Word: banjo
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...with the acoustics for a while, with occasional sojourns to the beer table for lubrication. There were nine, as I recall: Dr. John C. Wells, Jr., coronet; Dr. John Merrill, clarinet; Dr. Charles Palioca (a dentist), trombone; Dr. Thomas Peebles, drums; Richard Wigginton, bass; Raymond Boshco, piano; Guy Garland, banjo; and Bob Johnson and Doug Hayward, guitars. It was like outside the Metropole, only a little warmer...
Lonesome Traveler is a title that needs a banjo accompaniment, and so does the book itself - a collection of short pieces about the wandering years in which he ambled through the experiences that look so impressive when summarized on the back of a dust jacket. Kerouac is daffy and exuberant as he tells of working as an apprentice brakeman on the Southern Pacific Railroad, flunkeying on a freighter from Oakland to New Orleans, blasting exaltedly on O(pium) with a Mexican narcotics wholesaler. But the author is not wholly a praiser of his own beat-romantic past. He admits...
...banjo bars." The movement began two years ago in a lipstick-colored room called the Red Garter. This year the sound of strumming has spread throughout the Bay Area (one banjo bar has already opened in Los Angeles, and no other U.S. city can feel absolutely safe). Despite names like the Honey Bucket and the Purple Girdle, Greater San Francisco's six banjo bars are respectable, all-beer niteries with red-checked tablecloths. Says one waiter: "We'll match college degrees with any bar in town...
...only does Mr. Seeger perform travesties on religious music, accompanying delicate oriental melodies with his down-home two-four banjo rhythm, but he also complements a tender African melody with his own lyrics, composed, he tells us, while pouring concrete for his house on the Hudson River. And they sound like it. They tell, in a strange meter, how loneLEE it is TO watch the lights BLINK off A-cross the riVER in bosTON when you have to GO back to YOUR room aLONE. Poetic "license" is one thing, even for a poet, but wanton distortion of the hillbilly mind...
...style five hundred miles and years away. One may call it lack of imagination when he treats a powerful song of death as casually as if it were a nursery rhyme. But one becomes aware with increasing discomfort that unerringly to perform such malalignment of styles with such flashy banjo technique Mr. Seeger must be a much more calculating man than one wants to hear simple music from...