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A BONE TO PICK: The David Grisman Quintet at Ziggy's
by J. D. Edwards (August, 2000)

A few months back, I wrote an article about the unlikely integration of bluegrass and jazz music, the flexibility of each genre to incorporate elements of the other. I spoke of tonalities expanding, syncopations changing, stretching out and rewriting themselves by a new set of standards. I spoke of the inclusion of strictly traditional instruments into the context of very non-traditional music. But one point of utter incompatibility, which I failed to discuss, was the irreconcilable difference in the way their respective audiences interact with each musical style.

Nowhere was that rift more glaringly decisive than at a recent performance by The David Grisman Quintet at the Ziggys woodshed in Winston-Salem. This band's style cuts to the very core of why jazz will never sit safely alongside its rowdy, unkempt American cousin. DGQ is now, always has been and forever will be a jazz outfit. They may feature mandolin, acoustic guitar, fiddle and upright bass, but this quintet writes music influenced not only by jazz but by swing, classical, bossa nova, flamenco, calypso and world music for a whole known as "Dawg Music." But such defiant diversity can be problematic when the unit's namesake and most recognized member is still more famous for being one-fifth of the highest selling pure bluegrass album of all-time, Old and in the Way.

So these inaccurate expectations have forged quite a chasm for the ever-searching, ever-evolving Grisman who abandoned the strict confines of traditional music a quarter of a century ago because of its limited financial future. And this audience division highlights the major difference between Dawg's two musical frontiers: the behavior of each type of fan. Jazz, particularly Grisman's jazzgrass requires extremely demanding amounts of attention, courtesy, forbearance and respect, as with most instrumental music. Sometimes the melodies are quiet, introspective and thought provoking; sometimes they are strange, discordant and exotic; sometimes the musicians dash impressions with broad suggestive brushstrokes; sometimes they ramble on to no apparent end; but one thing they rarely touch upon is traditional acoustic bluegrass.

However, many of Grisman's fans that know his music through bluegrass channels and MerleFest still approach his jazz quintet with the etiquette and expectations of the liquor-swilling, hillbilly-hoedown contingent. In that particular milieu, hooting and hollering become the acceptable mode of audience appreciation, and shows sometimes start to resemble musical sequences from The Boar's Nest. Song requests are blurted out haphazardly and are even encouraged by musicians. It seems like the traditionalist's way of affirming that the people on stage are good ol' boys and down-to-earth just like the audience. But, jazz musicians often remain reserved and aloof, occupying some distant and isolated stratosphere within the musical solar system. They rarely talk, smile or make eye contact and would be hard pressed even to imagine recycling the same dozen, hackneyed bluegrass jokes. And jazz songs and solos require that same seriousness and attention to detail from its audience members.
Anyone who witnessed Grisman's debacle at Green Acres a few years back knows that that was where the audience dichotomy became utterly intolerable. A large, loud, intoxicated crowd showed up that night demanding (often in the middle of songs) that the quintet play some bluegrass. They talked, screamed and whistled incessantly throughout quiet, and incidentally quite beautiful passages, offering no respect whatsoever to the musicians. Grisman, for his part, berated the audience, told them in as many words to "shut the hell up" and, in the end, pretty much called the congregation a pack of disorderly, inbred yokels. But surprisingly, Dawg was back in North Carolina again, the indisputable epicenter of the bluegrass universe, for another bout of stylistic tug-of-war.

However, this time Grisman, being the savvy businessman that he is, realized the absolute necessity, especially in the heart of bluegrass territory, to cater to this "yeehaw factor." He still forced fans to listen to his open-ended instrumentals, his Django Rheinhart-influenced swing and a few spacey meanderings. A portion of those present understood Dawg music and behaved accordingly. However, another extremely vociferous mob still showed up solely to be seen, or more accurately to be heard. But this time, Dave dangled some behavioral modification before those salivating fangs by vowing that there would be an appearance later by a traditional bluegrass band, the Blue Blades of Grass.

The Blue Blades actually turned out to be the quintet's musical alter egos as each member adopted a silly pseudonym and a jug band persona. They donned some typical redneck apparel like cowboy hats, overalls, baseball caps, flannel, straw hats and rhinestone suits to authenticate the experience. The mystery band then launched into some Stanley Brothers/ Flatt and Scruggs/ Bill Monroe-style bluegrass, harmonizing in unison around a single mike. Speaking in his alter persona Curly Ray Maple, Dawg chided the audience that the opening band The David Grisman Quintet was O.K., but that he didn't quite understand what they were doing. He then proceeded to state that "it's obvious who's going over better here," after a frenzied applause followed the Blue Blade's first number. Basically, Curly Ray finally realized that this style of music just spoke to that particular audience, in that particular barroom setting much more fluently, and they may as well give the people what they want, despite his band's far greater proficiency with the jazz medium.

While I am certainly not suggesting that ensembles like the Grisman Quintet abandon their ambitious attempt at shattering musical barriers and broadening perspectives. It's just that in order to strike a more harmonious and reciprocal balance between audience and music, they should take into account the setting and the state in which the performance takes place. And if they still insist upon continuing with this challenging and taxing musical exploration, then maybe they should only play seated jazz clubs or ritzy theaters that are more conducive to pure listening, not boisterous, barroom revelry.