Thanks to Tom Martino for his annual Highlights film!
YEAR OF THE TROMBONE -A Field Report From Callous French
If 25 is Silver, what is 26? The traditional anniversary lists don’t designate singles after 25, but
indeed if Silver was Wildenhaus, Watson, Sally, Stovepipe and that preposterous Shrimp Street
revival—what could be 26? What could top that?
How about 26: the Year of the Horn…
It’s not like there aren’t always horns at Jamboree. It aint like there’s not always trombones and
pocket trumpets. Rather, it’s just that 26 seemed defined by them.
I personally do not always Thursday. Sunday noon comes around soon enough when one
arrives sober and freshly shorn on Friday afternoon. So rolling tentatively in on Thursday at 3pm
felt courageous, if potentially self-sabotaging. The other Jamboree peoples were still erecting
their various epics of sickness as I crept the van toward site H2020 under sunny if slightly smoky
skies.
And whatta Thursday it was! Robert kicked off on the Slanted, as is traditional-- sporting an 11-
piece Happy Hour Band and the first of many warm tributes to the late Glen Hansard. After the
pre-season Square Dance, it was on to Louis & Nora singing about aging while Dream levitated.
Cascade Cody chanced ‘Where Have All the Flowers Gone’ as the sun went down. Buddy Mac
made a grinning, winking, crooning 10-gallon Librarians sandwich as the stars began to twinkle
in the eastern sky and the bowl filled up. Then Hot Damn brought on the mischief, done up in a
brocade of gold patina and pure evil-- playing mostly new songs from their A Life of Crime
record.
It had already been such a filling night, the only way to sufficiently over-do it was by getting
every player from every band on-stage for a Thurs-jam. And the results were-- how you
say—trombony?
“It’s not every night,” Robert declared amidst the melee, as the breakdown broke down “that
you have a THREE-BONE NIGHT!”
And with that, the three bones (from Hot Damn, the Happy Hour Band and Mystery Bone) were
ushered to the center of the stage for a trombone circle to end all trombone circles. The farty
party carried on for a very satisfactory sequence before Pete emerged and transitioned into a
stirring final finale of “Burn it Down” during which MC Karen Kunkel lost her motherfucking
head and the String Gods smiled.
Some tenting was observed later on, but like I said: Sunday afternoon is still like 60 hours away
at this point. Michael might have told a story, I don’t even know.
Did I think I was going to detail every band that played the whole Jamboree? That’s expecting
quite a bit of oneself. I will say I loved Nathan & Jessie’s Friday morning bueno onda and that
Dirty Laundry made me soil own with his guitar player’s adam’s apple acrobatics and Tuna Can
Juan on beats. It was wonderful to see Dana Lyons’ physical and spiritual energy, and
Strangley’s song about his lute pedal was hysterical, since lute pedals aren’t even allowed at the
Jamboree in the first place!!!!!
But Friday’s highlight for me was the enchanting set spent with Primo Lara and the family band.
This same clan romped triumphantly last year as Corazones de Cedro, with many of the same
members. The strumming, the whooping, the dancing. The call and the response and the call
again. The joy. My face ached from smiling so much that I had to turn in early.
I’d made it to Saturday morning without so much as a splinter, let alone a fat lip or a cauliflower
ear. In fact, my face looked perfectly normal (even considering the previous night’s smiling
contest) and I decided to celebrate this Jamboree rarity by realizing a first: I actually attended a
workshop! It is my earnest intent every year to workshop, but normally I am feeling (or looking)
frightfully not OK till later in the day than the morning workshop allows. But I was feeling so
strong and looking so un-disfigured that I strode resolutely to the Cauldron precisely at 10
o’clock for Primo Lara’s Son Jaracho singing hour. I’d get up early to hear this guy read the Bible
(maybe the phonebook) and was delighted to find (almost) the whole family on-hand, strapping
into their respective traditional instruments and smiling warmly. My Spanish is not great, but I
took a seat in the front row and squinted at the lyric sheet, singing out loud and strong-- not
worrying if it wasn’t good enough for anyone else to hear. It was lovely to be so close to this
authentic group and I’ll be damned if I didn’t blink out a tear (or two) as Primo expressed his
love & gratitude for family, the Jamboree, and the intersection of the two. I received an
unexpected hug from him at the end, and floated back to H2020 to share news of my affirming
adventure.
There wasn’t time to steep too long, however, as the songwriters were circling on the Flat. I
loved Chris Acker’s song about Bill Buckner’s extra-inning boner in 1986 World Series, and it’s
always a treat to sit at the feet of Petunia. The Tomatoes were hot and the Glass gallow—and
before you knew it, here came Del and the Kids. Could it be mid-afternoon already?
Dean’s set was dreamy & melancholy as always, a combination that always makes me hungry.
Evan’s delicious quinoa salad was received at camp, along with some unexpected company.
Suddenly it was dusk and we gladly traded the sun for the Sons—a magical set and setting.
Nour Harkati seemed a little complicated after the ease of earlier acts, but there were plenty of
hugs to receive and jokes get on the perimeter as the beats went on.
The end was in-sight and the wine within reach. My wife—normally the sensible one—got eye-
shushed out of Clinton Davis’ silent retreat in the Corner Corral and we fled to Dogwood’s
unsafe beatdown in the Cauldron, lowering the average age of the gathering considerably by
our mere arrival. The leader of that rag-tag rag-time mob of 20-somes had earned the
nickname Cryin’ James only an hour before, and he was giving his new tag a rigorous workout,
leading the guitar platoon of a dozen+ friends and friendlies through jam standard after
standard jam. The Banksy of spoons was bouncing flatware off his shoulders and forehead,
peeking out from under a thick hood while an interpretative dance contest took root in front of
the band-- a curious combination of jig, float and slam. Both the band and the
audience/participants were making this shit up as they went along. We’d never seen anything
quite like it. A friend of Robert’s leaned over and crowed ‘this is what the kids are doing on a
Saturday night!’
And she was right. It was a wiggy scene, like its own festival that had seceded from the greater
Jamboree. These kids were ignorant or at least indifferent to the fires burning beyond the
festival gates. Come Sunday noon, they’d have to leave and start fighting them again in a world
conspiring against them. But for the moment-- so late on Saturday night that it was actually
Sunday morning-- they were wild and free and crying out—a beautiful racket that raged behind
us as we staggered back toward 2020, stopping for a Yachter enroute.
But honestly: who at Jamboree is not a friend of Robert’s? Bird is. Bex too. Bryan and Buddy,
sure. Joel’s a friend of Robert’s, but he too is a friend of everyone. Joel Ricci definitely gets my
vote for Most Likely to Back a Brother Up for 2026. When pressed, he said later that he only
sat in with a couple of friends. But in my recollection, he is nearly always in the wings of stage
right, horn in-hand, waiting for a nod to offer a tastefully-chosen flourish of harmony or salty
solo—just when the song needs it most. His work with Librarians on Thursday night was his
most potent contribution to this year’s greater work, however. Their twilight set was a stunning
achievement. It’s a testament to the players that the songs can be so faithfully represented live.
It’s hard to rationalize getting that much sound out of 3.5 instruments that don’t seem to be
getting played all that urgently. They just make it look so easy! And sometimes it’s more like 3
instruments, when Joel is dancing to the songs he wrote for his mates-- instead of playing or
singing. Their set was the musical highlight of the festival for me. Simple perfection, the stuff
goosebumps are made of. A handful of Cranberries, a good snort of Sadies, some Chicago with
a tasteful floater of Van Halen added for confusion and outrage. Not musically, of course-- but
Librarians are such a solid cube of sound with each member contributing precisely their
quarter. A perfect balance, just like the Beatles or KISS. Or Van Halen.
I’ll bet this is the first time anyone’s ever used Van Halen as a reference to anything Subdued
Stringband Jamboree. Still, I am standing by it. I Was There. Bring on 27.
