My Life. ......sort of. A Girl's story of Musical Corruption contains mild nudity. enter at your own risk.
by Harmonia (Not responsible for bizarre content.)
When I was little I was diligently exposed to the beautiful classical strains of Vivaldi and Bach by my loving parents. My father played the flute, my mother the harpsichord....
I was an innocent.
I grew up holding fiddlers in low esteem. I made cruel sport of them....
I played the cello in the school orchestra....
I tried my best to be good
When I grew up, I accidently became exposed to cruder forms of music. Music played on banjos, mandolins, fiddles even. I found myself drawn to it. I wrestled with my conscience.
I wrestled snapping turtles
I decided to take up the mandolin. I would play lovely rennaissance music and perhaps some English dances and Celtic aires. I played alone in my kitchen.
For all my efforts, that rude mountain music continued to haunt me. My fugues lay strewn like scattered leaves upon the kitchen floor while I discovered I could strum to Carter Family songs and sing along with Roscoe Holcomb recordings.
I sang to my mother over the long distance telephone,
and she was aghast.
I surrendered myself to OldTime music.
My best friend Lauren Aeolia Mae and I formed a little musical group. We called ourselves the Smoked Oyster Posse. We played and sang badly, but with great zest and verve. Some folks liked us.
Lauren purchased a BANJO and started to play. I coveted it.
I got a banjo.
Lauren and I became obsessed with banjos. I attended workshops, festivals.
I moved to the pleasant town of Chatham
where I had fond dreams of founding a Ladies Banjo Academy
Not many ladies applied.
These days, we practice banjo secretly in my apartment
And, now that I have been observed in public places in the company of those who play the Devil's Box,