Bluegrass in the Big City

Have I mentioned that I have absurdly interesting, talented friends? On Wednesday, I met up with Chris, and old college buddy, who as moved to New York to record and play bluegrass music. (Huh?) Ok, so he's had to pick up a few temp and tutoring jobs here and there to make ends meet, as well as pick up a third roommate, but he's loving his time here, and has introduced me to some great music venues. First it was Irish music on Sundays, and on Wednesday we went to the Grisly Pear near Washington Square for some fantastic bluegrass.

I discovered bluegrass sometime during college, and have been an on-and-off fan ever since. I'd only ever seen a few live performances, though, and this is one genre that shines brightest when great musicians get together to jam. This is exactly what happens at the Grisly Pear. We arrived early and got spots at a centrally located booth, and after about a beer and a half the musicians started to arrive, various cases in hand. They were mostly guitar players, but initially there were mandolins (how I love the mandolin!), a banjo, a harmonica, a bass, and a dobro (I'd always thought it was called a steel guitar, but Chris kept using this term for it), and more musicians showed up throughout the night.

The musicians stood in a circle around a few tables that had been pushed together to hold their various beverages. They played pretty consistently for several hours, and were still going strong when I left. Sometimes one or another of them would drift away to chat with someone or have a smoke outside, and the gap in the circle would close until he reappeared again. They went around the circle, taking turns doing lead vocals or instrumental solos, with everyone else joining in with effortless harmonies from time to time.

A picture that I wish I'd taken from The New York Times. Uncle Sheriff Bob is near the middle, wearing his straw hat.

The best character, by far, was Uncle Sheriff Bob, a man in his 70's who showed up in a battered straw cowboy hat and a leather vest that had a sheriff's star pinned to the front and "Sheriff of Good Times" embroidered on the back. He came and chatted with Chris for a while, then proudly pulled out a battered article (read it here) about the group's jam sessions that had appeared in The New York Times a few weeks before. We congratulated him. Chris joined in for a few songs while I was there, and as soon as I left I'm sure he was back up again. The talent in the room was staggering, and the atmosphere, with the dim lighting and acoustic music wending its way through the appreciative audience, was at once electrifying and soothing. I felt as though I'd been transported out of New York.