Legends

It’s not often that I get to play music with a legend, much less four legends.

There are certain advantages to playing friendly music in a friendly band for friendly listeners. Shades Mountain Air is the band I’m talking about. There are no big paychecks, but a few small ones. We get to keep our day jobs, but sometimes cut out early on a Friday to drive to places like Dothan, AL or Blakely, GA or Georgetown, KY to play a Saturday gig for the aforementioned friendlies. We get to play nice instruments but aren’t bothered by endorsement contracts, groupies or dyspeptic promoters. We also don’t hang out with music legends...much.

It’s only the second band I’ve ever played in. Unless you count the two rock bands during my days at Kate Sullivan Elementary. We spent most of our practice time debating a name for the band. I don’t remember what we settled on.

Our little bluegrass/gospel/folk band is never booted or rotten-fruited. Hardly ever booed at or spewed on. We don’t hear our music on the radio as we drive to those not-to-distant places. And I’m convinced that even if the DJs had our CD they wouldn’t get our vibe: relevant but not modern. When most of our songs were written, radio existed only to tap out code from ship to shore. Many are in the public domain, which means we don’t have to pay royalties to record them.

But a few of our songs shine like a lighthouse—those written by our fine guitar player, Gary “Pastor Gary” Furr. Most are about life’s curious curves, baffling four-way stops, or seeming dead-ends. Some are funny. Most are encouraging. All are real. And his gospel songs don’t sound preachy, which I like.

Whether through Gary’s connections, me working the phones, or a quick wave of dumb luck, we sometimes wind up with fairly cool performance opportunities. Like the Kentuck Festival of the Arts in Tuscaloosa. An annual wild game-fry at a Baptist church in rural Alabama. A monastery in Atlanta. A dark, freezing gazebo for a newly-engaged couple. A benefit concert for an anti-human trafficking group. Many, many churches.

But rubbing elbows with real legends? Rare stuff. But it happened a few weeks ago. Somehow, Gary got us on the bill on a church program with the Homeland Quartet, a group made up of four elderly men and a recorded track. These guys don’t really rock any more, but two of them, Ben Speer and Joe Thrasher, are bone fide superstars and, collectively, span the entire history of the sub-genre we now call “Southern gospel” music.

I won’t go into how the Thrasher Brothers (Jim, Buddy, and Joe) performed on the Wally Fowler Gospel Sing at the Grand Ole Opry when they were children in 1948, won Ted Mack’s National Talent Show, and subsequently toured with Mack’s group for two years. Or how they produced their own syndicated TV show called “America Sings” from 1967 to 1976 with a weekly audience of 8 million people. Or how they sold millions of records and (almost) single-handedly brought bell-bottomed leisure suits and a touch of psychedelia to a gospel music world of straight-laced, Vitalis-wearing men and closer-to-God-coiffed women.

The Speers preceded the Thrashers by almost 30 years and were, in my mind, icons of the 20th century. The Barrymores of gospel music, but with less tragedy. It started in 1921 with George Thomas ("Dad") Speer, his wife Lena ("Mom") Speer, and his sister and brother-in-law Pearl and Logan Claborn. Dad Speer added his kids, including Ben, to the group in the 30‘s. Ben became the lead singer as the folks got older. A Gospel Music Hall of Fame induction, dozens of hit records and hundreds of live appearances followed. But to my knowledge, no bell bottoms. Today, Ben’s a producer and music entrepreneur. And a singer, along with Joe Thrasher and two others, in the Homeland Quartet.

Mid-way through their set that night, Joe called up his two brothers from the audience: Jim and Buddy Thrasher. They did a couple of unrehearsed numbers together, and you could see they still had some of the old magic.

Then Joe called up “Gary’s group” and we approached the stage. No microphone stands were present, and no place to plug in our instruments directly. As soon as the quartet, now a sextet, discovered this, they cheerfully positioned their hand-held mics next to our instruments and our mouths. When we performed “Bowed My Head and Cried Holy” they sang with us, which was very cool. Sweet, gracious guys.

I'm standing there playing and singing, but also thinking, "I used to watch these guys every Sunday morning on the 'Gospel Jubilee' TV show before church." Wow. Legends.

At one point, Ben Speer, to my left, gave me an “amen” or something and I turned slightly toward him and leaned in. His head came about to my chin. Although the neck of my banjo was between us, I could have sworn I caught a sniff of Vitalis.