Marie Brown

Carleen was a great teacher.

It's my master's thesis, now over twenty years old. I had a bunch of copies printed and bound - so vain. Send money and see what you get. Maybe I should have an auction.

I wrote a book about one. Writing a book is hard. The fiddle sounded beautiful.

Malcolm Gladwell: Outliers has a lot to say about musicians. A nice companion to that is Lang Lang's assisted memoir: A Journey of a Thousand Miles. Last night I turned over the last page in The Place My Words Are Looking For, selected by Paul B. Janeczko. If my sister is reading, she might as well know that this one isn't going in the mail. A treasure for sure. A recent find I don't mind sharing is Skinny Dip, by Carl Hiaasen. It's a scream. My geriatric friends will be pleased to know that the naked lady on the cover is scaled to go with the large type on the pages of my copy.

er stash

This is from my home studio window. Early morning. My sister says the view reminds her of Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Summer is here again; every year is the same and different. The price of Rescue-Me hardbacks from the library has dropped to zero, and now they land by the boxload right next to a room where I teach. One night last winter I thought I was dreaming, culled for hours, and walked out with eighteen beauties. Today at home, one of my students walked in with a copy of his uncle's book, autographed especially for me. Fiddler's Ghost. No person raised on Missouri lore could fail to be moved.

I love Mazatlan. I went there twice with a hulking brute of a used car dealer. On the second trip, we saw a guy crossing the street with a fiddle case under his arm. I wanted to know where he was playing, so my friend hailed him just as he was trying to get on a bus. He turned to us with a look of sheer horror. Then we started talking. He let us know that he was actually a guitar player traveling with a group from Veracruz. The next day he came over to the hotel and I showed him some stuff about string changes on the violin. He was a super-quick study and likely a better man than the car dealer.

Here's a likely-looking batch of tunes: 18th Centruy Pop There's also a very nice essay from a shop in Idaho, easily obtainable by Googling "Lewis and Clarke Fiddle". Seems like there used to be a site with clips, but I didn't run across it this time. What do you suppose Native Americans felt on hearing a fiddle for the first time? Imagine it coming across a body of water as wide as the Missouri near the confluence.

I'm still checking in pretty regularly, but have considered defecting (defective? whatever.)

Dance Music. My greatgrandaddy was the best dance fiddler in four counties, and he knew very few tunes. He did have a couple of good horses, however.

Has anyone checked out these pictures of the Joint Services Orchestra? Luis can Clark Having played ice shows in the past, I can assure you that working in conditions like these is not conducive to good sound. Yes, gloves are a must for many. Performance? Yes - with or without a recording, click track, pickup, etc. Hooray for all our brave and tough musicians!

My good friend, the freelance contracting maven of eastern Missouri, has a her e-mail inbox jammed to capacity. so far so funny

Conjecture made about the Air? I haven't seen a word. That meter's famous everywhere the English tongue is heard. "Thus might I hide my blushing face while his dear Cross appears; Dissolved my heart in thankfulness, and melt mine eyes to tears. But drops of grief can ne’er repay the debt of love I woe; Here, Lord, I give myself away- ‘til all that I can do."

Obviously it's humor. If you doubt, try staring at the text for a few seconds. Your innate verbiosiola will quickly transmogrify the words into their true meaning. This is the second best laugh I've had so far today.