Dreams do Come True
A few weeks ago on a road trip to Toronto with my mom, I was toying with the idea of auditing some classes this Fall, specifically, The History of Rock and Roll at Concordia, taught by Craig Morrison. That night I had a dream that I met him, and last night, that dream came true.
I figured since I'm heading to Nashville in a couple of days, I should head on down to the Wheel Club, NDG's very own honky-tonk, or at least on Mondays. I thought I should get my fill before hitting the road and seeing the real country of country. If you're not familiar with the place, Monday nights at the Wheel Club are open to the public, and musicians play hillbilly to crowds aged 100 and under. It's run by Bob Fuller and has been for something like the last 40 years. Now almost 80, he plays various instruments from his wheelchair, sporting his baby blue cowboy hat and a matching plaid shirt. Last night he was playing the upright bass.
At the Wheel Club, you feel right at home, surrounded by country music fans, cheap beer, and chips.
I arrived with 3 dollars in my purse and after scrounging my car floor for spare change, I ordered myself a 3-dollar cranberry juice, and turned down a polite gentleman's offer for a drink and some company. "I came here to write," I told him, and sat in a dark corner and opened up my book. At that point, I was probably the youngest one there, the show really starts around 9 and I was an hour early. You have to get there early if you want good seats.
I watched as different musicians, young and old, French and English, took turns performing as I wrote, and later I was approached by a man who asked me if I was doing homework. It turns out it was Craig Morrison, and he sat down for a chat. I thought it would be creepy if I told him about my dream but in a matter of minutes we were talking about spirituality, so he might not have been offended if I mentioned it.
Sadly he's not teaching the history of rock and roll anymore (apparently another teacher stole it from him and that just sucks), but he's offering a class on soul or funk and psychedelic music in September at Concordia.
It's just amazing to me how timing matters in life. How trusting your gut and going somewhere on a whim can bring forth some serious life changes. I probably would have put off the classes had I not gone to the Wheel Club last night, and surely I wouldn't have met him otherwise.
A big part of me wants to pursue some schooling in the history of music, and having a contact like Craig Morrison is key in this town. I've become so fascinated with how sound was born and how, specifically for now, country came out of a place of necessity. Poor farming families out in the middle of the mountains, out in the middle of nowhere, small towns miles apart, with nothing more for entertainment than maybe the bible and the family banjo, guitar, or fiddle.
I guess that's why I'm making the trip down South. I need to see it with my own eyes and take in a culture, that has surely changed, but that stores it all. All the history. I'd love to spend more time traveling and visiting the small communities where it all happened, but time is money. I'm excited to see Memphis, Graceland and Sun Studio, the birthplace of rock and roll. I can only imagine where this trip will take me next.
I'll be getting my own education, and I can't wait.
Sheets drying in the wind,
Katie
I figured since I'm heading to Nashville in a couple of days, I should head on down to the Wheel Club, NDG's very own honky-tonk, or at least on Mondays. I thought I should get my fill before hitting the road and seeing the real country of country. If you're not familiar with the place, Monday nights at the Wheel Club are open to the public, and musicians play hillbilly to crowds aged 100 and under. It's run by Bob Fuller and has been for something like the last 40 years. Now almost 80, he plays various instruments from his wheelchair, sporting his baby blue cowboy hat and a matching plaid shirt. Last night he was playing the upright bass.
At the Wheel Club, you feel right at home, surrounded by country music fans, cheap beer, and chips.
I arrived with 3 dollars in my purse and after scrounging my car floor for spare change, I ordered myself a 3-dollar cranberry juice, and turned down a polite gentleman's offer for a drink and some company. "I came here to write," I told him, and sat in a dark corner and opened up my book. At that point, I was probably the youngest one there, the show really starts around 9 and I was an hour early. You have to get there early if you want good seats.
I watched as different musicians, young and old, French and English, took turns performing as I wrote, and later I was approached by a man who asked me if I was doing homework. It turns out it was Craig Morrison, and he sat down for a chat. I thought it would be creepy if I told him about my dream but in a matter of minutes we were talking about spirituality, so he might not have been offended if I mentioned it.
Sadly he's not teaching the history of rock and roll anymore (apparently another teacher stole it from him and that just sucks), but he's offering a class on soul or funk and psychedelic music in September at Concordia.
It's just amazing to me how timing matters in life. How trusting your gut and going somewhere on a whim can bring forth some serious life changes. I probably would have put off the classes had I not gone to the Wheel Club last night, and surely I wouldn't have met him otherwise.
A big part of me wants to pursue some schooling in the history of music, and having a contact like Craig Morrison is key in this town. I've become so fascinated with how sound was born and how, specifically for now, country came out of a place of necessity. Poor farming families out in the middle of the mountains, out in the middle of nowhere, small towns miles apart, with nothing more for entertainment than maybe the bible and the family banjo, guitar, or fiddle.
I guess that's why I'm making the trip down South. I need to see it with my own eyes and take in a culture, that has surely changed, but that stores it all. All the history. I'd love to spend more time traveling and visiting the small communities where it all happened, but time is money. I'm excited to see Memphis, Graceland and Sun Studio, the birthplace of rock and roll. I can only imagine where this trip will take me next.
I'll be getting my own education, and I can't wait.
Sheets drying in the wind,
Katie
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