This Sunday at Lincoln Center, the 25th Annual Roots of American Music Festival featured the Music Maker Blues Revue, which helps the true pioneers and forgotten heroes of Southern music gain recognition and meet their day to day needs.
Such blues and jazz greats as Alabama Slim, Adolphus Bell, Captain Luke, Boo Hanks, Dr. G.B. Burt, and Macavine Hayes took the stage first. The second half showcased the younger, under-ninety crowd of Charlie Hayden, Sam Bush, Dan Tyminski and Patti Smith. The performances ran all afternoon and late into the night for a packed crowd in the outdoor Bandshell of Lincoln Center.
It was most definitely an inspiring scene; men on stage in their late-eighties playing music they love, music they wrote, and music that has formed a cultural fabric of gritty-growls and backwoods foot-stomps. These southern gentlemen, just doing what they know, performed on stage and off, greeting fans and signing autographs with the enthusiasm of a college-freshmen during rush-week: excited to meet everyone, but just a little afraid they might get hurt.
But regardless of age, or of fear, these men are able to do what they do because appreciation, admiration, and gratitude are powerful feelings that can't be ignored when it comes to something you love. That goes for them and for those who can't live without their contributions--the Music Maker Foundation makes certain these legends are taken care of financially, and that their fans can have the pleasure of seeing them in concert.
While sipping a beer and watching these old guys kick it on stage, I couldn't help but think of my own grandmother. She's no musician, but she could still warrant her own foundation. A woman born in 1920, she's gone to college, raised three children, buried two husbands, and has never worn a pair of pants in her life. She's an extraordinary gardener and tends to her flowers like she cares for her family with love, encouragement, and a little bit of chemical fertilizer spray. She's a wonderful combination of grace and quick-wit and has taught me to appreciate the beauty of nature and absurdity of local news. The only thing I can kind of hold against her is that her husband, my grandfather, was a Duke grad. Born and raised a UNC fan, I can usually overlook this discrepancy, but come March Madness, my loyalty lies with the light blue. Sorry, Googoo. (Yep, that's what my sisters and I call our grandmother. Not sure why, just always have, always will.)
But like most eighty-somethings, there isn't a Music Maker Foundation to preserve her life's work, be them small, medium or large. And I'm not suggesting there should be. We the children, we the grandchildren have that blessing.
On Saturday I watched my grandmother lower herself slowly onto the couch and thought that one day that'll be me. Then I looked over to my younger sister and couldn't believe that she'll be old and slow one day, too (hopefully). But if the Music Makers and my grandmother have taught me anything, old-age is nothing to be weary of--appreciation, admiration and gratitude will take me where I need to go. Just gotta make sure I wear sunscreen (she taught me that, too).