The Oppenheimer Report 5/5/14

Gigging at The Barn

Last Saturday night, I attended a get together of local musicians at a friend’s barn, which is in fact called The Barn, and doubles as a living quarters and recording studio in Huntsville. Juan Barbosa invited me to attend and, because I will soon be recording with Juan in this space, I was eager to see what it looks like. Juan told me that local musicians gather here every several months to “let their hair down” and jam with each other, and he said it would be an opportunity for me to mingle with some of the local talent. Digital field recorder in hand, I arrived about two hours into the party. By that time, everyone was sufficiently lubricated, and the music was flowing freely.

It feels a little weird not to be drinking when I’m in a setting like this, but grasping my non-alcoholic beer for courage, I tried not to stand out as the square stranger. I am sure I stuck out like a sore thumb. This was an open stage, and musicians came and went as they felt inspired. It’s my favorite type of performance, musicians playing for musicians, spontaneously jamming and improvising. I really enjoyed what I heard. There was every kind of music, from reggae, to punk, to jazz, hard rock, and country – and most of it was really good. Thankfully, not one of the covers was anything I hear ad nauseam on the radio. Most of these guys are pros, and what is great about pros is that they can play with  anyone. I was fortunate enough to be allowed to get up and play a few of my originals, and although I was clearly out of my league, everyone was gracious and supportive. I wasn’t very good, but the other musicians managed to help me sound better, and I sang my songs to exactly the audience I’d hoped to reach. I was in my glory, and I came off the stage with some new friends and some uplifting compliments about my writing skills. For decades I have been writing in a vacuum, and have played to open mic audiences who are, for the most part, not listening so much as waiting for their turn on stage. Since I moved up here, I have found a vast community of very talented musicians and songwriters who are at once generous, humble, and extremely encouraging. And they actually listen. I have seen very little of the corrosive egoism that plagues many successful artists. I have learned that for every famous musician, there are a thousand unrecognized artists who deserve to be. I know there are these music communities in every town, big or small; I have simply never tapped into one before. Most of my friends and family do not really understand how important songwriting is to me. It’s like an inexplicable little aberration in my being. A little like turret's of the soul, I blurt out these songs, these little whistle stops on my long train ride, and in some ways the songs define me. It is perhaps the one thing I think I do well, and having the opportunity to find an outlet for my creativity has brought me some degree of contentment.

During the four hours I listened to the jams at The Barn, outside it poured torrentially for most of the night. What was a long, muddy, uphill driveway when I drove in was now quicksand. I texted Shauna to inform her that I was heading home, but as I walked toward my car, precariously parked on the side of the drive, I noticed some guys walking up the hill. They told me we needed to get some people together to free a cab. It had become stuck coming up the drive to pick up a couple of inebriated attendees, and it was stuck in the middle of the drive, blocking access or egress. You can imagine what happened next: six or seven drunk guys attempted to push the cab out of the mud, but only succeeded in getting mud-soaked and miring the cab deeper into the muck. A tow truck was called, and I assumed this would  be just a minor delay. I sat in my car as guests stumbled by to pee in the woods, and after about an hour I walked down the drive to find out why I could still see the lights of the cab, and why it had not yet been pulled out. There at the bottom of the hill was the tow truck, halfway up his wheels in mud, also stuck. I got that sinking feeling inside that I might be sleeping in my car that night.  An hour or so more passed, and miraculously, the tow truck guy got himself unstuck and managed to free the cab as well. I begged the tow guy not to leave, until he saw me get out safely. My MDX has all-wheel drive, and with some difficulty, I managed to back down the drive, slowly, avoiding the minefield of soft spots. I made it out, but just try backing down a winding driveway, full of muddy soft spots, in pitch black rain, and you will understand how this might have been a little nerve racking. I doubt anyone made it down in 2-wheel drive. 

The end of the story is that I got home around 4:30AM, a little frazzled, but energized from meeting and listening to a bunch of crazy musicians. Music is probably the one thing in my life that exposes me to a little chaos into my comfortable little world. Saturday night was just such a night. 

-   Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED