This group is so funny. We wander in by ones or twos. Instruments are dragged out and tuned. Songsheets and books are located. People shuffle around until the light is right.
We usually stutter our way through several songs for the first twenty minutes of so; not really jelling as a group. There is no harmony at this point because we're all trying to figure out how to sync our voices and the slightly varying rhythms we remember from when we were teenagers, singing these with friends as we drove up and down main street in our snazzy, or not so snazzy cars. It takes a good while.
We usually have to stop and tune
Eventually, the voices warm up, we start listening to each other and someone breaks out in hesitant harmony. About that time Batch comes in with his 12 string and we play some more, he and I watching each other's hands on the strings, trying to mesh our choice of chords together on the songs we both sang, a little differently, throughout the sixties and seventies. (Okay, let's be honest. I only sang these songs during the seventies. Batch started singing earlier and has continued to sing all kinds of songs right along. I got sidelined with children and other distractions for several years.) We finally come together and the fire catches; everyone begins to sing out strongly, people begin to call out requests.
At some point, I usually get teary-eyed in the middle of a love song and have to stop and
Then Batch starts in on some of his favorites, which I have no idea how to play. I think he's making up chords because there is no way in hell I could follow along. I put my guitar down, fiddle with my pic and sing
We sing about social justice and freedom. We sing about the sweet earth and some sad ballads about love and loss. And then we launch into the Beetles and a little rock and roll and then slide on into some Willie Nelson and Simon and Garfunkle. I tried to remember the words to "The Perfect Country and Western Song" last night but couldn't. I blame it on the amnesia. I should practice it (the song, not the amnesia) before next time, just for laughs.
Bev wants to sing Motown but that's hard to play AND hard to sing, but it is easy to sing along with, which is what everybody did back in the day, coming in on the hook at full voice. Why fight it? Let's just turn on Spotify and hook up the speaker and let her roar. Almost no one in the group likes to play Motown, but we try it now and then, to make her happy. Some months we'll sing Red Rubber Ball or Let It Be Me (that's a good one.)
Deb's wonderfully tolerant husband finally wanders through at some point and pretends to get something from the kitchen, which is really a reminder that we've been there for three hours and maybe should begin moseying toward the door sometime soon. He is a french horn player and says he can't sing. I doubt that. But he doesn't sing with us, at any rate. The ruse in the kitchen
This month, for the first time, I was able to find my way out to MacArthur without getting lost. What can I say? I'm directionally challenged, especially in the dark. I don't really care.
Once in the