As the second Hogtown Opry settles below a saffron horizon in the west, we bathe in its residue, reflect on its lifespan. The Opry is about music and the people who bring it to life, nurture it, wear it like a coat of many colors, show up to buoy its practitioners. Musicians play better in an atmosphere where their music is embraced and exalted, where it is not mere background noise for diners and drinkers and ice cube clinkers, where people actually listen to the sound, “listen to the tune that the wind brought down, listen to the old-time sound of the fiddle telling of the place you never have found.”
We may not have big crowds at the Opry, but we sure have a simpatico group. Few arrive late, nobody is running up and down the aisles fetching antsy children, and if anybody has a cell phone out it’s to catch the action onstage rather than to check the latest MMA results. When a golden-voiced Wil Maring put it in overdrive leaving “Grandmother’s Garden” and veered onto a sidestreet called “Oh, What A Beautiful Morning!” there was almost a gasp from the crowd in the throes of a special moment, a recognition we were in the presence of a rare bird, a throaty magician wise to the ways of rabbits and hats.
If one were to espy Wil Maring, modest of manner, simple of dress walking into the building, he’d think she was a roadie assisting the band, but in truth (quoting the ultimate groupie Sally Romano) “The band is with me.” She is the ultimate relatable musician with her modest demeanor, soft voice, ready smile and giant talent. She can sing you a gentle lullaby, reel off a jazz tune or catch you off guard with a left jab. If you think it’s all a clever act, you can read her daily Facebook posts from the bowels of southern Illinois, where she leads the life of a simple farm girl, patching fences, painting sunsets and trying to keep body and soul together.
Her quiet partner, Robert Bowlin, is a study in patience, abiding Wil’s quirks and satisfied to play Tonto to his not so Lone Ranger. By any measure, Robert is an immense talent, gifted on guitar and fiddle and ready for an occasional bout with piano, banjo or perhaps even bassoon. He’s the kind of musician an undermanned band can call up from the audience and then watch him outplay everyone on stage. Matter of fact, when the Hogtown Opry Band lost their fiddler due to illness, Mr. Bowlin sashayed out and took his place for a couple of numbers. Despite all this, Robert Bowlin is almost without ego. Wil Maring contends he’s a fiddling fool when playing the Orange Blossom Special but he will simply not play it in public because he’s reluctant to “look like a showoff.” When Siobhan Ellison asked him if he’d rather be on stage or working at his instrument repair shop, he tilted slightly to the latter. “I get a lot of satisfaction in working the wood, bringing out the best in an instrument,” he says. He did admit getting particular enjoyment combining with old pals Shad Cobb and Forrest O’Connor (and Wil) to belt out some bluegrass as The Music City Ramblers, admitting “That was the most fun I’ve had in quite a while.” Close as it is on his Florida visits, Robert won’t be going to Disney World anytime soon.
Rob Rothschild took over as stage manager this year, handled his duties swimmingly, then sat down and played drums for our opening act, the Hogtown Opry Band, which includes his genial better half, Cathy DeWitt, Jolene Jones, Janet Rucker, Annie McPherson and David Cook. Sometimes called Patchwork, this savvy group knows I will always hire them as long as they keep playing “Gold Watch and Chain” and their clever westernized version of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” Cathy is a Gainesville institution of long standing, never a malicious thought to dispatch, always ready to hop in to help another musician. Her popular weekly radio program Across The Prairie on The Wombat (WMBT) highlights all the local musical goings-on with aplomb and her lengthy interview (available in the station’s archives) with Wil Maring is worth reeling in.
Gregg Jones, a professional actor in his alternate identity, is our announcer. He has the vocal chords to be an auctioneer, a circus barker or a conductor on the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe, but he’d rather walk the boards playing Salvador Dali or Fidel Castro at the Hippodrome. If you show up to play music at the Hogtown Opry, you will not merely be “a nice little singer from Peoria,” you will be promoted to the greatest thing since powdered milk. “Tremendous!” “Mind-blowing!” “The equal of Elvis in his halcyon days!” It’s worth showing up just for the intros. Last year, Gregg was hired on as the straw that stirs the drink at Gainesville’s first Flying Pig Parade. Porky was no competition and Gregg ran off with Petunia.
 |
| Sharon of Sunnybrook Farm. |
Heroes
Sharon Yeago was snared by Covid several years ago and the disease liked her so much it stayed on. She is one of those unique long-Covid cases hounded by erratic health issues and dubious stamina, but she’s not whining about it, she’s out firing off publicity bulletins for the Hogtown Opry to anyone who might give us some print. Last year, Sharon got the Opry a front-page article in the Gainesville Sun and this year she scared up an interview on WCJB (Channel 20). Those television people make you work for your pub, however---they want you to show up at 5:45 in the morning. I asked Wil Maring about this and she said “Musicians go to bed at 5:45, they don’t get up then.”
Undeterred, Sharon Yeago rose very early in her little High Springs home, spiffed herself up, put on a nice dress and tootled off to Gainesville. Her interview with always-chipper Kristin Chase was first-class, even impressing a reserved old cuss like Robert Bowlin. In appreciation of her efforts, the Covid demon rose up and slapped her around for a couple of days, alas, causing her to miss the Opry. Don’t worry, though, she’s already back on board thinking up ways to promote the August show. We’re thinking of getting Sharon one of those palanquins they used to carry around Indian queens in olden times but you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a palanquin shop.
 |
| Cardiologists just wanna have fun. |
Rick Davidson is not your average heart doctor. Who goes off to see his cardiologist and hears Willie Nelson singing “Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die” in the waiting room?
When your father is a doctor, as was Rick’s, you can’t just march in and tell him you’ve decided to join a bluegrass band touring the Appalachians. A dutiful son does his medical time, stashes untold riches in his overalls and then goes off for the next twenty years to every country music festival east of the Mississippi. Eventually, he starts taking tons of photos and videos and writing complimentary essays about the proceedings in his jaunty MusicFestNews. Davidson is a lover of musicians and their work and though he likes some much more than others you will rarely hear a yip of criticism about anybody. He has been a consistent booster of the hometown Opry and his voluminous post-concert photos and videos are magnificent and highly appreciated by all of us.
Moreover, if you have not spent years immersed in the world of bluegrass, Rick is your knowledgeable guide. If there’s anyone significant pumping out Americana or bluegrass in the depths of Arkansas or Bangor, Maine, Davidson probably has his telephone number in a hip pocket. Ask him for advice and he’ll get back to you in five minutes or less with the specifics.
We don’t make any money with the Hogtown Opry but we meet people like Sharon Yeago and Rick Davidson, so nobody can say we don’t profit. Sharon, can you give us the names of every bluegrass magazine in Florida? Rick, who’s the regular golf partner of Molly Tuttle’s manager and where does he have lunch? Money isn’t everything. Friends are.
That’s all, folks….
Photo of Rick Davidson by Judi Caine
You can find Rick Davidson’s Opry review at musicfestnews.com
