JV’S Weathers the bumps in the road
Five years on, the J.V. still beckons with her circular neon logo, a pale green/blue beacon on misty Route 50. So readers may recall that in early 2003 the CRIER chronicled family-friendly country soirees offered up by the able leadership of multi talented Vernon Santmyer under the auspices of Lorraine Campbell, the omnipresent power of the J.V.
Recently at the State Theatre, the restaurant received a rare distinction of the Washington Area Music Association (WAMA) awarding it venue of special merit. The equally ancient Chick Hall’s in Hyattsville still operates as of this writing. When Chick’s shutters up for good, the JV’s shall truly be the last hall standing where all matter of roots music is concerned, with a genuine and welcoming atmosphere, free of pretense.
Even with the infusion of major players and bands, “Names” such as J.P. McDermett, Dave Chappell, Patty Reese, Pete Kanaras, Dabmar & the Seductones, Doc Reed and more, the JV still entertains equally solid steel bending acts who’ve beefed up her roster over the decades.
This club has traditionally been pegged as a country/bluegrass stage although uniquely the performers gather on a bare patch of rug in the front of the space in lieu of an actual stage. No barriers between music and patrons – isn’t that the way things ought to be? Here we are in ‘08, the JV is doing quite well, yet as the winds of culture change blow through its greater Falls Church environs, we might do well at this point to look back a moment at the slower cozier way things were done in ‘country music’s livingroom’ not so long ago.
Shades of Danny’s Ghost
If the incomparable Daniel Gatton Jr. had ever played the JV, and for all we know he may have– considering he played the Log Cabin, Hunter’s Lodge, Country Hut, et cetera, all the great ‘joints’ likewise frequented by another folk giant, Rodeo Mike Johnson (The Number one Black Yodeler and Traditional Country Music Hall of Famer featured in these pages in the Feb. ‘08 issue); he certainly would appreciate the strong authoritative vibe of “golden guitar” that Vernon Santmyer and his worthy associates have laid down in this humble little room.
Four or five Decembers ago, on a Wednesday of course, the obligatory “Christmas,” or to some, X-mas revels were in full sway, and a sweet, supernaturally cool thing took place right after the chanting of “Gran’Ma Got Run over By A Reindeer,” and “Battle of New Orleans” this last, as important a Christmas Carol at the JV as any. Lorraine, joshing with regulars at the bar, was able to pull off the amazing anaerobic stunt of slinging frosties on tap while reaching over to stir a big batch of her famed Four Bean soup.
In walks a lanky guy, real “geetar slinger” from Gainesville, Florida he says. ‘Us regulars’ kind of saw a “Gabby” Gabaldon lookalike in this dude, that is, a JV perennial favorite and open-mike host who with his band the Retreads was a grizzled veteran of the local guitar wars. Now the gentleman from Florida was either called Gray or Gary or Greg–which it didn’t much matter because right from jump we knew he could play.
Gray or Greg or whoever ran his right hand lightly over the fingerboard of his gleaming black Strat, and all bets were off. A quick glance around, Vernon was quietly taking his place to the new guy’s right, his blistered red Fender hooked up to the silver Fred Flinstone foot-shaped Sho-Bud pedal coupled with a tiny forest of varicolored stomp boxes. “Let’s go, son,” said Vernon softly, with just a hint of a grin. This was a test, and the other man knew it. “Wanna try SLEEPWALK?”
This syrupy, delicious 1958 pedal steel anthem of schlock’n’roll by Santo & Johnny was one of those tunes, that on any given jam night, you might hear done five different ways. Same with “Me & Bobby McGee,” “Buckaroo” by Buck Owens, “Mama Tried” by Hag, “Third Rate Romance,” or our favorite, Rodney Crowell’s “Stars On The Water!”
Point is, pilgrim, when ya ripple that echoey soup of strings and steel to do ‘Sleepwalk’, you’re summoning up the very best in Greasy Good Guitar– and how could that not channel Danny Gatton or at least his benign ghostly presence, even ‘neath the twinkling holiday lights of the JV. Gray or Greg shimmered through the weepy bonafides of the intro, and right there with him was Vernon, applying a searing sharp octave line, “Da- DAA, Duh, da-da-DAAAH, duh-duh Daaah Dumm, dee-dee daaa, daa-da DAAhh,” and so on to the bridge. Backing these wizards was Sky, struggling on rhythm, with Big John on six string acoustic; and Ronnie Bartelt of the Boss Cats on the bass. The redoubtable Rob “Powerhouse” Johnson stood in on traps.
As the leaders redoubled their efforts in arabesques and obligatos, each chorus and turnaround more affecting than the last, the CRIER columnist struggled to keep up with watery fills that somehow were barely appropriate. It is said that when Gatton worked a regular stand at the long vanished BAD HABITS a few miles from here on Columbia Pike, the instrumental frenzy of creative chording sometimes lasted ‘til dawn. That’s how this particular “Sleepwalkin’” moment was beginning to feel. Like it didn’t have to stop at all, ‘cause it was too gol’darn delicious.
Santmyer, was the one who signaled the final coda, however, with a shimmering descent of ‘faux’ pedal steel from his strapped-on Cherry Red (is it a ‘59? ‘61? 1964, for God’s sakes, does it matter what year, not really- Vernon’s so hot-damn GOOD, it could be “one piece at a time” and it’d still be perfect!). The fans gathered there that night felt something supernal, for we knew tears as well as Miller and Diet Dr. Pepper were falling over Lorraine’s formica table-tops that night, no doubt.
As Gray and Vern wove their final keening octave through the last curlicue of fare-thee-well notes drifting up through the magenta fog of the JV’s upper rafters, well above the autographed glossies of Bush, Bubba Clinton and Elwood Blues on the “wall of fame,” there was a most unreal sigh as the whole-note of silence fell on the room. Then: “WHOOO-HOO!” “HOO-AAHH!” “WOOOO!!”
Mixed into the Rebel Yells and crashing, splattering applause, were the surging, well-lubricated enthusiasts stumbling up through the smoky haze (in these pre-smokeless times) to drop balled-up dollar bills into the industrial-strength plastic tip bucket. In the background Vernon calmly readjusted his foot pedal, retuned, shifted his broad strap, quietly nodding to the crowd’s approbations. Visitors like”Gray”(who was receiving hearty claps to the back from the throng) would come and go, but in the absence of Link Wray, Roy Clark (or Danny Gatton for that matter), Vern was the reigning “Lord of the Strings,” now and every Wednesday forever and ever Amen.
The Florida stranger God-smacked us neophytes, reminding this observer of Gatton, and Santmyer too, by tapping into seemingly boundless musical wisdom, masked in nondescript clothes and a self-effacing, aw shucks attitude, or lack thereof. A being who seemingly lives inside his own Fretboard!
Yes, that particular intimate sharing of a real moment of exquisite musical dialogue is harder to come by today, at the JV, or anywhere. To much downloading, not enough raising of the barrier. It’s all good that Lorraine and her café have morphed, WAMMIE in tow, to an all-knowing oracle and a must-go destination club. Ironically, one of the longtime regulars informs us that Vernon is far less seen Wednesdays and the dance floor and tables are far from “packed” those nights. The better-known shows require a hefty cover and the lines are out the door. Success always comes with a price.
Trends come and trends go, but at the level of honestly performed music as delivered up by our rockin’ ancestors, the J.V. experience, and Lorraine’s endless supply of homespun wisdom is definitely not to be missed.
A Spring surprise at Westmoreland Church
On Saturday evening, April 7th, in a very bucolic corner of Bethesda about 80 lucky souls gathered in the church sancturary to celebrate the career of a towering figure of jazz radio. The prime celebrant, amiably hosted by Paul Anthony of PBS and Pastor Rick of the church was Bill Mayhugh, formerly of WMAL where he served for over 40 years. Lit by the amber of the church windows the musical pallette couldn’t have been more sublime. A prelude of pieces by the Bullis School Jazz Ensemble of Potomac was quite impressive in view of the proficient playing these serious young devotees showed us. One young woman who was equally adept on alto sax and clarinet especially showed promise when she duetted with a young student on guitar in a lyrical Lester Young composition.
Of course, the greatest treat of the evening was Rick Whitehead and his trio playing divinely beneath a gleaming gilt suspended cross. Rick humbly made small talk as his amp briefly pretended not to cooperate, but all was soon forgiven as he and John Previti and Barry Hart tore into a phenomenal tune “Blues in the Closet”. Anyone present would certainly feel the spirit of Gatton in this swirling work. Previti massaged the bass as they segued into “Two for the Road”, a piece by Henry Mancini, a composer so great Whitehead reminded us, it’s hard to realize so much of his stuff is straight-ahead jazz. As always the humorous percussive instincts of Barry Hart shone brightly throughout the evening. To round it all out, in a delightful way, sax soloist Jack Wolfe, trombonist Dave Steinmeyer (a cohort of Rick’s in the “Airmen of Note” for over 20 years), joined the trio and reminded everyone there of the joys of ensemble jazz playing rarely heard anymore, but should be for the sake of a healthy sanity in these war torn times.
Much thanks to Sanelma Sutton, cultural director of the Westmoreland Congregational Church for making this event possible. It did not take much persuasion for Gigs & Digs to decide to interview Fairfax resident Bill Mayhugh in an upcoming issue!
| < Prev |
|---|
