end of August. This is quite a blow to the Triangle's acoustic music scene, although proprietor David Sardinha is apparently planning to produce "Six String" style shows at another location in the coming months.
Thursday Aug. 25th we're playing at The Cook Shack, in Union Grove, NC. The Cook Shack is a small grill and community store owned and operated by Myles & Pal Ireland and serving the Union Grove community for more than 40 years. Known for wonderful music and good food the Cook Shack is located in music rich northern Iredell County, just down the road on Highway 901 from Fiddlers’ Grove, home to the longest continuously run old-time and bluegrass festival operated in North America. For years, the Cook Shack has hosted an open jam every Saturday for musicians and the public. In 2004 the Irelands and their friends, Gail and Tom Watts began a series of informal Cook Shack House Concerts featuring professional and local musicians. Seating limited to about 50 reserved seats, assuring that music lovers are treated to an intimate and truly a special performance in a smoke and alcohol-free family environment.
If you can't make that catch us at the Southern Village Concert Series, Chapel Hill, NC at 5:30PM. This outdoor concert takes place at the Southern Village just south of Chapel Hill. I don't know much about this venue. When I lived in Chapel Hill this area was still woods! A lot has changed since then... (no kiddin').
Well... if you're still tied up then, consider coming to the 14th Annual Appalachian and Bluegrass Music Festival at the Ulster-American Folk Park in
Omagh, County Tyrone, Northern Ireland Sept. 2-4. Musicians and dancers from all Europe & North America will participate. This year the fester will feature US!! (the original Red Clay Ramblers), Robin & Linda Williams & Their Fine Group, King Wilkie, The Jerusalem Travelers, The Hickory Project, Bearfoot Bluegrass, Leather 'N' Lace Cloggers, Nugget, Sunny Side, Carmel Sheerin & The Ravens, Prison Love (I can't imagine what this band could be... but I hope to live to tell you when I get back), Niall Toner Band, The Broken String Band, The Rough Deal String Band, the Lee Valley String Band, and Woodbine. The venue, the Ulster American Folk Park, was established in 1976, as Northern Irelands contribution to the American bicentenary. The Folk Park, a tribute to the emigrant trail to America, was constructed around the original homestead of Thomas Mellon, who as a 5 year old boy emigrated with his parents to Western Pennsylvania. And we will likewise be emigrating (for a week) -- puttering across the pond via Aer Lingus Aug. 31st.
Soooo... all in all you no excuse for not catching at least one of these shows!