jae@hou2g.UUCP (J.ELKINS) (04/17/85)
At one time I was on tour with a bluegrass band, and we
played in a festival in the midwest. At night, after a long
day of playing and workshops, I retired to the hotel room at
a fairly late hour and hit the sack. At about three in the
morning I was awakened by a consistent pounding above me, so
I dressed myself enough to investigate and went out of my
room. As I stepped out, so did Jethro Burns, in his
undershirt and pajama-bottoms, and together we traced the
sound to its source. One floor up was an aisle of rooms
identical to ours, and we easily located the source and
knocked on the door.
Ralph Rinzler answered the door, and as he opened it there
was a sight I will not forget. There was Doc Watson, in a
plain wooden chair with no cushion, playing his guitar as
fast as he could, tapping his foot. He was as sweated up as
a weightlifter during a workout, and for refreshment he had
a towel on his right shoulder and a bottle of scotch on
another chair next to him. We didn't even say anything, but
just apologized for the interruption, went back to our rooms
and did our best to get some rest.
Apparently, since the night is the same as day to him, he
goes through this ritual daily when on tour or doing any
dates away from home. He has always taken a pride in his
flatpicking power, speed and precision, and with those hard
hours of performance and practice he has certainly earned
that right.
Jay Elkins
hou2g!jae