Gotta Make That California Trip!
 By Derek Brandon
Be warned that this is a long article with
nice pix - MY WIFE JEAN AND I are very fortunate in that our daughter Pamela lives in San Francisco, so if we want to see her (which we do) then we just have to make that California trip. But we are even more fortunate, for Pam lives in a great, atmospheric part of the city and she’s very musically inclined. She is a gifted musician and sings Folk in her own right, Swing with a retro band (The Chazz Cats) and Bluegrass with a band called Belle Monroe and Her Brewglass Boys (who will “play anywhere for a lot of beer...”) So we can be sure that every visit has lots of surprises in store, and our November 1999 trip was no exception! Now you might well be thinking “Bet they were out at all the best venues, seeing all the best Bluegrass bands and all,” and maybe you’d be right. But not as you might expect. We had been in contact with one Michael Hall, Lawyer, of Palo Alto (on the Peninsula). Mike is well-connected, being President of the Northern California Bluegrass Society (over 800 members) and contributing editor of NCBS mag Bluegrass By The Bay. His aim in life seemed to be to get us to every Bluegrass function within a 100 mile radius, but despite his best efforts we only managed one big venue - the terrific Suzanne Thomas and Friends concert (see NWBN Jan 1999). Our Pam had other plans.
Plan A (1): You will attend all these Chazz Cats gigs. And we did - and
it was great. There was no plan B.
I really should explain here that the Bluegrass venues in the parts of
the USA that we know aren’t like they are in England (I can’t speak
for Scotland and Wales), but there’s no room. One day I’ll write
it up. Suffice for now to say they could be anywhere like, er... a fire station?
But I still wasn’t prepared for the first one. And so it came to pass that Mum (guitar/vocals), Pam (guitar/vocals), Ted “Treblemaker” Silverman (mando, vocals, writer in NWBN), Tom Drohan (real bass) and Dad Derek (banjo and what I hesitatingly call vocals) walked a couple of city blocks to the baby shower, to play as BM&HBGB. Chazz Casey (dobro) was on vacation. For the uninitiated, a “shower” is an event where people roll up bearing gifts and presents. When baby is almost ready for popping it’s called a Baby Shower. If the couple are just going to get married, it’s a Wedding Shower. Anyhow, we went and did our stuff and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. I could stand more gigs like that. Walking distance, in the afternoon (so your evening is free), no critics, free drinks, and Japanese Sushi Buffet. Oh yeh, and you get paid, too! The banjo I was playing was a 1932 Clifford Essex Concert Grand with added resonator. It was the one we gave our daughter as a birthday present a few years back - the one that got melted down (literally!) in its’ case in the back window of the car in Yosemite Valley. The one that cost us a fortune to put right because we were honest with the insurance company about how it happened... Never let anything get damaged by what can even vaguely be described as natural causes. Like the sun, for example.
Derek, Belle, Tip Jar, Jean, Tom & Ted Another gig in the city was at the Atlas Café in the Mission District. Rather an un-salubrious area, but our gang know where it is and isn’t safe to go, so we were OK. This place was deemed “OK, more or less....” It had seen better days, and was quite historic, as San Francisco goes. Another afternoon venue and again a strange method of payment. You get food and drinks but pass the “tip jar” around for money. Fortunately, nothing exists below a dollar and the audience keeps changing, so we did quite well. I tell you what, it’s good experience! Tom and Ted are also part of the Chazz Cats and, like all the Cats, have two thing in common. Lots of good music and good beer (but not necessarily I that order). And we’re talking the real micro-brewery-type beer, which starts at 5% alcohol... And it’s very good, if very incapacitating! The Cats have been known to drink a bar dry - they have even done it in Chester, England - at the Union Vaults (with a little help from their friends...).
Barbecuing 'Johnston's Oyster Farm' Oysters at Smiley's, Bolinas One Saturday we all set off for Bolinas, a tiny seaside village about 30 miles from the city up Highway 1, on the coast, to see Jimbo Trout and The Fish People (don’t ask!) and to play there, in Smiley’s Schooner Saloon. Now, finding Bolinas on the map and spotting it by Bolinas Lagoon from high up on “1” is one thing. Arriving there is something else... There aren’t any road signs! There used to be, but the folk want to be left alone so they take them all down. Eventually the Marin County authority got fed up and stopped replacing them. Honest. So, you just gotta know where it is! Some of you might remember that Tony Furtado alluded to that when he introduced his composition Bolinas on his tour last year (see NWBN, March 1998). San Francisco is the Barbary Coast and Bolinas is the last outpost of the Wild West. It’s real. And the Saloon too. Little free beer here and no food - just the tip jar. The weather became dreadful but we slept sound as a pound in the camper by the jetty on the lagoon. Just as well we didn’t spot the “Don’t even think of parking here!” tow-away signs ’til morning... Then, very early one Saturday morning, we all set off for Auburn, up past Sacramento where Elena Corey lives (though we didn’t know it at the time - shame!) where the Cats were playing at the Auburn Country Fair, in glorious weather. After that a drive south down historic Highway 49 to Bear Valley, through old gold mining towns with names like Placerville, Sutter Creek (site of the original gold strike), Jackson, and Angels Camp, each looking like a set for a Western movie. That evening was spent at 6000’ up in Bear Valley in the High Sierras playing in The Lube Room - a venue that would need a whole page to describe. Pitchers of the local brew, Snowshoe Ale, were near lethal, though the music seemed somehow to survive. Then a good nights kip in what Doc’s folks call their “cabin” - an understatement if ever there was one!
Jean in Columbia Main Street Sunday saw a near-death party setting off to Columbia for the next gig, at the St.Charles Saloon. Columbia is essentially unchanged from the 1849 gold rush days. The sheriff still locks people up in the traditional jail and the mail is still delivered by stage-coach. We took in the atmosphere - an old man sat on the wooden sidewalk playing Oh My Darling Clementine on his harmonica as the stage-coach rolled by, delivering the mail. The clanging ring of the blacksmith forging horseshoes. The Sheriff nodded and touched his hat - “Ma’am!” - as he slammed shut the jail doors... What would the St.Charles’ Saloon bring? We arrived to find a reception party by the hitching-rail, all whoopin’ an’ a-hollerin’. Men with long beards and hats in shapes you can’t buy; ladies in stylish dresses. “Hey, here come D’lilah and her boys!” (that’s another stage name..) We passed some good time outside shaking many hands, surviving back-slaps and inspecting the Harley Davidsons.
Jean, Derek, Ted, Pam & Tom Pose for Posterity Inside, the St.Charles needed only the spittoons back to be 100% authentic. “Yeah, we had to give ’em up - them health inspectors.” Sawdust and peanut shells covered the floor - really. A long mahogany bar to slide glasses along. A shooting gallery at the far end. And a piano that had never been cleaned - or so it seemed, for all the keys appeared black. We wanted to get set up but... “Hey, you need beer first!” And that’s how we were paid - beer plus the ubiquitous tip jar, though the Landlord, Jim, chucked a lot of $’s in too. The audience swelled as they came down from the mountain, prompting us to sing songs like Katie Daly. We couldn’t go wrong. All the old standards were rolled out plus a load of requests. A gang of Brazilians arrived and kept shoving dollar bills in the tip jar like we were a juke box. Then we spotted a short, Dobro-toting, bespectacled guy and asked him in. He turned out to be Julio Guerra (who everyone knows as Julio Inglasses.. pun intended) of The Foothillbillys (Write to: glassesj@sonnet.com) and a big mate of Mike Hall. He was great! We had just finished singing a request, Irene Goodnight, that everyone joined in with as though it was the last song they would ever sing, when Julio told them that Woody Guthrie had sung the same song on the same spot with the same effect. Woody had been stranded in Columbia for six months around 1940 and had supported himself by singing in that selfsame saloon!
After the gig Roger (replete with obligatory long beard) sat Jean on top of the amazingly in-tune pi-anna and rolled out tune after tune, in the traditional saloon manner. You don’t find places like this every day. I didn’t want to leave - just sit with my 16oz pint and take it all in. “Hey,” (every sentence starts like that) “Hey, you need more beer?” cried Mike, the bartender, bringing another pint. “This one’s not empty yet,” says I. “It is now!” says Mike, taking it off me and slinging the contents away... Jean had just struggled to the end of her ‘final’ pint. “Hey, you need more beer!” “Well, OK - just a half,” conceded Jean. Mitch returned with a 2-pint pot half full. We own the St.Charles Saloon. It was hard to leave... Derek Brandon, Chester, UK Write to Derek
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Pianist Roger (bearded) Toasts Jean in the St.Charles
Saloon.