Today would have been William Smith Monroe, The Father of Bluegrass' 100th birthday. I can still remember the day he died. I was sixteen, head over heels in love with all things bluegrass, and I knew that my dream to meet him one day would never come to pass.
I can think of no other genre of music that so directly owes its genesis to a single person. He once described the uniquely American style of music he pioneered as music with "a hard drive to it. It's Scotch bagpipes and ole-time fiddlin'. It's Methodist and Holiness and Baptist. It's blues and jazz, and it has a high lonesome sound. It's plain music that tells a good story. It's played from my heart to your heart, and it will touch you. Bluegrass is music that matters."
2 comments:
Sweet Bill. I can't hear or see footage of him without getting chills. Would you believe that I owned his toaster and like a freaking idiot I sold it because I needed money.
I list it at the very top on the list of my worst decisions that I have ever made and can be brought to tears if I think about it too long.
Anyway, Happy Birthday, Bill! I hope that the toast in Heaven is always golden brown and that there are lots of big porches for pickin'.
I love the way he describes his bluegrass. He seems like a very sincere person.
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