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I had to sell my Panda.

The economy and all that.

It had been years since I had paid proper attention. There was a time I thought I could not do without it. Collecting rare species had grown from a dream into a reality, but there it sat alone in a container. Sure, I'd walk past it, open the latches, look at it lovingly and give it a few strokes. Maybe even take it out on occasion and make it sing.

Like I said. It was rare.

It ached to be noticed and so I had it shipped to Texas. I didn't even check to see if it went to a good home. Took the cash and tried to forget about it.

But of course, memories linger.

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In the 1950's "Western" music was gripping the airwaves. Obscure in some parts of the USA , it settled into others and took root. The Pacific Northwest

was one of those areas where it fit the bill. The other type of music , "Country" hadn't been heard of yet. That was more so an advertiser's gimmick phrase that was added to enlarge the listening audience. Neither one seems to exist much anymore.

All the buttons on the family station wagon were set to dad's favorite stations. It was his car. Disc jockeys on those stations played the mournful tunes of lost love, broken dreams, fervent hopes and yesteryear. Mandolins, fiddles, guitars and a weeping instrument known as a steel guitar dominated the sonic flavoring. A dash of rhythm from a subdued drum set could be heard in the background. Locally, station KVAN was the most popular. A young man who went on to some fame in later years as a songwriter and performer, Willie Nelson, was one of those DJ's. Legend has it he was fired but the more interesting story is that he placed a long play album on the turnstile instead of a single, packed up his stuff owing "just about everybody in town" and went off to Nashville without looking back. Much better. Getting fired is boring.

Mom wanted me to play Hawaiian steel guitar when I was a kid. It didn't happen. I got a regular Harmony birch body guitar and was bitten by the folk bug, the sounds of Pete Seeger and his other admirers. Then the British invasion happened and my roots got away from me until I discovered that my AM clock radio could pick up sounds from the South late at night if I wiggled the dial just so and held it in place. I was mesmerized. A slippy sound could be overheard which I figured out to somewhat duplicate by sliding one of mom's empty lipstick tubes over the strings.

I became a blues musician. This was not what they had imagined for me.

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Decades later, after getting to meet, hang out with and play with some of the seminal blues players of our time, I was bored again. The pro circuit was behind me and I didn't even like to hear myself play. Then, seven years ago shortly after Katrina, I was asked to attend a house party on a Sunday afternoon featuring Spencer Bohren, known for his haunting steel guitar playing. I chatted it up with him, and decided then to get a lap steel. Spencer plays a laconic, swampy style of lap steel and is the best at it. I truly admire him and have done pretty good at imitating that method on my early 60's National lap steels. (He uses a "Vestapol" tuning for those of you who might wonder; low to high string D-A-d-f#-a-d) Here is how that sounds:

But the closest I have ever been to a swamp is the time the hippie van I was riding in the back of in the early 70's returning from one of those mud and drug music festivals, ended up on its side in a ditch full of cat-tails. We were already at a stop sign. I knew the the guy in the loin cloth with the rainbow hued beard should not have been driving.

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Tuesday night Aug. 28, 2012. I went to a fabulous show with Mrs.

http://www.mcmenamins.com/events/105656-History-Pub-Oregons-Country-Music-Heritage 

We sat next to a player friend of mine. We used to tour together and he stills fronts a couple of popular bands. Sometimes I set in, but not much. He's the best accordian player in the area. I mean, sizzlin', Zydeco hot accordian.

The topic was the history of Western swing music in Oregon and the Northwest and it featured players who were really there. The ones who made it happen. There was a panel discussion and loads of what some might think was name dropping, but these people were just talking about their friends. When I saw the hand-bill advertising it I rocketed back to that time when the buttons on the station wagon radio were set by dad, and when mom wanted me to play steel guitar.

The steel player was a guy I remembered seeing as a kid. He was on the Heck Harper show. Heck was a local character who drove a white Cadillac with enormous tail fins and gold rims. He wore a big Stetson. He had one of those shows with loads of music and was a host for awhile on a kiddie cartoon show.

I mostly remembered the steel guitar player:

So Tuesday night after the hour long set I went up and introduced myself to Ray Montee. I told him I remembered him from when I was a kid. Tuesday night he was playing a Richenbacher B-model lap steel from the late 1940's. They are made of black bakelite and have white face panels. Players and collectors affectionately refer to them as their "Panda".

I told him I had recently sold mine

 

 but still have two 60's Nationals. This is one of them:

We chatted a bit and he gave me a card with a phone number and e-mail. He still lives across town and said he would give me lessons. I got the tuning he used that night (again for those who might be curious, low to high string; C-C#-a-g-c-e,  known as a C6/A7 tuning) from him and said I'd work on it a bit and then call him. He seemed really pleased at the prospect of having a "new" student.

But here's what I'm getting at;

I'm not new. I turn 61 today.

Dad was beat down at 61 and mom was weary. They were depression era parents. Dad was a WWII vet and mom had been a Rosie the Riveter. Nothing ever really came together for them.

I don't want it to go like that.

So what do you think? Should I try something new by doing something old? 

Give him a call and take some lessons finally in Western steel guitar styles ?

I'll have to sell something again. We have an exotic cat named Hallelujah. We live next to a church so I entertain myself by calling her loudly. I know, cheap joke. But she is a Bengal and I did sell that Panda once. hmmmm?

Nah. I'll sell an instrument.

There's plenty more for me yet ahead I hope.

Not just memories.