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KEEPING THE FLAME
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========== (A Letter From Red) =========
Hiya,
Well, OK then. It's probably all my fault. Blame me.
Y'see, when I heard, coupla years back, rumors of an upcoming picnic weekend
being hosted by our favorite little theater troupe, I might well have kept
still. A simple "Why yes, I'd love to attend" would have been more
than sufficient. No need to go phoning, e-mailing, postcarding, and generally
making a nuisance of oneself. Why get folks all excited, trying to do something
"clearly quite impossible?" Better, one should think, to maintain the
quiet dignity and comportment befitting a man nearly, (cough, gasp!) ... forty-plus
years of age, no?
Well now, ..... that's the main point, right there.
This whole "prime-of-ones'-life" thing, don'cha know?
Good, legitimate, grown-up job, satisfactory salary plus benefits, nice enough
living quarters in the
Capital of the Entire Civilized World.
Lots to do, places to go, people to meet, etc.
BUSY!
Still.... something was missing... Big Time.
I missed the music, and I'd missed it for far too long. The communal camaraderie
of musicians and fans from back in the days before impersonal PCs and
innumerable CDs, unfathomable amounts of data comin' atcha, and instant
digital-anything-you-can-imagine. I missed the acoustic guitars and the vintage
blues. I missed Amy's sweet, smoky singing, with Eddie playing his exquisite
piano, Diane's incendiary Jazz violin, and Gilby blowing bass rhythm on that old
moonshine jug he picked up God-Knows-Where.
Did anyone still remember the Y-Not, The Mouthpiece, Folk City, The Family Owl,
or The Sword in The Stone?
I did, and I lamented their long-time passing.
I missed Sadie Green and Basin Street, The Blind Lemon and Club 47, The
Gaslight, The Stone Church, Big Mother, The Yellow Door, and Salt.
I missed Ragwagon. Go tell it on the mountain.
So blame me, if you will. It turned out that I was not alone in my fond
remembrances and, while we did have to move a mountain across an ocean to do it,
we presented The Ragwagon Reunion Concert at that picnic, had a terrific time,
and then were not smart enough to let it go at that.
We really ought to be old enough to know better.
Thankfully, we are not.
We hope you enjoy our music.
Y' look good today, you really do.
Write if you get the chance.
From The Ragwagon,