A Nashcamp Diary

By Julie Cherney

January ‘08 in Wisconsin. Christmas is over. The New Year has come and gone. The Packers blew it in the playoffs and another winter storm threatening to dump a foot of snow is on its way. I should have written blue yodel #154, but instead I watched an inordinate amount of T.V. and settled into lethargy.

One day, however, I get an email from my pal Karen asking if I’d be interested in attending NashCamp in the summer. Hmmm. A week of picking, singing, learning and having a good ole time in a place far from winter. It took me a day or two of pondering, but I was sold. My other pal Catherine needed even less time to decide. “Let’s go!” she said on the spot. And a little farther down the road our fourth pal Teresa said, “I’m kenneling my dogs and coming with you!” It was decided, four girls from Wisconsin were going to take Cumberland Furnace, TN by storm.

Day 1

After a long winter, followed by a quick spring, Teresa’s retirement, my almost undefeated softball season, Karen’s certification exam and Catherine’s computer class from hell, we were on the road. Full of enthusiasm and excitement, we were giddy as school girls….as two of us actually are….wondering what this experience would be like, who the other Nashcampers would be and what kind of instruction we would get. We were high on life and anxious to get to our destination. Nothing could dampen our spirits! Not even the elongated drive through Illinois and a 3 hour traffic jam in Effingham! Our first stop, Peducah, KY.

Day 2

After spending the night at a hotel off the interstate in Peducah and carbo-loading on the continental breakfast in the a.m., we were on the road again. Destination….NashCamp. With a song in our hearts and Illinois in our dust, we were 2 hours away from “the premier camp for acoustic music and songwriting” according to the website.

Hilly and twisting, the road led us to the Drouillard Mansion in Cumberland Furnace. Up the steep driveway sits the restored Southern mansion 3 stories high with an exquisite wrap-around porch. 100 feet away is the carriage house where the classes and concerts are held. Surrounding these two structures are rustic wood cabins for the Nashcampers. All this rests on many acres of land with lovely wooded walking trails. The setting was enough for me! Whatever else transpired would be icing on the cake.

After registering, getting name-tagged and given keys, we all congregated in the mansion for a scrumptious gourmet lunch. In the company of my pals, I suspiciously eyed the other newcomers. Who were they? How skilled were they on their instruments? Who came the farthest? I broke the ice with a couple of people until we were all shuffled into the carriage house for orientation. Everyone seemed nervous, but camp director Cindy Sinclair gave us all a warm welcome followed by an introduction of the instructors: Bill Evans for the banjo, Tim Stafford for the guitar, Mike Compton for the mandolin, Fletcher Bright for the fiddle, Jim Hurst for vocals, and Mark Shatz for the bass. With no time to waste, we broke up according to our instrument and had our first lesson.

My class was considerably multi-leveled, but my instructor, Bill Evans, was adept at catering to everyone. In a cozy wooded classroom, we began reviewing (or learning for the first time) rolls. Over the course of the week, we would follow with licks, how to create a solo, backing up and practicing songs from tablature, with ample time for questions.

After the initial class, we reassembled into the carriage house for a band demo. The instructors performed while explaining band dynamics. They demonstrated the dos and don’ts of performance and entertained questions from us. Though unrehearsed with each other, these guys made music seem so easy and effortless, giving us fledglings hope.

Following the band demo, we feasted on another gourmet meal. The mood was lighter and I engaged in conversation with Bill about his background in ethnomusicology. Discovering other facets of these musical geniuses is a perk of this camp. I chatted up other campers and as far as I could tell, the Wisconsin contingent was the northernmost. The majority of the rest were from the South, so WE had the exotic accents.

In the evenings, we were treated to a concert by an instructor. The first night’s performance was given by Tim Stafford; Grammy and IBMA winner, wonderful songwriter and founding member of Blue Highway. I’m not usually a fan of solo performances, but Tim gave one with warmth, soul, intelligence and humor. He’s quite a good story-teller and as I would learn later on, a dead-on impressionist.

After the concert we had free time. Inspired by the day’s lessons, we got our instruments and proceeded to jam. By this time the ice had been broken and folks were forming little music groups. I was amazed at all the interesting and nice people this place attracted and had a great time jamming.

Day 3

After an amazing breakfast of biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit and delicious oatmeal with raisins nuts and honey, we all went to our classes. Each morning’s class was 3 hours long….full of valuable information, but intense. Because of this and the intimacy of the setting, we were able to get to know our instructors and each other really well. Many funny stories and jokes were told and I laughed myself silly.

Lunch was a simple fare of brisket, caramelized cabbage, caesar salad, mashed potatoes and cornbread. I talked at length with Tim Stafford. Not about music, but about topics ranging from history (he was on the academic track working on a Ph.D. in history before music snatched him up) to the state of the union to the fate of the Packers…Brett Favre hadn’t defected to the Jets yet. It was a fun verbal ping pong match but alas, we had to part to go to elective classes. Mine was Fletcher Bright’s harmonizing class. Other classes included old-timey mandolin, music theory, and instrument care and set-up.

Later, we all met in the carriage house to pick people and form our own bands. Catherine, Karen and I decided to stick together, but brave Teresa wanted the experience of playing with other people. So with a mandolin, guitar and banjo accounted for, we picked up Fred the bassist from D.C. and Virginia the fiddler from South Carolina. We called ourselves Fred and the Betties. Nabbing Jim Hurst as our coach, we proceeded to the piano parlor in the mansion to begin rehearsing the two songs that we would have to perform at the world famous Station Inn! Hallowed ground for all bluegrassers!

I had been nervous about this prospect since mid-March. But now having a band and starting to practice made it all too real. Fortunately, Jim was great at calming us down and going step-by-step about what we needed to do. Pick two songs. Decide who does the lead, who does the harmony, who gets what break and when. It was easy enough to make those decisions. The hard part was making it sound good. Or at least adequate. We had quite a task ahead of us. Fortunately, everyone was energized and excited.

After yet another amazing meal, I decided to take a hike around the nature trail. I grabbed Karen and we ventured out. After a day of intensive classes, it was nice to get lost in the woods. Hiking up steep hills, we encountered exotic butterflies, big bug molts and a flock of wild turkeys. At our walk’s end, we skipped over to the veranda and were entertained by Fletcher Bright’s band, The Dismembered Tennesseans. Bassist Laura Walker has a wonderfully low throaty voice that blended perfectly with the rest of the band. They performed old-timey fiddle tunes as well as classic bluegrass standards. Fletcher’s firey fiddle performance commanded energy that people half his age would have difficulty mustering.

Being from the city that boasts the #1 party university in the U.S., our reputation preceded us as Catherine, Karen and I had our room designated as party central. So later that evening, folks congregated in room 44, instruments and all. I was sitting between Mark Shatz on claw hammer banjo and Tim Stafford on his composite guitar, astounded by their virtuosity. I opted not to play but instead hoped that proximity to talent would somehow make me more talented. As we were listening, I looked over at Catherine as she mouthed, “I’m in HEAVEN!” I agreed whole-heartedly.

Day 4

6:30 a.m. came very quickly after jamming until 2 a.m. But I’d made a promise to Bill that I would run with him. A beginner himself, I was pleased that he asked to accompany me. Having spent the last decade as a fairly serious runner, I felt that now I was the expert, thus leveling the playing field.

We thought that an early morning run would beat the humidity…..no way. It’s never NOT humid in the summer down there. But despite the hills and heat, the area is undulating beauty. And Bill was a trooper. He made it out for half an hour running uphill in 90% humidity.

Back on the farm we settled in for our morning classes. Bill asked us what songs our bands had chosen and in what keys. He quickly deciphered that some of us were playing in difficult keys for the banjo. I thought my lack of ability in D was because of me, but even Bill has problems with D. So he gave us tips to make solos in this key easier.

After lunch I strolled over to the piano parlor in the mansion for the songwriting elective with Tim. It was more of a discussion than a formal lesson and Tim gave us tips and tools for songwriting, including some examples of his inspirations. Since legitimate songwriters were among us….myself excluded…we talked about the business side of songwriting…copyright laws, the effects of downloading and burning on cd sales, songs written for the target market….teenagers, among other things. Yikes! I wanted to bury away the two songs I had written further back in my file cabinet. But the overriding message was if something inspires you, put it to song.

Band practice followed. Fred and the Betties gathered to nail Red Clay Halo and Don’t Go Out Tonight. Coach Jim Hurst made suggestions on our solos, vocals and on stage positioning. Thank God! I was a mess. But Jim kept cracking jokes and making things light until we got in a groove. Catherine and Karen sang a duet on Red Clay Halo…which they did splendidly. I was part of a harmonizing trio for Don’t Go Out Tonight with Karen, a.k.a Betty with Moxie, taking the lead.

Next dinner…thinly sliced pork, green garden salad, crusty rolls and fried squash. Then the concert. This night’s performance was comprised of Bill Evans, Mike Compton, Mark Shatz and Jim Hurst. Bill entertained us with his dexterity on the banjo playing bluegrass, a bit of jazz and the Clarinet Polka. Mike did a fiddle tune on the mandolin while Mark clogged on a table top. Jim’s amazing flat-picking followed. I was astounded at the work they put into their show…on top of all the teaching that they’d done so far.

Afterwards back to party central in Rm. 44. No instruments this time. We sat in a circle as Mark, Tim and Bill entertained us with stories of life on the road. Humor must be a pre-requisite for musicians because these guys had it in abundance. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Tim as he launched into one impression after another while we were all laughing hysterically.

Day 5

Delicious breakfast, 3 hour class, sleep deprivation and reaching my saturation point. It was all worth it though because I had never felt so stimulated. Still, the Station Inn gig was looming ever closer and my anxiety level was getting higher. I took advantage of the nature walk again, shot hoops with some of the guys and took Mark’s clogging/hambone elective, the perfect elixir for nervousness. His relaxed style and flawless timing made him a joy to watch. We tried to mimic him, but turned it into a flailing mess! Still, Mark broke down the steps enough to make one or two stick.

Band practice. I was on edge. Jim suggested doing my solo up the neck. I tried it but wasn’t comfortable. “Getting out of your comfort zone is what it’s all about,” he said. Well I was in the discomfort stratosphere. But I wasn’t at NashCamp to play it safe so up the neck I went. Everyone else in the band was studiously learning their parts. Catherine brought recording apparatus, recorded us, analyzed her part and got it down pat. Virginia, a classically trained violinist, was trying her darndest to fiddle. Karen got coached on her solo and calmly went about practicing until callused. And bass player Fred, trying to embody Shecky Greene, was practicing his shtick.

Dinner time and my nerves were pretty frayed. I had a hard time stomaching what was a lovely meal. The after dinner concert featured Mark Shatz and Jim Hurst. Jim wowed us with his flat-picking and skill on the steel guitar and Mark did some amazing claw hammering. This concert was my favorite as I love the sound of old-timey songs on a banjo kept in time with excellent rhythm guitar.

We all bought cds and books from the instructors after the show, signed with very nice personal messages. Folks were sniffing around for another party, but we had to put the kabash on that. A good night’s sleep was in the plans for the Wisconsin girls. Still, we hung around a bit and listened to some jamming showcasing the most talented among us, the Swanson family from Florida. Then, it was off to bed.

Day 6

Our last day. We wrapped up our banjo class with final questions and a class picture. We were sad as we’d gotten into a routine and now it was time to say good-bye.

As performance time was fast approaching and my nerves were racing, I formed a plan to bolt. I wasn’t the only one who thought of going AWOL. But I had no way of leaving the grounds aside from running away, and in the heat and humidity I knew I wouldn’t get very far. So I decided to stay and went to my final elective…Clogging II. And more band practice. By this time I’d come to the conclusion that I was as good as I was going to get and that there would be a real possibility of screwing up. But if I could screw up at the Station Inn and survive, I could screw up anywhere and be Okay!

After dinner, we all got dressed up and loaded on the bus to Nashville. It was a pleasant drive, the first after five days of secluded living on the Drouillard grounds. Mark and I chatted about home, upcoming festivals he was involved in, and anything but our performance. As we approached the city and the Station Inn, my heart started to pound. We disembarked, picked up our instruments and filed into the bar.

Despite its big reputation, the Station Inn is an unpretentious venue. It’s basically one big room with a small stage and posters and pictures of everyone who’s anyone in bluegrass. You can feel the presence of Bill Monroe, John Duffey, Lester Flatt and Roland White….who was actually in the audience that night.

The first act was the instructors themselves. Each played a different instrument in an effort to show solidarity. It worked. They struggled and we all breathed a big sigh of relief. But then they got their instruments back and did a wonderful version of Another Night led by Tim. So much for struggling.

On came the first round of Nashcampers. Good for them. Get it over with and drink a beer, though I was already drinking. They weren’t bad. Had a nice intro and kept their cool. The crowd couldn’t have been more supportive. At the end of each song, Cindy got up and rang a bell followed by lots of whooping and hollering. Out came the second, then the third…with our Teresa on the fiddle. It was sad not to have her as part of our group, but she fit right in with her posse. Band four…then us. Quickly I handed my camera to Mark to take pictures as we ducked into the warm-up room. What a trip to be warming up in the same room as all my bluegrass heroes had before me. But I had barely gotten my banjo on when we were called on stage. I was sweating bullets! Off we went to cheers and thank God, no jeers. As they were adjusting the sound system I looked out over the crowd. I smiled at all my fellow campers and instructors and they gave big smiles back.

With the sound system in working order, it was up to Fred to introduce the band and turn on the humor….which wasn’t difficult to do as he was chomping at the bit. But thank God…one one-liner after another came spewing out of him, cracking up the audience and easing the tension. He went on a bit too long though and had to be dragged off by cane so we could start our set. Karen and Catherine launched into Red Clay Halo with beautiful harmonies. The others joined in and each did superbly with their solos. I, as feared, stumbled…but recovered! The audience was totally with me. They crossed their fingers when I flubbed up my up-the-neck solo, but cheered me on when I got my bearings! When we finished, Cindy rang the bell, Marcia the chef yelled out “All right cheeseheads!” and the crowd applauded uproariously. We finished nicely with Don’t Go Out Tonight and exited beaming with pride and an adrenaline overload.

We cheered on the remaining bands, relaxing with our drinks and taking final pictures of all our new friends. It was wonderful! And raucous! But ended as quickly as it began. When the last band finished, we packed up our instruments, got back on the bus and drove back home where blackberry cobbler awaited us. Around the table we rehashed our sets as if reliving the plays of a championship softball game we’d just won. It was such a bonding experience as people who were bashful during the week came out of their shells to say “awesome harmonies!” or “you can really pick your instrument!”

As intense and fun as it was, it was too short. I’m already planning bluegrass camp 2009! If you are in a musical slump, I would highly recommend a camp of some kind. It will inspire, energize and connect you to a whole new network of people. And if you’re lucky, you might be able to perform on a stage graced by all your bluegrass heroes.