When I arrived at the CBA camp, I felt right at home with the tall pines and the blue sky. Nothing better than 500 hillbillies of all ages and instruments co existing peacefully in the woods!

I arrived just in time for the “instructor showcase concert” and ran with by banjo to the “backstage”: A 1//2 barn with a PA in front and hay bales in back, and a contented looking audience in camping chairs.  All the instructors for the camp (some of the finest in bluegrass) were milling about like cattle. Camp director Ingrid looked like a speeded up video, tri-tasking with mind boggling proficiency. Thanks for all this, girl!

“So, how does this work?” I asked a mandolin guy who looked like a young Dracula.

He was from North Carolina and had an accent thicker than Southern Comfort.

“We’all jis sit here and they call us up, they-uhts about ee-uht” He warbled.

He was right, the MC would call up random pairings, and they would run up and pick a song on the spot.

 I watched as these great pickers were thrown together in spontaneous pairings, and each sounded like they had been a band for years! Everybody took a turn: mando patriarch Butch Waller (Country Gentlemen), Dobro God Rob Ickes (Blue Highway, etc), fiddle Goddess Megan Lynch (ow), and finally lil’ old me.

I got called up with some grizzled Nashville veterans, including ex Redding-ite Megan Lynch, that amazing fiddler. I new her when she was knee high to a grasshopper and the best fiddle around.

And she was a pro: “OK, Sid, lets serve it up hot!” she yelled, and launched into a light speed breakdown. The mando guy looked panicked, and faded into the back. The bass player was steel; she kept a straight face and faked it flawlessly.

Luckily, I recognized the tune, and old Appalachian number called “Forked Deer”, and I also remembered (thank #!**ing God!) that it had key change in the 2^nd part.

We picked it as a duo, and then the band came in. Then it was my turn, and I decided to kick a little ass. There were several old school banjo pickers in the wings watching me like an old tomcat watches a kitten. “Who you think you are, boy?”

So I played it weird, and the audience howled. The banjo players scowled. Then the announcer told the crowd (at least 300) that I was the guy teaching “Jamming 101” later that night in the Sugar Pine Lodge (another barn). I thought oh shit, that’s gonna be a LOT of people…

I had brought my PA and speakers just in case, but had decided that tonight was gonna be mellow so I didn’t set it up. Boy was I wrong.

I had just around 80, with more coming and going. I was killed. I screamed like Janis Joplin on the 39^th day of the month. I had three (3) upright basses, 12 banjo players, 8 fiddlers, 23 guitar players, two dulcimer players, 16 mandolins, and a stream of off key singers who were not shy. The room I was in sounded like a NASA echo chamber, and I was hearing in double. But I persevered.

I ended the class two hours later in a daze, and the students screamed and yelled for more.

I whispered “sorry, my voice is gone” and collapsed into my chair.

Then, just quickly as they had descended, everyone disappeared; And no one bought a single solitary book. shietzen.

It seemed like an amazing class, yet these people we’re hanging on to their wallet’s tighter than last year’s pants.

I mustered the courage to pop that question to a darling old lady, packing up her mandolin in a hurry.

“So, where’s everybody off to so fast?” I fake chuckled.

“We’re off to jam, silly! You got us so riled up that we can’t wait another minute to go back to camp and pick!” And with a wink she scampered off into the dark, along with everybody else.

Wow. That is so cool! SO I took it as a compliment, packed my gear up, and ran after them. I got this musical forest fire going, now I’m gonna go play in it…

But I was tired, so I went back to my motel room and watched ultimate fighting.

The next morning I went for a stroll in Nevada City to refresh my spirits. What a beautiful little town! Everywhere there were peaceful sights and sounds: cute little shopkeepers in their cute little shops, street punks chatting with old hippies, stretchy yoga people sitting around stretching.

In fact I met a very cool yoga lady at a café, where I had a double half-café-Mexican mocha-with-extra-espresso and played a little banjo.

“So you’re a musician?” She asked

“NO, I play banjo” I pointed out

She laughed.

“I’m on tour, and I’m here teaching at the CBA camp” I said.

“Isn’t that just great?” She asked.

“No, actually, I’m broke, lost, and I’ve been living on Doritos and Pepsi”

She looked as though I’d just ripped a kittens head off with my bare hands.

“OMG, how do you survive?!”

“Well..” I set my banjo and attempted to sit cross legged in my chair to impress her. But after 4 minutes of trying to bend my legs around I gave up in pain.

“See, it’s not really that bad. Except I’m getting stiff and fat and I fart a lot” Something in me was making me say stuff I normally don’t say.

She scooted closer, a concerned look on her face.

“You really need to change your diet. You know the food we eat is the source of all our ills and greatest power. I healed myself from cancer with ayurveda, panchakarma cleansing, acupressure massage, and herbal remedies. Then I got into the Charaka Samhita, which says that life itself is defined as the combination of the body, sense organs, mind and soul, the factor responsible for preventing decay and death, which sustains the body over time, and guides the processes of rebirth. My guru, Chogyam Trungpa Tyogen Rahasapali, says that we all have infinite control over the world through our physical energy. When that energy is clouded through too much toxins, like tobacco, alcohol and unhealthy foods, the world starts to direct out personal movie. Purity is essential for personal power!”

She stopped to breath.

I didn’t move. I didn’t know what to say. So I said:

“Do you have a spare cigarette?”

Later that day The CBA camp director informed me that there was a teacher dinner in Nevada City, and I should come along.

Never one to pass up a schmooze opportunity I dusted off my hat, brushed my teeth, and headed out to the restaurant.

I founf parking and headed across the street to the Italian joint wher everybody was.

Soon as I got to the opposite sidewalk some yelled at me. It sounded like a Old Fat Bastard from Austin Powers; a really loud, really Scottish, reaaly drunk accent.

“Bluh-ee ell, you foo-in yankee! Geh over ere and ave a shot, you scabbit sheep

A duck winna dabble aye in ae hole!”

Then I saw the Scotsman leaning out of the window of the tavern. His hair looked like Jesus on a bad day, and his head was as big as a pumpkin.

“Sid you flaggard!” He gargled.

Then I got it.

“Aberdeen Fulla!!” I yelled back.

It was indeed Aberdeen Fulla, the legendary Scottish fiddler and party animal, truly a star in the folk world.

So I went into the bar. And I traded shots and loud bad jokes with a bunch of sweaty Scotsmen. And I got sweaty and happy. So I had more. Then Aberdeen said:

“I’ll bet ye canna best me!”

“heh heh” I countered. What the hell is he saying, I thought. I had been understanding bout one 5^th of the conversation the whole time.

“I’ll take ye to the sod” he bellowed.

I looked at him and gasped. His face was beet red and the look in his eyes was not good. He had transformed from a somewhat jovial man into a Scottish Viking from the year 1300, hell bent on pillaging and raping and destroying everything around him.

I had seen this behavior pattern before, where one minute your friend is hanging on your shoulder saying “I’m sherious, man, I LOVE you!”, and then the next minute he is your mortal enemy.

I had first encountered this bizarre personality disorder while playing in an Irish band, and it would occur several times a night.

So my reflexes were good. I leapt over the table and bolted out the door into the sunlight. I heard the crash of collapsing tables behind me but I was free!

I got to the restaurant just in time, and was escorted out back to where my party was. What a crowd! Every bluegrass legend was thee, sipping wine and looking extremely civilized.

And they were all looking at me. I cracked a smile and waved. They just kept looking. I turned and looked at my reflection in the window and jumped. I looked like I had been run over by a combine tractor. My face was shiny with sweat, I reeked of single malt whiskey, and my shirt was ripped almost in half. And, suddenly I realized I was drunk.

“Hi everybody!” I said in my best speech voice. “Had to be glere!”

The dinner was amazing, but I was too nauseous to eat much. Luckily I was seated between a frailing banjo picker who was smashed on red wine, and a lady bass player who was telling stories about her sexual exploits. So I didn’t have to talk.

Later that evening I had one of my best classes ever, with 75 pickers hanging on my every note. They were impeccable. Classic bluegrass folks: dentists and real estate agents and teachers playing banjos and fiddles. And they were sharp! Everything I taught them they got in a nano-second. The really cool thing happened when I started a waltz. Everyone in the back row put down their instruments and began waltzing together, and then the audience joined in and it looked like Swan Lake!

A bear like man waltzed with an adorable pig tailed lass. Two cowboys waltzed near each other. All in all I think we had 30 folks twirling and spinning in slow motion elegance.

Only at the CBA!

Then the day came (4 days later!) when I finished my last class and it was time to pack it up. I’m always a bit sad at these times; part of me doesn’t want to go, and another part of me really wants a shower. Usually my feet.

So I dove into the nasty part of my job: cramming 80 folding chairs and a PA system into a box trailer. It was late and I was exhausted. All I could think about was pulling into my driveway in Chico and drinking a cold one in the shower. Heaven.

Two hours later I was all packed. And sore. By now it was almost midnight and the campgrounds were quiet. Now I just had to hitch up the trailer and get a Red Bull and hit the long highway.

I back up the Durango, and then began winding up the hitch-jack on the trailer to raise it up. The trailer was very heavy, probably 3000 ponds or so. I grunted and wheezed.

Then it happened all at once: the trailer rolled forward, and hitch-jack broke off with a sound like a chainsaw slicing through a refrigerator, and the trailer tongue smashed to the street with frightening force. I leapt back as it dug into the asphalt.

Then silence. A lone cricket chirped.

I sat down on the street next to my dead trailer, thoroughly traumatized.

What the **#&%$* to do now?!! The sea of RV’s were emitting snores, not a soul around.

And I was stranded like Robinson Crusoe. Done. No motel anymore, no sleeping gear, no jack (stupid, I know), no cell phone (I know, I know), no nothing. And 4 hours from home.

So I set out into the dark campgrounds to find help…

After wandering around in the dark, I spotted a trailer out on the fringe with a light on and several folks sitting around. Although normally I try to make it a policy not to approach trailers in rural areas after dark, this was my only hope. So I went up and introduced myself.

They were wonderful. They were mildly drunken cowboys partying with their grandparents, laughing and smoking. They brought over a jack and tools and four large men, and they fixed everything! Thanks!

So I hit the highway about 2am, and got home around 6am, no further disasters.

Then, it was off to the Live Oak Festival near Santa Barbara, bright and early the next morning (one hour later)….to be continued…

Jamming 101 introduces "Camp Stop Jamming" at Strawberry!! Yes, that’s right, we have an official camp now, it’s on the Strawberry web site and everything! (see http://www.strawberrymusic.com/camps.asp)

We are near the horse choral (follow your nose), and you’ll see the banner.

Feel free to track us down (see map below) and come on by to pick one!

Local jams in Chico...Whether you just want to listin to some strumming while you sip your cappuccino, or your wanting to dive in and test your pickin skills, local monthy jams are the ticket:

Sid's Pick: 2 PM - 5:30 PM at Augie's: Bluegrass Jam on the 4th Saturday of the month. While the jam will be from 2 to 5:30, the first hour is a SLOW JAM (for those who like to hear and/or play ALL the notes). The regular jam starts at 3 PM. We encourage folks to bring songs and tunes of the "founding fathers" of bluegrass-- Bill Monroe, Flatt & Scruggs, Stanley Brothers, Osborne Brothers, Jim & Jesse. For more info contact Lucy Smith at lucyinchico@hotmail.com

-Butte Folk Music Society sponsors a free Acoustic Jam the 1st Saturday of the month, 2 PM - 5PM at the Upper Crust Bakery (130 Main St., Chico).   Everyone welcome (including children) to come play music, share songs, sing-along and get acquainted with others who love folk music and Americana. Call the Butte Folk Music Society at (530) 895-8560 for more info.

-Music Circle at Augies (230 Salem St, Chico) every 2nd Saturday of the month. Bring your instruments and musical energy to the acoustic music circle -- folk, bluegrass, old timey, etc. Meetlocal musicians to play, sing or just enjoy. Tell your friends!!! For more info contact David at 530-872-2084 or Augies Cafe at 530-894-3764

-Old Time music jam, at Augies Cafe hosted by Michael Springer, old time fiddler. This event is set to happen on the 3rd Saturday of each month. Encouraging those who play clawhammer banjo, fiddle, or guitar to comeparticipate. Of course listeners are always welcome. For more email Michael Springer at springerms@juno.com

-Every 4th Sunday of the Month: 1 PM - 4:30 PM: The Oldtime Fiddlers Association holds an open mic/jam at the Thermalito Grange Hall,Oroville. Information at 530-589-5841 or 589-4844. Membership encouraged but you don have to be a member to join in or come listen.

(Just added!) -New "super easy" slow-jam is every other Wednesday evening, 6:30 til 9pm. Will be using the songs from Jamming 101 (see charts on the instruction page here). For more info cantact bevpence2003@webtv.net, be sure to mention "slow Jam" in your email title. 

........Dont wait, start your own Jam! Contact Sid at the Acoustic College (530-894-2526) for free Jamming 101 booklets, song lists, and visual aids to help your jam be the talk of the block...