Boys In The Band

The smooth voice of Tim McGraw tinged through the cheap speakers of the salon at MasterCuts compliments of a country station out of Corinth, New York. Since half of this one horse town burned to the ground back in February, I thought it odd that they even had a radio station. But then the town had two Stewart’s convenient shops until the fire.

My hairstylist asked if I listened to country. “Use to,” I replied. I watched her reflection in the mirror. She concentrated on the torture inflicted on my scalp as she pulled my hair through the tiny holes in the cap. I confessed that I didn’t listen to much music. These days I can’t tell you what group has the latest hit, what the current trends are, and when some celeb shows up on the front cover of a checkout counter tabloid, I don’t have a clue who it is unless it's the tired old face of OJ Simpson trudging off to jail.

When I joined the Peace Corps, I listened to CDs of my “in the day” favorites. That, by the way, didn’t include medleys from Men at Work. I never made the transition to I-Pods or MP3 players. In my Jeep, all presets are on talk radio, Christian Rock or, I confess, NPR, but only so I can enjoy those crazy Magliozzi Brothers of Car Talk fame.

Coincidentally on the same day I confessed my musical abstention I received a head’s up that the Gordon Stone Band was playing at the Parting Glass in Saratoga Springs, New York.

The first time I heard the Gordon Stone Band I had been in Bourne, Massachusetts. It was August 2006 and I had just started out on my book tour for The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin in Mom and Dad’s RV. Camped on the banks of the Cape Cod Canal, I was determined to meet as many people as possible on the East Coast. My attempt to promote the book.

That evening I sat on a park bench and absorbed a New England summer listening to the sweet bluegrass tunes. It wasn’t your ridge- running Tennessee pickin’ bluegrass. Combine a unique flavor of hip-cat Jazz, with a tangy taste of the islands, a dash of an Irish toe tapping jig and a sweet aroma of Vermont mountain air. No, I won’t even pretend to be a music reviewer, but these boys are good.

New to the group since I last saw them at the Albany Tulip Festival in 2007 is Sean Preece, on drums and percussion. Sean brings an electric enthusiasm to the instrumentals of Gordon Stone and Jon McCartan. His pure, unadulterated freedom makes him just about as fun to watch as to listen to. Totally uninhibited Sean is as animated as a cartoon character with facial expressions as wide ranging as his talent. Next to the youthful veteran trance of Jon McCartan on bass, who is a mere year older, Sean is as different as a running brook is to an ocean wave. Gordon Stone attracts God-given talented youth with good heads on their shoulders. Sean is as a humble as any well-groomed-newly-called up pitcher to the big leagues for the October Classic.

If you find yourself in the Vermont taking in the fall colors, or the ice-blue ski slopes on a crystal day be sure to check out their website to find a local venue. You won’t be disappointed. For me, I’m taking this music to Kona, Hawaii next week.

All the best to the Boys in the Band and to Deb, one proud Mom.