We rejoin Silver Lining contributing writer Jennifer Levin in her love of country music. You can catch pt. 1 in the previous post. - Erin
Who says who gets to listen to what? Well…though we were not religious, my parents called the principal in protest when I was made to sing “O Come All Ye Faithful” in elementary school, and when I was 10, on a family camping trip through Kentucky, Tennessee and Mississippi, they warned me daily not to tell anyone we were Jewish. In retrospect, this level of “Jewish damage” is out of proportion to the sporadic and relatively tame anti-Semitism I actually encountered growing up, but…at a company Christmas party three years ago, jealous of the two-stepping couples on the dance floor, I asked a co-worker to teach me. “Don’t be silly,” she laughed, gulping water and grabbing her girlfriend by the hand, “Jews don’t have to know how to two-step.”
I was appalled, yet felt the need to defend myself to her in my head, angrily listing the CDs currently in rotation in my car: Jimmie Rodgers, Gillian Welch, Iris DeMent, the Carter Family, Allison Krauss and Union Station — who did she think she was? I had nothing to prove. And still…
Last August, I put off going to the Santa Fe Bluegrass Festival for the first two-and-a-half days, citing housework and other obligations. But on Sunday evening William and I finally headed for the rodeo grounds, where I knew that anyone with any street cred would recognize me as an interloper.
“Everyone’s so old-timey,” I said, and though no one had even looked at me, “I feel Jewish.”
“Jewish is like the oldest of the old-timey,” said William.
We settled into the main performance tent just in time to hear the band play Del McCoury’s “I Feel the Blues Moving In,” one of my all-time favorite songs. Knowing the lyrics to the first song I heard eased my anxiety. I let the music take over and forgot to feel like an outsider. The only thing required of me was an unending tolerance for the music. Turns out, I really can listen to it forever.
The Bluegrass Festival was a turning point for me, and we’ll be going for all three days this year. I can no longer deny who I am. However, I still need two-stepping lessons and I’d also like to learn to clog and yodel. In return, I can teach you how to make potato latkes and pineapple noodle kugel.
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I had a similar experience several years ago when I discovered that there were large veins of melodic punk rock that I loved, and tentatively started going to shows. I have no tattoos or piercings, and a mohawk has never graced my head. Until very recently, I never even owned a pair of Chucks.
Eventually, I stopped worrying so much about not fitting in and just gave in to my love for the music. I've met and become friends with various band members and fans over the years, and no longer feel like such an interloper.
Music can be an amazingly powerful thing when it's real, in contrast to the corporate manufactured drivel we get on radio and television these days...
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