Steve plays banjo with the very successful band No Speed Limit, but he can also be found almost every Friday at the Blue Ridge Music Center (at milepost 213 on the Blue Ridge Parkway). From 10-4:00, he is joined by Spencer Strickland (mandolin) and Josh Pickett (guitar), who also plays with No Speed Limit—skilled artists playing for sheer enjoyment. (Gerald Anderson has been known to sit in with the three on occasion.) This regular performance is part of the Music Center's summer program which features a different group of local musicians each day.
These sessions are very casual with the music mixed with conversations occurring among the participants and between the performers and members of the audience gathered around the musicians. For example, Tuesdays feature Bobby Patterson and Willard Gayheart and Thursdays feature Scott Freeman and Willard Gayheart. I mention Mr. Gayheart because he is a regional, if not national, treasure. To say he is an accomplished artist, musician, and song writer does not begin to describe the level of talent present in one person.
At the intermission, Mr. Gayheart was honored with a belt buckle making him an honorary member of Bill Monroe and His Blue Grass Boys. Mr. Hutchins, the presenter, was caught up in the emotional awarding of the buckle and could not finish his prepared remarks. In the world of bluegrass music, the awards don’t get much higher.
I mention all this before noting that Mr. Gayheart held a book signing just before the concert. We were awed by his drawings, so we purchased Willard Gayheart, Appalachian Artist. After noting my limited knowledge of bluegrass music, I grasped at my roots in old-time music—the radio show “Barn Dance” on WLS (Chicago) every Saturday night. Well, Mr. Gayheart knew of this show and its host, Donald “Red” Blanchard. I was on a roll, we talked a bit about the fact that he could get certain radio shows that far from Chicago. With that success under my belt, I began my exit. I did not want to risk seeing Mr. Gayheart’s eyes roll if I mentioned the names Homer and Jethro or, to go way out on a limb, Arky, the Arkansas Woodchopper. No, I quit with one topic of mutual interest, commented on how much we appreciated his work represented in the prints that were exhibited in the Center’s Exhibit Hall, and said we were looking forward to the evening’s concert.
He was a very gracious gentleman.
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