Warming to Bluegrass

Accomplished players, and folks who wish they were, tune out winter's chill with a friendly jam inside a Catonsville music shop.

If we make it through December

Everything's gonna be all right I know;

It's the coldest time of winter,

And I shiver when I see the falling snow.- Merle Haggard, "If We Make It Through December"

It's good to come in from the cold. It's a Tuesday night in Catonsville, and that means folks are getting together to jam at Appalachian Bluegrass, the cozy shop on Frederick Road with a 30-foot guitar painted on the side. It's the first icy night of winter, so frigid you're not sure how many will show up -probably just the diehards, those who have been coming to this neck of the woods on Tuesday nights for the last 20 years to swap fiddles, jokes and tall tales and play bluegrass music, off-the-cuff, from 7 p.m. till the place shuts down.

Bluegrass - as much a storytelling form as a musical genre - rarely fails to warm a room, even on such a night as this. It's the first evening to feature sleet, icy winds and a real skift of snow, and the weathercasters are saying to stay indoors. But here, with the bare wood floors worn from years of use, with row after row of dulcimers and guitars and mandolins lining the walls, it feels as snug as a living room with a wood-burning stove.

It's not even 7, and three fellows, all regulars, have already settled in. A man in a fleece vest and crisp New York Yankees cap, goatee as white as the snowfall, his eyes sparkling, is camped on a stool. Across his knee is a reddish Martin Flattop - circa 1959 - that's scarred and chipped and battered with the years. "Worn in just right," says John O'Dell, a high school biology teacher who has been sitting in on these sessions for more than two decades.

Beside him, on a higher stool, Mike Trubow narrows his eyes as he tunes a gleaming Martin with mother-of-pearl inlay. He's a relative rookie, been playing and coming for a year and a half, but his salt-and-pepper beard and a greasy ball cap make him look right at home. A fellow in a black turtleneck, Paul Krause, turns the tuning pegs on his spanking-new Larrivee guitar. They're made in British Columbia, he says with pride. Bright red peppers dot his black guitar strap: hot peppers, hot music. On a night such as this, you hope so.

O'Dell's weathered case is open at his feet, and it becomes the place from which the session emanates. Inside are a photo of a friend, a few bumper stickers and a crumpled, mimeographed list of 200 songs he can summon from memory. He's tuning, too - harmonically, by tapping each string at the fifth fret - and then, as if to himself, he starts to strum, crisp and rhythmic. It's the top of a bluegrass standard in G, "There's More Pretty Girls Than One." Like hobos hopping a slow-moving freight, the other two players jump in, and another jam in Catonsville begins.

Got laid off down at the factory,

And their timing's not the greatest in the world;

Heaven knows I've been working hard,

Wanted Christmas to be right for Daddy's girl.

Appalachian Bluegrass was born in 1960, when the father of Emory Knode, the current owner, opened it as a general-interest music store. There were some lean years; a handful of music shops inhabit the neighborhood, and competition is keen. By the time Emory - a lanky fellow in jeans and a down vest - took over 20 years later, he'd decided to spurn the drumming and marching-band markets and focus on acoustic-style music. "There's plenty of folks that play bluegrass around here," he says. "It's sort of under the radar, but some of the finest players in the world come from around here." There's a lot of business this year, he says, for reasons he can't quite put his finger on. "Maybe it's just the way we treat our customers," he says. "We make friends with them. They want to come back here."

Appalachian has instruments for every level of playing. Behind O'Dell, a glass display case features vintage - and just-plain pricey - acoustic guitars. They're blond and brown, six-string and 12-string, made by Taylor, Martin, Larrivee and Guild, top-of-the-line brands for craftsmanship, playability and tone. Beside those is a skein of sparkling-new banjos. Some price tags read $3,000 and higher.

The pieces are illuminated from within the case like exhibits at the Smithsonian, but they're no more precious than O'Dell's clear voice as he sails into "More Pretty Girls." Krause launches the piercing tenor part that creates what bluegrass folk call "that high, lonesome sound." The room comes to life.

If we make it through December,

Got plans to be in a warmer town come summertime;

Maybe even California:

If we make it through December we'll be fine.

Appalachian Bluegrass is open for business even as the players jam, and that provides an even warmer feel for customers who wander in. The bells on the front door jangle, and a gust of air blows in, followed by a man who clearly doesn't expect a concert in full bloom. He nears the counter gingerly. The last thing he'd do is interrupt.